'Because I'm not your father.'
'How would she know?'
A knock on the door killed Jake's sardonic reply. He found the servant standing outside the room with a set of clothes in his hand. Jake took them and dismissed the man.
'How did you fool him?' Jake asked when he had gone.
'I am more clever than you think.'
'Yes, well, see that being clever doesn't get us in trouble.'
'Should I close my eyes while you dress?'
'Can I trust you to keep them closed?' He didn't bother to wait for an answer. 'Out the door with you.'
'What if the servant comes back?'
'You'll just have to show again how clever you are. Wait for me, and add nothing to our tale. When I confess everything downstairs, play along completely. Until then, say as little as possible. You understand?'
Alison nodded solemnly — a bit too solemnly for him to trust, but there was no alternative. Jake pushed her out the door and quickly changed. The clothes the servant gave him were plain cotton breeches and shirt, serviceable and well made. A new pair of stockings and boots were also supplied; these were small and pinched his feet, but overall the re-dressed spy saw little reason to complain.
His Segallas was still in his belt, but as he had not had time to place it in the water-sealed lining of his money belt, it was seriously fouled. He had no other weapon, save his tongue and wit.
The pass from Washington was a liability. Ordinarily he would have burnt it, but no fire presented itself.
Eat it?
As hungry as he was, Jake could not quite bear the thought. He had seen a fire flickering downstairs; he decided to go immediately and warm himself, disposing of the pass in the bargain.
Alison was not outside the door when Jake opened it — not that he was very surprised. Cursing mildly to himself, he descended the stairs patiently, the wadded pass in his hand. Jake turned into the large room where the fireplace was and discovered the servant just extinguishing it.
'M'lady is in the dining room, sir, with your son,' said the servant. The accent on the word 'son' made it clear he, too, did not believe Alison's story.
'I was just going to warm myself at the fire,' said Jake. 'I still feel damp.'
'The dining room is quite warm, being bathed by the sun through the glass.'
Jake allowed himself to be led to the room, slipping the pass inside his shirt as he walked. Alison was being waited on by Lady Patricia herself near the bank of rear windows. A full breakfast sat in silver trays and servers at the center of the small, round table used only on informal occasions. A much larger table, not quite fully extended with its leaves, dominated the rest of the room.
'I would love some more tea, thank ye, m'lady.'
'I see you found your way here, Al.'
'Hello, father. Lady Patricia has made us such a wonderful breakfast.'
'The cook made the breakfast,' announced Lady Patricia. 'But it's my pleasure to serve you. My brother is a bachelor, and during these rough days there is no proper hostess besides myself. He has only the cook and his man George, besides the constant company of guards. Most of them are gone to the city with him.'
'That's not necessary,' said Jake as she pulled out his chair. 'I think it improper to be waited on by a woman of your station.'
'Oh, I shall not pour your tea for free. My son was at Princeton; I would like to know what you know of that battle.'
Jake's blue eyes reflected the calmness of a summer day, but inside, he stormed. The spy had been employed to gather intelligence and had played a role in the battle; he wondered for a moment if this beautiful British woman might somehow know that.
But something in her face belied such artifice.
'Sit down, sir,' she said. 'Please. You are famished, and I would like the company.'
She touched his sleeve gently.
'We are not entirely who we seem,' he warned her, still standing. 'Though I cannot give you every detail.'
'I did not think you were Al's father. Stay and have breakfast. Do you want some tea?'
Coffee, if you please. Something in me is allergic to tea, and I get a choking reaction.'
'You should have that examined.'
'I have, and apparently the cure is too dear.' Jake touched his throat apologetically, then changed the subject as she nodded for the servant to fetch a pot. 'The boy is a neighbor who sometimes proves useful. Unfortunately, the story he told of his house being burned is true. His real father perished in the flames.'
'And you saved him?'
'I plucked Al from the fire, but could not rescue his father.'
He glanced at Alison. She had a grimace on her face, and he could see her pinching her fingers together, as if to keep from saying anything.
As for Lady Patricia, it was clear that his hints had satisfied her, at least temporarily. She knew her brother was involved in spying against the Americans for the British, and would naturally jump to the conclusion that Jake was as well.
And something more. He brushed his hand over hers gently as he sat in the chair, and saw the light, brief flick of her eyelids.
'I know almost nothing of Princeton,' he said, pulling himself to the table.
It was a moment before she gave him an embarrassed smile and sat herself. 'Come now, surely you know something of the rebels who slew my son.'
'Why do you think he was killed?'
'I — ' Her lip quivered for a brief second before she regained her control. 'Even Lord Cornwallis held little hope. The rebels have not asked for an exchange.'
'That does not mean anything,' said Jake. 'They are not so organized that they would be able to respond quickly to inquiries, let alone take the initiative.'
'That is something,' she said, but it was clear she would no longer allow herself to believe her son might have survived. 'Are they brave, at least? However misguided?'
'I would allow as the rebels are brave,' said Jake carefully. 'Their leader, General Washington, is certainly a noble man.'
'You are the first person here with the courage to say so.' She took the fine porcelain tea cup before her and held it to her lips, sipping as delicately as a fawn licks water from a stream. The servant, meanwhile, returned and served him. The cook had come from Pennsylvania, and her skill with scrapple was unsurpassed. Despite a token effort at restraining himself, Jake greedily gobbled two slices of the crisp fried pork mush without pausing for a breath. Sage and marjoram added to the flavor, and he had to control himself to keep from reaching for the last piece left on the ornate silver platter before him.
'Pardon my asking,' said Jake when he was full, 'but it is rare that we are visited by a noblewoman.'
'My husband is indeed a peer, but you must remember, his position is inherited. We are not one of the haughty families your papers write of.'
'Still. .'
Lady Patricia smiled. 'We are of some influence, and we live comfortably,' she allowed. 'But you notice no train of servants, nor rich jewels at my throat.'
'You sound almost like a Whig,' said Jake.
'You are of the King's Party?'
'I would not think to find many rebels on these shores any more. Would you, Al?'
'Not at all, father.'
'Still sticking to your original story?' Lady Patricia asked her pointedly. Alison pretended not to hear her, just as she had pretended not to hear Jake admit he was not her father. 'There are many spies who show up at my brother's house,' Lady Patricia added, turning to Jake. 'Though I daresay few swim here.'
'What makes you think I'm a spy? Just because I am not the boy's father, does not mean I am more than a wheelwright, which is my occupation.'
