Paper Woman: A Mystery of the American Revolution (6 page)

Sophie brushed
past her into the humidity of the porch.
 
"John, we've had a burglar!"

"Oh, for
god's sake," said Susana, shaking water from her mobcap out of her
eyes.
 
"Is the villain still
there?"

"No."

John climbed
into the driver's seat.
 
"What did
he steal?"

"One of
Father's books, I believe."

Susana and John
burst into laughter, and Susana added, "We're exhausted and drenched,
Sophie.
 
Report the theft to your
precious redcoat on the morrow."
 
She laughed again.
 
"And
here's an excellent caption in your newspaper.
 
'Book-Stealing Scoundrel Burgles Newspaper Editor's House.'"

John snapped
the reins.
 
"Heigh!
 
Get up!"
 
With a jerk and a creak, the wagon rolled through the mud and off
into the night.

A puddle of
water had collected beneath Mary, who looked woebegone.
 
Sophie closed the front door and flung her
hands up.
 
"Well, don't just stand
there.
 
Get yourself into dry
clothing."

***

"Mrs.
Barton!
 
Wake up!
 
Please, wake up!"

From somewhere
below, Sophie heard pounding on a door and the hounds barking.
 
She fended Mary's hands off her shoulders
and bolted upright, trying to shake the fuzzies from her head.

Terror writhed
across Mary's face by candlelight.
 
"There's two Spaniards at the back door calling for your
father.
 
We'll be ravished and murdered!
 
By
Spaniards
!"

Spaniards.
 
Sophie shoved the girl aside and climbed out
of bed.
 
"Take hold of your
wits.
 
Have you ever fired a
pistol?"

"Wh-what?
 
You want me to sh-shoot them?"

"Never
mind.
 
Just stay out of my
way."
 
Flinging a shawl over her
shift, she grabbed the pistol and Mary's lantern.
 
After verifying that Will wasn't in bed, she padded downstairs
ahead of her shivering servant.

With the pistol
hid behind her, she hung the lantern beside the back door and opened it.
 
In the yard, Achilles and Perseus growled at
two Spaniards who stood shoulder-to-shoulder on her step.
 
The men's glowers transformed into leers at
the sight of her, and her fingers flexed on the butt of the pistol.
 
"For what purpose do you interrupt our
sleep?"

The man on her
right murmured to his partner, "
La hija del Lobo
."
 
The daughter of the Wolf.
 
The Wolf.
 
Was that some sort of alias for Will?

A lie wouldn't
hurt.
 
Her voice sliced the damp night
air.
 
"Speak English, for I
understand no Spanish."

The smile of
the other man broadened.
 
He muttered to
his companion, "
Es muy bonita
," before addressing her.
 
"
Señora
, we have urgent business
with
Señor
Will St. James."

"It will
wait until the morrow.
 
Begone."
 
When she shoved
the door with her foot, his hand blocked it from closing.
 
She whipped out the pistol, cocked it fully,
and leveled the barrel at his nose, hoping he couldn't see her heart pounding
in her throat.
 
Both Spaniards' eyes
bulged in shock.
 
"Away, or I'll
blow someone's miserable brains from here to Madrid."

They backed
from the door, their stares on the pistol, the dogs still growling.
 
She slammed the door shut with her foot and
extinguished the lantern.
 
"Mary,
drop the bars across both doors."
 
If Will came home, he'd have to sleep in the stable.

Mary complied,
and Sophie peeked out the dining room window, but it was too dark to see
much.
 
She strode into the shop and
peered out the windows while Mary barred the front door.
 
Nothing.

"A-A-Are
they gone?"

Sophie sighed,
certain the girl was twisting her fingers in her shift.
 
Having an indentured servant had seemed a
good option to slavery, which Sophie abhorred, but Mary possessed neither spine
nor brains.
 
"I hope so.
 
Make sure all windows on the ground floor
are closed."

Back in the
pressroom, she lit a lantern and loaded another pistol.
 
She and Mary secured the house, and she sent
the girl up to bed, forcing herself to remain awake another hour.
 
The Spaniards didn't return, and the dogs
calmed.

Still, when she
trudged up to bed at two o'clock Sunday morning, she carried the pistols with
her.
 
In the doorway of her father's
bedroom, she paused to whisper, "What's become of you?"

***

"Mrs.
Barton!
 
Wake up!
 
Please, wake up!"

Not again.
 
Sophie moaned and rolled over in bed,
opening one eye.
 
This time, at least it
was daylight.

Mary set a
towel and pitcher of water beside the washbasin.
 
"Major Hunt is downstairs asking for you, and he brought
that — that unpleasant Lieutenant Fairfax and a dozen soldiers!"

Dread clambered
over Sophie.
 
"Inform him I'll be
down in five minutes.
 
Then help me
dress."
 
Mary curtsied and scurried
out.
 
Sophie rolled from bed, tied her
hair back with a ribbon, and sloshed water in the basin.
 
By the time Mary returned, she was already
blotting off her face.

Edward appeared
to have passed the night in the same restless state she had, and his expression
filled with duty when she entered the shop.
 
Fairfax, too, had bags under his eyes, but vitality blossomed across his
face at the sight of her.
 
Outside, a
sea of redcoats blocked her view of the street.
 
She said, "May I serve you gentlemen something to
drink?"

Edward shook
his head.
 
"I would speak with your
father.
 
Where is he this morning?
 
His horse isn't stabled."

