Chapter 17

"Mr. Weaver is in the kitchen, worried about you; asked me to give you this." Anne handed Billy the folded paper. It was still early, the sun barely up. She stood watching, worrying.

"Hm," said the young man. He had used the chamber pot twice during the night and each time, by candlelight, could see that he had produced some blood as well as rather brackish urine. His back was crawling with pain. "He wants a list a'my contacts. Says he'll warn m'friends." He sniffed and looked at her, puzzled.

"Well?" Anne tried not to look at his bare back. All he was wearing was a light towel about his loins. She was surprised his legs were so hairy and thin.

"Tell 'im I don' understand. Smells like a trap, this does." Billy handed her back the note, holding his towel to his lean belly. "Mebbe they's turned 'im about."

"Did you sleep?"

"Some, off'n on. Weren't too bad." He managed a smile at her. "Used some opium, bitter stuff." He made a wry face and flicked out his tongue, trying to smile.

When Anne returned with a bowl of broth, she said, "He was angry, disappointed. Stalked away muttering. Called you a lickspittle shite,." She smiled at him, savoring the curse she had never used.

Billy sat up with the sheet in his lap and spooned up the soup while Anne held the bowl and studied his face. She decided that, despite his bruises, he was quite handsome, at least compared to some of the pock-marked and weak-chinned British dandies and gross Germans she had lately met. I've known him so long, but I've never really looked at him, not as a man.

"You need a shave," she said with a smile, touching his cheek.

"May grow a beard, a disguise like." He smiled back at her. "Someone maught come lookin' for me, Anne, from our side. I report weekly, put messages in a tree bole." He put down the spoon and licked his lips.

"Why would they come here?"

"I brag about you, fool, claim yer my, well." He grinned at her, almost embarrassed. "Y'could do me a favor couldn't y'now?"

She nodded and set the empty bowl aside, happy that he had eaten so fast. "I will not spy for you, m'lad, or for your mighty Washington either."

He smiled. "Course not. Unnerstan'. G'you in trouble, that would. No, no. But I need to tell some that, well, that I'm out a'business." He made a lopsided grin.

She nodded and saw him wince as he shifted position and then lie back down on his side. He held out his bruised hand. "See if y'can yank this ring off."

It was difficult because his knuckle was swollen, but greased with a bit of soup, Anne managed to screw it off, a wide gold band with a square blue stone. "What is it, this triangle thing?"

"Masonic. A pyramid I think and dividers. Jus' go visit a few people, some men, show 'em the ring and tell'm I've been, no, just say I'll not be coming. Aw'right?"

"Perhaps," she said, nodding, furrowing her forehead. I am loyal, and he is asking me to do something disloyal. If I love him, I should do it. She sighed and looked away. Bother. Why is it so, um, what? So complicated? Perhaps it doesn't matter, not really. She swallowed a sigh.

"Need a piece a'paper," he said with a smile. "Feels like I got moles on my back, girl, burrowing."

An hour later, using her aunt's light rig and elderly driver and armed with a small list of seven business places, Anne went into town, caped and hooded. She started with a tobacconist on 3rd Street, showed him the ring, saw his eyes widen and told him Billy's message.

"Aye, lass, thank you. The lobsterbacks are all in a tizzy 'bout something, had a score in here already, poking around, buyin' not a thing."

Next was an old tavern, and Anne went to the back, asked for the innkeeper and delivered her message while holding up the ring. The big man nodded, grinned and said, "Never 'eard of him."

As she walked back down the alley toward the waiting carriage, avoiding the foul drain in the cobbled alley's center, she heard a horse behind her and stepped aside. A dragoon officer in long leather trousers reined up, his big hat at a jaunty angle.

"Oy, y'redheaded trollop, swive y'agin the wall for a shilling. Won' even get yer gown dirty, y' foxy slut."

Anne ignored him, and he quickly dismounted and stood before her, hands on hips, sword chain jangling. "Colonial bitch, I offered y'good money."

"I'm not a trollop, sir," Anne said loudly, wondering why she couldn't see her carriage at the end of the passageway any more, her heart beating fast.

"Naw, but it's you I'm seeking, y'slattern." He reached out, flipped back her hood and touched her tousled hair. "Right, a flamin' redhead?" He grinned, blew the whistle dangling on his chest and grasped her wrist.