'No. Not at all. I have already spent a full day's exertion. . but perhaps I had best be getting some fresh air.' It was not the look from Jake that changed the Dutchman's mind, but a glance from Alison twice as murderous.
The girl flew into Jake's arms as soon as the door shut.
'I loved you from the moment you swept me up in my father's inn,' she declared. 'Couldn't you tell?'
'You are beautiful and brave,' said the spy, his honey-sweet tone hinting strongly at the 'but' that would follow. Well-used to breaking hearts, Jake had given this species of speech many times. Yet rarely had he felt this much tenderness delivering it.
'My heart is pledged to someone else,' he told her, lightly pushing her from his chest.
'Someone older?'
'Yes.'
The widow Sarah Thomas would have been greatly pleased to hear this, though she would have treated the words as someone does a clipped coin, not quite at face value. Still, they were meant sincerely. Jake might have made an even more eloquent case, his words rivaling many a poet's, had he explained further that before any earthly love, his life was pledged several times over to the cause of Freedom. But even Milton's tongue would have had no more effect on Alison than the simple shake of Jake's head when she asked if she might not change his mind.
'You must go with Claus to the city,' Jake ordered. He pulled up his coat and prepared for her rebuttal and was greatly surprised when none came.
'All right,' she said meekly. 'You win. Let me just go and gather my things.'
Jake narrowed his eyes as she left the kitchen to go upstairs. Nonetheless, he trusted the Dutchman would be more than a match for her. He himself had a great deal to do if he was going to finish this little puzzle.
Chapter Forty-two
“ Jake promised I could stay with him!”
Van Clynne shook his head as violently as if he were warding off a bee. 'At least use more art in your lies. He charged me with taking you to Culper not ten minutes ago.' The Dutchman puffed out his cheeks and set his hands at his belt, standing in the middle of what passed for the small house's great room. As soon as Jake had left, Alison had run down the stairs, veering from the front hallway when she saw it filled by van Clynne. She had then installed herself in a wooden chair, obviously reluctant to accept the Dutchman as her guide.
'I saved his life,' said Alison sharply, curling her arms against the wooden Windsor chair as if van Clynne would try to physically pull her up. 'And this is how I am repaid?'
'I might make the same claim several times over,' agreed the Dutchman. 'Gratitude has become a lost art. Nonetheless, you and I must attend to our mission. The lieutenant colonel has charged us with our roles, and as he often says, an expedition has but one leader.'
The phrase proved considerably more persuasive than van Clynne had hoped, as the girl stopped sulking and nodded her head — slowly, to be sure, but nonetheless in the direction which indicates agreement. She unfurled her arms and rose from the chair meekly, walking across the braided rug to join him.
'We must set out immediately,' said van Clynne, suspicious but nonetheless anxious to get started. 'I know of a man not far from here who will take us across the river at a quite reasonable price. Along the way, we may be able to find ourselves a better breakfast than what we have been provided.'
'I approve,' said the girl so quickly you would have thought she was offered a chance to buy Manhattan for a bushel full of trinkets. 'I had only a few bites of onions.'
'Consider yourself lucky,' said van Clynne, turning toward the door.
'You didn't like my cooking?'
'There was not enough of it,' he said hastily. 'You see the deprivations a soldier is treated to. You will be much more comfortable with Culper at the coffeehouse; food will be plentiful, and you may get your spying done between helpings of meat and potatoes, as it were.'
'You're right,' said the girl. But as she reached the threshold to the hallway foyer, she put her hand to her stomach and groaned heavily. 'Oh, I think the onions are acting up.'
'Are you sick?'
'No, I just — is there a chamber pot handy? Quickly!'
'Of course, child. Right in the kitchen cupboard, I believe, empty and clean.'
'I will be all right in a moment,' she said. 'If you will excuse me.'
Van Clynne nodded but followed along back to the kitchen. He was not so unschooled as to believe the stomach ache would not disappear the moment he was out of sight.
'You're not coming in to watch, I hope,' she groaned, nearly bending.
It was so powerful a performance that van Clynne retreated, closing the door behind him. He returned in an instant, however, setting a jar at the edge of a footstool where it would be knocked over when the door was opened. He then hurried outside to guard the room's only window.
Nearly ten minutes passed with no sign of Alison. Worried that he had overlooked some contingency, the squire took a peek inside the window and found the room was empty. Unsure if she had made her exit or was merely hiding, he propped his hat at the bottom of the window to make it appear as if he were sitting below. Then he ran back inside to find his stool and jar precisely as he had placed them.
'How in God's name did you manage this, child?' he asked aloud as he surveyed the empty room. 'You have not gone out the door, and the window is still closed fast.'
Van Clynne spotted the pantry closet at the side of the fireplace. Smiling to himself, he tiptoed forward, undid the latch as quietly as possible, then pulled the door open with a sharp flick of his wrist.
'A-ha,' he shouted to the cobwebs.
After considerable beard tugging, the Dutchman decided there must be some secret panel inside this cupboard, perhaps beneath the floorboards.
'This is what comes of teaching children letters at an early age,' he complained as he bent to examine them. 'I have no doubt her parents were indulgent, and allowed her to read poetry at will. I would not be surprised if she had been given Shakespeare in her crib.'
No sooner had van Clynne uttered these words than he heard a distinct creaking sound behind him. He whirled and just managed to grab Alison as she tried to spring from the pie safe out the nearby door.
'You're ripping my dress,' complained Alison. 'Let go.'
'You and I must reach an agreement,' said the Dutchman, 'whereby we are no longer enemies. Otherwise, I shall lock you in chains and have you carried on a mule all the way to the coffeehouse.'
'I won't go to the coffeehouse,' she said. 'They're going to pack me off to upper Westchester, where my only excitement will be counting robins in a nest. I shall never be of any use to the Cause.' Alison placed her hands on her hips and spoke in as plaintive a voice as ever Athena used to calm her father Zeus's famous rages. 'How am I to stand for our enslavement by the English? Should not everyone do his or her duty according to their ability? And if their efforts are not used, will the Cause not suffer? Are not women to be the equal of men in this new republic? Otherwise, why fight at all?'
'Well spoken; I begin to wonder if perhaps you have some Dutch blood in you.' Van Clynne stroked his beard thoughtfully. 'But serving as a soldier would not be a good use of your talents, even if you could pass as a young man,' he added. 'You are too free-spirited for all that drilling and standing in line.'
'I can be a spy like yourself.'
'An operative, my dear. We involve ourselves in considerably more than spying, Jake and I. We are at General Washington's call for missions of every stripe. We are the upper class of agents, as it were.'
The knit of van Clynne's brow grew to such proportions that not even Alexander could have untied it as he did the rope at Gordius. Scarce ever were the times the Dutchman had given such thought to a problem without the helpful lubrication of several barrels of fine ale: How to persuade the girl with a place where she might
