Chapter Twenty-Six

Josiah Faraday hunkered at a cluttered desk stacked with papers and folders, studying an account ledger. In spite of the hour, ten o’clock in the morning, a lamp at the desk’s edge illuminated his crumpled brow. As if he sensed a presence, he glanced up.

“Griffin,” he exclaimed in a hearty welcome when he noticed him in the doorway. His uncle slid from his chair and crossed the room with outstretched arms, his angular face bathed in an infectious grin.

Griffin leaned into his uncle’s hug. His head reeled from the simple movement, the result of a nasty hangover, compliments of last night’s debauchery. Without resistance, he surrendered to the good-natured pat on the back before his uncle held him away for a quick study.

“Good God,” he bellowed. “You look like death itself! Are you ill?” He sniffed, wrinkled his nose and jerked away. “Alcohol? Got yourself in quite a tosspot, eh?” Chuckling, he reached for a chair, dragged it close, and pressed a hand on Griffin’s chest. He dropped like a sack of grain into the seat. Though he hadn’t eaten in over twenty hours, his stomach sloshed side to side.

“I’d offer you some wine…”

Griffin begged off with a raised hand and a sharp ache behind his eyes.

His uncle plopped in his desk chair and studied him quizzically. “It’s good to see you. I regret I wasn’t around when your ship arrived.”

“You’re here now.” Griffin would be ever thankful for the man’s interest and support. “Have you heard if the Providence got out of harbor without any trouble?” Despite the cloudy sky, the morning light blazed much too vividly and he squinted.

“None so far as I heard. Must be nigh on to Boston by this time. I happened to run into the good Captain before he sailed.” Josiah smiled wickedly. “My, the ladies in New York do love their French lace.”

They both chuckled, though the effort sparked a painful spasm in Griffin’s head. Despite the tempest in his gut, the crew’s safe passage from the harbor left him pleased. “How are things in New York?”

Josiah picked up a bottle of wine, uncorked it, poured the burgundy liquid in a glass, and sipped. “The British Army is a damned nuisance. I have my fingers crossed hoping the infantry will charge off across the river and not return. It seems the soldiers don’t have enough to do so they march up and down the street and arrest good, hard-working citizens. Pompous martinets. They want to make New York into another London.”

“It’ll never happen.”

“We can only pray.” Josiah rotated the scarlet liquid in his glass. “What about you? Have you seen your parents?”

Griffin raised a finger, forestalling further talk, and crossed the office. After a quick glance into the warehouse, he shut the door. “One can never be too careful.” He reclaimed his seat. “First thing, I went to see Washington. As soon as I’d given my report, I rushed back here.”

His uncle frowned. “Does he send you on assignment so soon?”

He shook his head and wished he hadn’t when he winced in pain. “I am suspected in London. I’m to wait for new orders.”

“It won’t be safe for you to remain in New York.”

Griffin nodded, stoic about his need to temporarily forgo home and work for his uncle in lieu of his duty to his country.

Josiah sat back and his big hand curled about the arm of his chair. He grinned. “Tell me about this woman.”

“What woman?” He shifted in his seat and considered denying her existence, but he couldn’t fool his uncle. “How did you guess?”

“It’s not like you to take the piss for no good reason. Doubtless a woman has driven you to the bottom of the beer barrel.”

Griffin’s transparency about women troubled and confused him. When it came to other matters, business, writing, his political beliefs, no one ever guessed what thoughts lurked in his head. But women? Uncertain where to begin he just sat there, an idiot in his prime.

“Did you meet her in London?”

He hesitated. “Yes. Then she showed up on the Providence.”

Josiah gaped. “Mulworthy allowed it?”

“He didn’t have a choice. By the time we found her we were too far out to sea.”

“A stowaway.”

“Unfortunately, yes.” Griffin smiled at the image of Lily dressed in her ridiculous servant costume.

“Must be a special woman, eh, lad?”

Special wasn’t the half of it, he concluded, massaging his temple.

“So what’s the problem?”

Too embarrassed to admit Lily had chosen another man over him, he faltered. Yet he never could keep secrets from his uncle. “She’s engaged to some—” The word ass stuck in his throat.

“I see.” Josiah hooked his fingers together over his homespun waistcoat and shrugged as if it didn’t really signify. “If she’s the one you want—lay your claim. Wear her down.”

Griffin produced a wry smile. “I never took you for the rough sort.”

At Josiah’s sudden faraway gleam, Griffin suspected his uncle remembered past times when he courted Aunt Maude, who died much too young.

“It’s complicated.” Griffin dared to use the same words Lily had used yesterday with Warwick. Suddenly averse to any pity or possible mockery, he declined to mention he’d married the woman.

Josiah shifted restlessly in the chair. “You’re overthinking it, man.”

“Maybe.”

“But?”

“She’s stubborn.” Also sweet, spirited, and all sorts of other wonderful qualities. He realized he’d grown mushy.

“And you aren’t?” Head tipped, Josiah’s reddish hair caught the light and the strands glinted like bronze.

“She’s competitive as any man.”

“A woman to keep you on your toes.” The older man rubbed his hands gleefully.

“She wants to marry a pompous cockatoo.”

“A misguided woman. Do her a favor and show her a proper man—one with both heart and brains.”

At the compliment, he rolled his eyes. Appreciative of his uncle’s effort, he drummed fingers on his thigh, trying to block out the sound of Lily’s musical laugh.

“She knows I’m a spy.”

