'What is a carpenter doing working on a brick building?'
'Begging your pardon, sir, but I am working on that porch there,' gestured the spy. 'A man named Baxter hired me to do some work. I was chased here by a nest of bees.'
'Baxter? That building belongs to an old woman named Fife.'
Jake grimaced. 'Baxter was the name of the fellow who hired me.' He rose. 'Jesus, the damn thing is back,' he said, swatting at the air.
The soldier was not fooled. But Jake was able to duck the butt of his gun as he swatted. He pulled his pry bar from his belt and smashed it across the man's face. A harder smash to his skull knocked him senseless.
Jake took off his apron and used its strings to truss the redcoat. Pulling him back to the porch, he fastened him below the steps, blindfolding and gagging him so he could not call out when he awoke. Jake judged it would be several hours, if not longer, before he managed to free himself.
By the time the patriot returned to the window, Alain was entering the dining room. Jake gripped the brickwork and hoisted himself quickly upwards on the side, his fingers clinging to the smooth clay like barnacles to a ship's bottom. He was at the upstairs hall window in a trice, pushing his slender metal bar between the sill and the sash and gently nudging it upwards. In the next second, he had slipped inside, confident that he would soon be on his way back to Washington with the whole story of Howe's pending invasion.
Chapter Twenty-four
The chestnut floor planks were covered with a thin, fairly worn carpet, which provided little cushion for Jake's footsteps. With the first creak, he realized he had best proceed barefoot, and leaned against the wall to gingerly unbuckle and remove his shoes.
His destination was only a few feet away, not far from the top of the stairs. The house's owner, a hearty patriot, had taken the precaution of removing not only his furniture but many of his finely trimmed doors and shutters before fleeing. Thus anyone coming up the stairs would have an unobstructed view of the office, with Jake inside.
There was nothing to do but pray that wouldn't happen. Jake tiptoed across the hallway, shoes in one hand and cocked pistol in the other. Tucking the shoes by the door, he posted his gun on a chair within easy grasp and sized up the office.
Culper's intelligence had pegged the room as the most likely place plans for an invasion or other helpful records might be kept. In truth, this was but a guess based on its use by the senior staff. Jake realized at a glance that only a thorough search would confirm or deny it. The place was hardly a model of bureaucratic efficiency. There were three small desks, each covered with a variety of books, loose papers, and sketch upon sketch of maps. The center of the room was filled by a large table, whose smooth wood surface was neatly overhung by several layers of charts. Important papers and maps were stored without obvious order throughout the room, and indeed, throughout the entire house. The rumors of English efficiency were, in this department at least, greatly exaggerated.
Jake moved first to the central table; the pile proved a collection of various fanciful plans of world cosmology, replete with mermaids, phoenixes, and centaurs — obviously the sort of project a young subordinate filled idle hours with while his boss was far away. Much pain had been taken with several of these; on one edge of the table were tacked a series of studies for heads and faces. Jake had gained an appreciation for art while in Oxford for his schooling, and realized immediately that these drafts displayed considerable dexterity.
They were of little importance now, however. He turned his attention to the documents and books on the desks, going through them as rapidly as possible without creating too much noise. For the most part, the papers were plans for bridges and bivouacs that could be put into use anywhere on the continent; not one showed any geography or features that might hint where Howe was heading.
Jake's inspection was suspended by a knock so loud on the door below that it felt as if it were made at his shoulder. This was followed by a familiar
a not altogether pleasant clearing of the throat, and a general 'hello there.' The heavy steps of a butler sounded up the stairwell as van Clynne's voice boomed out, inquiring after his 'good friend, the distinguished Lord of Marquedom, Count Alain, peer to the realm.'
Had any other patriot knocked on Alain's door, Jake would have immediately guessed that trouble was afoot. But his long experience with van Clynne led him to believe that the Dutchman, as usual, was merely showing his face where it did not belong. Jake cursed silently, then told himself that at least van Clynne's loud voice would distract the servants and his lordship from any noise he might make upstairs. Jake returned to the desks and began pulling open the drawers to examine their contents.
He was into the second desk when he heard a light foot treading on the stairs. There was no chance to escape; his only option was to hide next to the door and hope whoever was coming up the stairs passed by.
Vain hope. Jake crushed himself against the wall as the room filled with the light scent of pot marjoram. A woman in her early twenties followed. She looked down and asked aloud where the shoes had come from.
'They're mine, I'm afraid,' said Jake, putting his hand quickly over her mouth. As she began to struggle, he found it necessary to use both arms to keep her still; as it was necessary to cover her mouth, he used the only device handy — his mouth.
Her lips were quite soft and surprisingly compliant, and in a moment he felt her body slacken into surrender.
Claus van Clynne, meanwhile, made his way through the house with characteristic bluster. The butler who answered his knock gave the bearded, russet-clad visitor a quizzical look, as if he had opened a door and come face-to-face with a ghost of the island's past.
The Dutchman saw the man's apprehension as an invitation to proceed.
'Good evening, sir. Claus van Clynne at your service, here to express my severe condolences to his fine young lordship. His marquessship is at home, I assume.'
'Allow me to introduce my young assistant, Al Stone.' Here van Clynne swept toward Alison, still on the doorstep.'Despite his tender age, my friend is quite a lion with arithmetic. He can multiply the nines and even the odd eight as if they were tens, which is a considerable talent in business. Hmmm, do I detect the scent of roast capon?”
'It is quail, sir.'
'Quail!' thundered van Clynne. 'Properly prepared quail will triple the life span!'
Van Clynne led Alison and the attendant to the dining room, where the young lord was seated at the table with the air of a North Sea walrus awaiting his mollusk. Ever mindful of his manners, the Dutchman put his hand to his head, then belatedly realized he no longer had a hat. No matter — he swept an imaginary one off his head with the smooth gesture of a dancer opening a show for His Majesty himself.
'Lord Peter Alain! Greetings and cheery health, your most lordly lordship!'
The British ships advancing against the Spanish armada showed more reserve than van Clynne demonstrated as he swooped in on the young lord. Alain's only protection was an elaborate candelabra and a half-finished bowl of onion soup, his first course, resting on a pure silver plate.
'Claus van Clynne,' said the Dutchman. 'I am sure you are much too young to remember me. Your father appointed me to oversee his interests in the colonies. An excellent decision on his part, if I do say so myself. What is that you're eating?'
'That is odd,' said the young man. 'My father had no interest in the colonies.'
'Of course not,' said van Clynne with a dismissive wave of his hand. 'Once I gave him my advice, he saw it would be foolish to even entertain the idea. Managing property and trade over an ocean — bad business, son, bad business. Your lordship, that is. Al, take your hat off as a sign of respect for his honor. Bend low — that's a good boy.'
Alison did as she was told, which helped her suppress a certain look of displeasure at van Clynne's tactics. In
