The Blacksmith's Daughter: A Mystery of the American Revolution by Suzanne Adair Page B

privacy.   She fluttered eyelashes at him.   " Mais oui !"
    He sneaked a moist kiss to her
neck.   "Mmm.   I cannot wait to hear the
details."   He released her and
groaned.   "Oh, gods."
    Susana had emerged from the dining
room and was bearing down on him with arms flung wide.   "Dear, dear, Clark!   What an absolute delight to see you again!   Do come here.   Give your auntie a hug!   We have so much to talk about, don't we?   Next time you visit, you will stay an entire week!"
    ***
    Yawning, Betsy elbowed the stable
door open wider, her lantern pushing back the night inside.   "Evening, my lady."   Lady May perked up her head with pleasure.   Betsy hung the lantern, set down Captain
Arriaga's box, and patted Clark's gelding before reaching for the mare's saddle
blanket.   "I'll catch the devil
from Mr. Fairfax on the morrow if I don't show the captain what's in this box."   After a day on the road and an evening calculating
business expenses for Susana, she was too tired to walk.
    She'd wished for Clark's company,
but he'd been keen to seek the tavern after supper, escape Susana's futile
attempts at justifying a second page of the newspaper, and buy his promised
drinks for Stoddard's patrol.   Through
her disappointment, she realized she'd have to explain first why she hadn't
told him the entire truth about the veil and parasol.   The business of half-truths had become convoluted, and she wanted
to be done with it, even though the thought of facing Sheffield alone with the
veil and parasol felt ominous.   Lady
May, at least, didn't seem to mind accompanying her on the short trip to the
other end of town, so she stroked her horse.   "That's my good lass."
    Minutes later, she dismounted
before Sheffield's house and secured the mare beside a gelding she recognized
as the one Stoddard had ridden.   The
door opened when she stepped onto the front porch, and Finnegan lifted a
lantern to illumine her and the box she carried.   "Mrs. Sheridan."   Avian screeches and human cheers from a cockfight behind the Red Rock
Tavern reached their ears.   Fastidious
concern furrowed the servant's brow.   "What are you doing out alone tonight?"
    "Lieutenant Fairfax ordered me
to show the contents of this box to Captain Sheffield before I left town."
    The Irishman's concern descended
into distaste.   "Fairfax,
hrumph.   Come inside, then, while I
fetch the captain."
    Prompted by Finnegan's knock on the
study door and murmured message, Sheffield opened the door, eyebrow cocked with
piqued interest, and invited Betsy in.   What if the captain found something in the package that made her suspect
of colluding with the rebels?   Throat burning
with anxiety, she entered, her posture demure.   Near the study's side window, Stoddard set aside a glass one quarter
full of amber brandy and bowed.   With
both officers present, perhaps one was guaranteed to find something amiss in the box.   Fairfax had seemed
certain of it.   Finnegan lit more
candles, conferring a warm glow upon the room with its plain, sturdy furniture,
but Betsy fidgeted.
    Without preamble, she explained how
she'd come by the veil and parasol.   The
officers examined everything and within two minutes decided that the box and
its contents weren't hiding any secret messages.   Holding to her story about leaving the letter in Augusta, Betsy
recounted Arriaga's message.   Her
instincts, or perhaps Laughing Eyes's warning about the safety of her parents,
told her not to repair the misunderstanding just yet that Jacques le Coeuvre,
not Mathias Hale, was her father.   Fortunately the letter was vague on the point of her paternity.
    Sheffield handed her back the box
with the veil and parasol.   "The
letter sounds innocuous enough, and we've no intelligence that Miguel de Arriaga
is an agent for the rebels.   However,
the rebels have been known to intercept the missives of neutral parties and
implant seditious messages within.   Therefore, I think it