Josiah tugged at his lip. “Is she loyal to the King?”

“She claims little knowledge of politics. Cecil Jones set her up to spy on me.”

“Ah.” Any joy disappeared from the man’s rugged face. “Jones is a poisonous snake. Ask your brother, Elliott. They’ve crossed paths.”

Griffin nodded. He would discuss the matter when he saw his brother. “She may or may not inform on me to Jones. Her wings are in a mad flutter. No telling which way she might fly.” Clearly, Warwick and London were on her map.

He hunched forward in the chair and hung his hands between his knees. “You may remember her. She’s Lily Fitzhugh, the daughter of Henry Fitzhugh. Are your familiar with him?”

“Yes, but not well. He chains himself to home for months at a time working on his inventions. At present, he’s in prison, rounded up along with a dozen others.” He picked at his chin, lost in thought for a moment before he continued. “He doesn’t strike me as the sort to make bold political statements. Still, the current state of affairs changes a man.” He frowned. “I didn’t recall Fitzhugh had a daughter.”

“He does, and I intend to get him out of prison.”

The older man reacted as one would when handed a monkey’s head. His brows rose. “A noble way to win a lady’s hand.”

“I’m not doing it to win her favor. I made up my mind to help her days ago even before I heard about her engagement. He means the world to her.” The gesture would be his final gift to Lily—a farewell present. The thought saddened him.

“You understand the risks, don’t you? To help Henry Fitzhugh escape prison will put unwanted British attention on you. For all you can tell, she’s already squawked your name to the authorities. You’d be arrested and hanged.”

“I don’t intend to get caught.” He studied his uncle’s face, a man he trusted as completely as he did his father. “Will you help me?”

****

“See that Schiller’s Tavern gets ten of these cases.” The man spoke with an easy authority, so much like Griffin who possessed a great surety and confidence.

The second man, presumably a clerk, scratched something on a slate with chalk. When he finished, he darted out a side door.

“Excuse me.” Lily spoke from Josiah Faraday’s office doorway.

Standing near a desk, the tall man turned and faced her. Through a window at his back, the late afternoon sun flashed over his head illuminating threads of silver in his auburn hair. A depression cleaved a space in his strong chin.

“May I help you, miss?”

She fisted her hand at her side, aware of the tension that rippled up her arm. She smiled politely. “I’m here to see Mr. Griffin Faraday. I understand he works here with his uncle.”

“He does.” Like Griffin’s, his razor-sharp stare disarmed her and it took conscious effort not to fidget with discomfort.

“I’m his uncle, Josiah Faraday.” An attractive man in his forties or possibly fifty, he exuded an air of keen intelligence, and was not someone to be ignored. “You have me at a disadvantage, Miss…?”

“It’s Fitzhugh. Lily Fitzhugh.” She wondered if Griffin had spoken of her or mentioned their marriage.

By way of acknowledgment, he dipped his chin. The sudden lightness in his manner, as if amused, raised her curiosity.

“My nephew left some hours ago. I’m sorry to say he’ll be in Philadelphia for the next week.”

“Oh.” Her shoulders slumped with disappointment.

“May I be of assistance, Miss Fitzhugh?”

In anticipation Washington might have dispatched Griffin to some far-off location, she’d come prepared. “When you see him, will you give him this?” Since he’d stormed from her house yesterday, she’d had plenty of time to reflect. When she arrived at a decision, she wrote several letters. From her purse, she retrieved the thick envelope and handed it to his uncle.

He glanced from it to her. “Wouldn’t you prefer to keep it and give it to him yourself?”

“Things are rather unsettled.” She wavered, questioning how much to reveal. “It would relieve me greatly if he saw this at the earliest convenience.”

Brow drawn in thought, he tapped the sealed parchment upon his desk. “Rest assured I’ll see he receives it.”

It would have to do. “Thank you.” She turned to go.

“A moment, if you please.” She faced him, surprised at his somber expression. “I’m sorry to hear about your father.”

Had everyone in the city heard about Papa’s imprisonment?

“It’s a trying time for many families.” His understanding tone tugged an inner ache.

“Yes, it is.” She watched as he put her missive into a desk drawer.

“The British have jailed so many on these wretched ships. They would be well to accept people are not casks of wine to be stored in a crate at the bottom of a stinking boat.”

She’d witnessed the deplorable conditions first hand and didn’t need any reminders. “It’s despicable.”

Arms crossed, he set his feet wide apart. “It’s a tragedy when a loved one is locked up for their political sentiments, wouldn’t you agree?”

On the surface, his words registered as sympathetic to Papa’s ordeal. Yet a subtle change had overcome the man. His sudden defensive stance and fierce gaze suggested a greater, underlying meaning to his words. An unspoken threat.

“It’s the worst possible outcome,” she answered.

“Were it a member of my family arrested, the occurrence would shake me to my very foundation.”

Again, his intense demeanor and grave words clamored with warning. So he knew about her and Cecil Jones. Griffin must have told him. It made sense he also knew about Griffin’s activities for the Colonial Army. “You’re worried about Griffin, aren’t you, Mr. Faraday?” And what she might do with the information.

“It would shatter me if my nephew came to harm.” An unmistakable power vibrated in his words, as strong and forceful as his towering form. “I don’t wish to see Griffin arrested for any reason, do you?”

She held his gaze, attuned to the heavy thump, thump in her head. “Not on my account.” She forced a smile. “Good day, Mr. Faraday.”