"I don't
know where he is.
 
He didn't come home
last night."

He extended his
arm in Fairfax's direction.
 
From a
leather portfolio, Fairfax withdrew a broadside.
 
Edward showed it to Sophie.
 
It depicted a redcoat bayoneting a kneeling militiaman, and the caption
read, "Tarleton's Quarter."

She touched her
fingers to her mouth in horror, unable to tear her gaze from the gruesome
image.
 
"Ye gods."
 
So that's what the Committee had printed two
nights before.
 
"How horrid."

His expression
hard, Edward handed the broadside back to Fairfax.
 
"We found ten of them posted about town.
 
Since the print run lasted most of Friday
night, there were clearly more than ten printed.
 
Where are the rest?"

"I've no
idea.
 
I'd nothing to do with it."

This time
Fairfax handed him a newspaper.
 
Edward
held it out for her, and she examined it.
 
"Last Wednesday's paper."

He nodded.
 
"You supervised the printing?"

"Yes."
 
She glanced at Fairfax.
 
His eyes glittered.
 
His face held the rapture of a saint who has
communed with angels.
 
The ache in her
belly flared like dry kindling on a banked campfire.

Edward directed
her attention to an advertisement for Zeb's dance.
 
"Notice the crease in the lowercase 'e' of Mr. Harwick's
first name."

"Yes."
 
Her mouth dry, she sensed what was coming.

"Examine
the broadside again.
 
What do you see in
the lowercase 'e' of Colonel Tarleton's name?"

"A crease
in the curve."
 
She silently
lambasted her father for not having been more cautious.

"Would
that not imply that these documents were printed by the same hand?"

She lifted her
chin.
 
"Yes, but I've already told
you I'd nothing to do with the production of that broadside."

Edward returned
both papers to Fairfax.
 
"Where
were you during the print run two nights ago?"

"Asleep
upstairs."

"While
eight men crowded the pressroom the night before last and printed copy after
copy of a broadside, you never woke up?"

"I sleep
soundly."

"Weren't
you curious as to your father's visitors?"

"Why
should I be?
 
His business is his
own."

"I shall
ask you again.
 
Where is your father
right now?"

"I told
you I don't know."

Fairfax stepped
forward, his face angelically beautiful.
 
"Sir, allow me a few minutes alone with her.
 
I assure you I shall find out everything she
knows about the rebel operations."

Unable to hold
Fairfax's unearthly stare of frigid green, she sought humanity in Edward's
eyes.
 
"Cease this foolish
prattle.
 
You
know
King George is
my sovereign."

Fairfax's
nostrils twitched.
 
"False loyals
profess fidelity to His Majesty even as the noose is draped round their
necks."

Edward sounded
bored.
 
"Fairfax, as you
were."
 
The lieutenant subsided
into silence, a rare hound with the intelligence to curb his barking instinct,
but Sophie stayed tense.
 
Edward
scrutinized her.
 
"Show me your
lowercase e's."

"Of
course.
 
I'll even help you find the
creased letter, but it's circumstantial evidence."
 
Pivoting, she did her best to flounce into
the pressroom, despite her fluttering heart.
 
Edward followed and observed while she sorted through a tray of
vowels.
 
"Someone burgled my house
last night while I was at the dance."

"What was
stolen?"

"One of my
father's books."

"I believe
you know far too much about the dealings of these rebels to be considered
innocent."

She barked a
laugh.
 
"My skill at deducing
what's missing from my house makes me suspect.
 
How logical.
 
What if I said two
Spaniards came banging on my door in the middle of the night?"

"Spaniards."
 
An edge cut his voice.
 
"What did they want?"

"Will St.
James.
 
My loaded pistol convinced them
to conduct their business in broad daylight."
 
Shutting the tray, she turned to him and deposited an
"e" in his hand.
 
"Here's
the evidence with which I may be damned."

His hand closed
about the letter.
 
"I hate
arresting you, but you've been a passive accomplice in rebel operations."

"He's my
father.
 
Am I supposed to betray my own
blood?"

"Your 'own
blood' has vanished and allowed you to be implicated in his stead."

She unclamped
her teeth.
 
"I presume you've
arrested those who assisted my father at printing?"

"Unfortunately
not.
 
After being questioned, they've
not admitted to wrongdoing."

And they had no
circumstantial evidence against them.
 
Enraged that culpability for rebel operations had fallen on her, she
wondered if she could shift the blame where it belonged.
 
"How may I prove my innocence?"

He wrapped the
"e" in cloth, tucked it in his waistcoat pocket, and withdrew a small
piece of paper.
 
It bore a scrawled list
of numbers beginning
seventeen, four, twenty-five, sixteen, forty-nine,
eleven
.
 
"Does this mean
anything to you?"
 
She shook her
head.
 
"It's a cipher intended for
your father."

"How do
you know that?
 
And where did you find
it?"

He ignored her
questions.
 
"Our expert on codes
has yet to break it."
 
He handed
her the paper.
 
"Decode it within a
day.
 
Give me your word that you'll not
try to escape, and I shall let you remain under house arrest while you're
working on it."

She gaped in
dismay from the numbers to him.
 
"What makes you think I can succeed where your expert failed?"

"You know
your father better than we do.
 
Your
success will convince me of your innocence and exonerate you.
 
Otherwise, I must escort you to jail."

"But you
still haven't told me how you know the cipher was intended for my father.
 
How do I know you aren't just sending me on
a fool's errand?"