Blue stripes. Yellow flowers. Gleaming satins. If Becca couldn’t fling rocks to satisfy her anger, dresses would do. She grabbed another armful of new gowns from hooks along the wall and flung them onto her desk chair and, then, her bed.
She should be out searching for her mother. But where would she begin? Where would she go? Becca was trapped here. Trapped in this room. She pulled open the weathered black trunk that sat at the foot of her bed, thankful that she’d resisted the servant’s attempts to remove it.
“It is not pleasing to the eye,” one maid explained. Well, it was pleasing to Becca’s eye. It was plain and exactly what it appeared to be, unlike the rest of the mansion. Living within these painted, shining walls, Becca felt as if she had eaten too many sweets. Virtually every surface was decorated.
Good riddance. She scooped up a pair of silk stockings with flowers embroidered at their heel, threw them into the trunk, and stopped. She and Daniel would leave for home once they found her mother.
Becca flung a blue silk slipper into the trunk and heard a satisfying thump as it came to rest. What if Hannah wanted to stay? Of course, Hannah would come home to Morristown. Who would want to live here in a country at war with itself?
Never mind that, she told herself. As many Americans opposed independence as supported it, even after all these years of war. Especially after all these years. Becca threw the second slipper against the wall with even more force. A small plaster chip flew into the air.
Did Hannah go willingly with Michael or not? Michael saved Daniel the night of the attack. He brought Hannah’s French family together to meet her. Could a kind man also be a killer? The question gave her a headache. She wanted clear answers, and there were none to be had.
Tossing clothes round the room was less soothing than she’d anticipated. So Becca settled herself at her desk, sweeping her arm across it to clear the surface. From a drawer, she pulled out her ledger, pen, and ink. The familiar activity brought her a rare moment of peace. She began with a column labeled ‘Suspects.’
Michael. She underlined his name.
Loves America’s fight for freedom. Hates the king. Would he kill to protect Dr. Franklin? Did he know Jude? Her pen hovered until a blotch of ink marred the page. Does he love my mother?
Becca pressed a blotting sheet to the smudge, then moved on to the next name, underlining Patience Wright. She raised her gaze to one of the tall windows, recalling how the artist’s face had lit with joy the day they arrived with Jude, then the hatred when she saw the handkerchief with another woman’s initials. Becca refilled her pen.
Loved and hated Mr. Fenimore. Did Patience lure him here to kill him? But how? Strong enough to lift him to the lightning rod and tie him there. What about Dr. Franklin’s carriage accident? She lived in England for years and was beloved by all the gentry, even the king and queen. Is she here to hurt Dr. Franklin at the king’s behest?
There was only one name to add: Edward Bancroft. Be fair. Be especially fair, because you do not like him. She took up the quill pen again.
A spy who is jealous of Dr. Franklin. Jealous enough to cause the carriage accident? Met Jude the day we arrived. Has lived in France for a while. Did he meet Jude earlier, before his trip to America?
Becca took a deep breath. Her rib cage pressed against the boned stays beneath her dress. She didn’t have many answers. But making a list gave her the illusion that life was as well-ordered as the accounts she kept at home in her ledger. She loved a good list.
The sun had shifted, creating new shadows in the bedroom, darkening a corner of the floor strewn with stockings, highlighting the bed with its mountain of gowns.
“You made this mess. You’ll clean it up, missy.” That’s what Annie would have told her at home in Morristown. The thought put a small smile on her face. It would take Becca at least twice as long to return the objects to their hooks than it had to create this chaos. She might as well begin.
But standing by the desk, on impulse, she added one more name to the list of suspects: Gabriel d’Aumont.
Is he having an affair with Patience? Loves American independence and the French king. As talented a liar as Daniel. Why wait to bring the police to arrest Michael today when Monsieur d’Aumont already knew Michael was here?
That would have to be enough for now. It was time to straighten up.
“May I come in?” Augusta called. Her voice on the other side of the bedroom door was muffled.
“Of course,” Becca called.
Daniel slipped through first.
Augusta’s eyes lit with humor as she followed, whispering, “I haven’t snuck into a bedroom like this since a weekend party in Mayfair before either of you were born.”
“I think I know where to find Hannah,” Daniel said.
“Where?” Becca’s spirits lifted.
“The stables next door. Where else can he go safely for now? The police will be looking for him.”
“Have you been there yet?”
“I shall go tonight. Come with me.”
Becca closed the gap between them, then disentangled herself as Augusta cleared her throat.
Daniel waited for Becca at the back corner of the mansion’s lawn. In the distance, a chorus of crickets sang, and the church bells rang the hour. Ten p.m.
Becca appeared moments later. Her tread was silent beneath the light of the waxing moon. He nodded, and they headed toward the neighbor’s place.
“They could be anywhere,” she whispered minutes later. “They could be on their way to the Swiss Confederacy for all we know.”
Benjamin Franklin mentioned that mountainous country often enough. One of his grandsons was at school there, Daniel knew.
“Or they’ll want to go to ground nearby until they know whether the police are blocking the roads to search for Michael,” he said. “And he and your family know the stable hands.”
“I only want my mother back,” Becca said. They fell into silence again.
“There,” Daniel said a while later. He recognized the long, narrow stable where he’d talked to the worried servants the other day.
A dark shape hurried toward the stables, holding a tray almost as wide as he or she was tall. Daniel could just make out the shape of a pitcher. It glistened in the light of the moon. But he was too far away to see whether the tray held food.
Daniel scanned the back of the house before stepping forward. The windows appeared dark and empty. Either the family had gone to sleep or was out at a party. He and Becca crept forward.
