things,” Christian said with sympathy.
“It’s just that I’m so tired of this life, of always playing the role of someone other than myself,” she said, sorry the conversation had taken a personal turn.
“We all wear masks of one kind or another to protect ourselves, m’dear. You play the scatterbrain, Zechariah the Tory and I—”
“The soulless rake,” she interjected sweetly.
He grinned, unrepentant. “I do my part. Innocent girl that you are, it might surprise you to know that the wives and mistresses of British officers are more forthcoming with their secrets once they’ve been exposed to my charm. It’s delicate and dangerous work.”
“Dangerous? Ha!”
“Of course it’s dangerous. Have you not heard? There is no fury like a woman scorned. Once I’ve gleaned my information I’m required to move on to the next fair dove—”
“Sitting duck, you mean.”
“Ah, but it is the least I can do for our cause.”
They stopped at the top of the stairs. Once again Elise suffered a twinge of unease. Christian squeezed her hand in commiseration. “We all do what we must. Seven months have passed since Hawk’s betrayal. Father is growing impatient with you. If you don’t join the ranks again soon, he’ll send you back to Roger.”
At the mention of her stepfather, she grimaced. Roger was akin to a viper in her mind. He lived for profit no matter the pain he caused others. Her voice dipped to a whisper. “No one is more aware of my precarious position than I. I’ll act my part, and no one will ever guess I’m a murderess.”
Christian frowned. “Shush, don’t speak nonsense. You did what you had to do and defended yourself against the traitor. Should you have died or allowed your capture in order to line our enemy’s pockets with silver?”
She sighed. T’was a familiar argument. “I know I had no choice. Still, the nightmare plagues me. I’ve prayed and I know the Lord has forgiven me, but I can still feel Hawk’s blood on my hands.”
In the flickering candlelight of the stairwell, her friend’s expression changed to one of concern as he displayed a rare moment of seriousness. “I know, but you should put your mind at ease. You didn’t pull the trigger or intend to see him dead. In my estimation, the world is a far better place without a turncoat among us.”
“Perhaps, but I wish I’d not been the one involved.”
“Trust me, the memory will fade in time.” Christian pulled her close for a brief hug. “Now, tell me of your new orders.”
They continued down the stairs, and she grew more reluctant with each step. “His name is Drake Amberly. He claims to be a ship owner interested in reestablishing trade with colonies under British control. Zechariah wants to know if he can be persuaded to join our cause.”
Christian frowned. “I met Amberly yesterday in Charles Towne. He’s a disturbing gent, not one to tangle with, I’d wager. He conveys an easy temper, but there’s a menace about him, a danger he fails to conceal completely. Be careful of the man.”
Elise took his advice to heart. “It’s time we changed our conversation. This close to our destination even the walls are listening.”
They finished their descent in silence. Elise used the time to compose herself like an actress preparing for opening night. The chatter of their guests’ conversation wafted through the house, growing louder until it became a roar as she and Christian reached the mansion’s first floor. House slaves hustled past carrying silver trays laden with food. The scents of roast pork, fowl and spiced fruit blended to create an appealing combination.
“So, the pair of you has finally decided to join us.” They turned in unison to see Zechariah walking toward them, a scowl pinching his shiny brow.
A short, rotund man, the elder Sayer possessed a massive belly that separated his crimson waistcoat from the top of his fuchsia trousers. His stock appeared as though he’d tied it without benefit of a looking glass and his skin shone more ruddy than usual thanks to the chalked wig that sat askew atop his head.
In the eighteen months since she’d arrived at Brixton Hall, it never ceased to amaze Elise that a man unable to harmonize his own clothing could effectively coordinate one of the Patriots’ most successful assemblies of espionage.
“Of course, Father,” Christian said. “I’d never miss so grand a gathering, especially one given in my honor. A man turns five and twenty but once in his life. Nothing could keep me away.”
Known for his sour disposition, Zechariah grunted, obviously not amused by his son’s facetious manner. “I don’t appreciate being left to greet our guests alone.”
Before Christian could reply, the strains of a harpsichord and stringed quartet shifted tempo, announcing the commencement of dancing. Merry laughter drifted into the foyer from several nearby rooms.
“Our guests seem happy enough,” Elise commented in an effort to change the subject. Now was not the time for the two men to quarrel, as they were wont to do far too often.
The spymaster took her hand, but continued to eye his son. “Yes, and we should join them. As usual, the ladies are eager for this young buck’s attentions. The gentlemen have already begun to ask after you, Elise. In fact, there’s one in particular I want you to meet.”
Drake leaned against the mantel, watching the festivities with sharp eyes. The merriment of the party might have cheered him under different circumstances, but frustration flayed his nerves and wore his patience thin. Kirby hadn’t exaggerated the Fox’s elusiveness. Drake had spent a fortune in bribes, yet learned little concerning the rebel spy. Only a nearly nonexistent trail had led him here to Brixton Hall, one of the largest plantations in the Carolinas.
His contacts had assured him the Fox would be in attendance tonight. A ball such as this provided the perfect opportunity for spies and their web of associates to carry out their business unnoticed and unhindered.
Drake raised his glass and sampled the sweet punch. He suffered no illusions the Fox would give himself away. He planned to keep a watchful eye, search for clues that might reveal the man’s identity at a later date.
He perused the room, absorbing each detail. Compared to the drawing rooms he frequented in England, this one was small and plain, though artfully decorated in bright shades of yellow and blue. An abundance of Chippendale furniture lined three walls. The rugs had been rolled back to reveal a polished, wood-planked floor where a group of laughing dancers performed a reel.
Since his arrival in the Colonies three months prior, Drake had done his best to change his manner, dress and speech to match that of a man of trade. Lieutenant Kirby assured him he’d succeeded in his deception though they hadn’t stayed anywhere long enough to put his disguise to a serious test.
Drake located Lieutenant Kirby near the refreshment table. The soldier had been contributing to the hunt by eavesdropping as he moved from place to place about the room.
The music faded. All eyes turned toward the doorway as Zechariah, his son, Christian, and a stunning young woman entered the room. The guests clapped for long moments, quieting for Zechariah when he raised his hands