Two men separated themselves from the darkness of the building. One held a pitchfork, the other a scythe.
Daniel held his arms out to let them see that he carried no weapon.
Becca gasped, “Sebastien,” then pulled up the front of her hem and ran.
Daniel approached more cautiously. They waited for him.
The taller, stouter stranger gestured to come round the far side of the building. Daniel and Becca followed, entering through a small door round the back of the stable. The sweet, earthy smell of a well-kept stable greeted them.
So did Michael, Hannah, and their three female cousins.
Daniel nodded at the man holding the dinner tray. He was one of the stable hands. They’d met when Daniel came to talk about Franklin’s carriage.
Becca glared at Michael and rushed to her mother.
Michael placed a finger over his lips in warning.
“Eat first,” Daniel whispered. “We’ll talk after.”
Yeasty bread, tangy cheeses, cold ham, and ale made up the late-night meal. After they ate, the cousins hugged Becca, then retreated. They spoke softly to each other as they made up beds comprised of piles of hay. A single candle cast a wobbly light on four sleeping horses in the five stalls.
Michael tore off another piece of bread. Without looking up, he said, “I thought I saw Captain Charron.”
“So, it is true, what we heard?” Daniel sat next to him on the hay-covered floor.
“It depends on what you’ve heard.” The baker shrugged.
“That you are the scourge of France and travel the country convincing peasants not to pay taxes,” Becca said.
Michael flashed a smile. “I wish I were the scourge of the monarchy. But it is not too far from the truth. Did you know the nobility pay no taxes here?”
“Doesn’t sound terribly noble,” Daniel said.
“It is getting harder to hide.” Michael gave Hannah a worried look. “I wish you had stayed behind. This isn’t a safe life for you.”
“You didn’t force my mother to come with you?” Becca asked.
“He couldn’t stop me.” Hannah’s smile was sad. “I cannot lose him so soon.”
Becca’s face tensed with trepidation, as if she foresaw her mother and Michael without a home, running from the police like foxes before hounds.
“But it’s not Charron who worries you.” Hannah reached for Michael’s hand. “It is Monsieur d’Aumont.”
Daniel’s attention sharpened. d’Aumont had given the police officer orders. Even Dr. Franklin took the young man’s advice. Who was he? “He’s a pleasant enough fellow.” Daniel leaned against the stable wall. “d’Aumont may have a secret or two. Who doesn’t?”
Michael shredded the crust between his fingers as he spoke. “Would you be surprised to hear that d’Aumont has known for weeks that I go by Zadkiel?”
“Yes, I would be surprised,” Daniel drawled. The more intrigued he was by a conversation, the less interested he appeared. Becca teased him about it on occasion.
“Do you recall the lemon and poppy seed pastry Michael made our first week with Dr. Franklin?” Hannah asked.
Becca and Daniel nodded.
“Monsieur d’Aumont told him he couldn’t believe his luck that night, sitting at the table with us. He said that Michael’s extraordinary creations are what gives him away each time he moves to a new province.” Hannah smiled at the baker with pride.
“He did enjoy that lemon poppy tart,” Michael said.
“Why didn’t he have you arrested then?” Becca asked. “Why wait?”
“He offered to make the charge of treason go away.” The baker’s eyes were cold. “I would only need to provide the names of those who think as I do about our need to end the monarchy. I would be a spy.” He spat the word as if it were a curse.
Becca and Daniel exchanged a quick glance. They had been spies, too, spies for liberty.
“Michael said no, of course,” Hannah explained.
“Over and over, I say no.”
Becca’s eyes lit. “You had a fight the evening that Jude Fenimore was killed. Someone heard. Who did you fight with?”
“A fight?” Michael frowned. “Yes. That was the night I fought with Monsieur d’Aumont. I am in the kitchen early, even for me. He finds me there.. He says I must decide then and there to accept his offer or not.” The baker waved his hand as if shooing away flies.
“Be a spy or be arrested. Before then, he would say, ‘think about it. I will come back.’ But that night, he says, ‘you will tell me now your decision.’ I say ‘no.’ You are there the day Monsieur d’Aumont and the captain come to take me.”
“It is dangerous to be right in matters where established men are wrong,” Daniel said. “That makes you a dangerous man.”
“An American who quotes Voltaire?” Michael’s smile brightened his face. “You yelled to warn me about the police. I am grateful to you forever, my friend.” He reached out his left hand to Daniel, who shook it with his left.
The gesture cemented their friendship. Few people took Daniel’s injury, his frozen right hand, into account with such ease.
The candle was worn to little more than a nub. Hannah’s eyes were fluttering shut.
“And now you must go with your daughter,” Michael said to Hannah.
She blinked herself awake. “I said I would stay with you. I meant it.”
“You will become a criminal. You will be hunted as I am, and you will never be safe. Do you know what that will do to me?”
Hannah’s eyes pooled with moisture.
Michael knew her well for the little time they’d spent together, Daniel thought. Becca’s mother couldn’t tolerate the idea that she was the source of pain in the people she loved.
Becca reached to hold her mother’s hand. “Dr. Franklin says that anyone living in his household is safe from the police, even you. Michael. Can you come back when the police stop looking for you here?”
“Hannah and I were separated as children. We will never be apart again, will we, my dear? I will be back for you in days.” Michael forced cheer into his voice.
“Of course you will. All will be well.” Hannah didn’t seem to notice the tears running down her cheeks.
Daniel tensed at the phrase. He was surprised to see it had the same effect on Becca.
They said their farewells and stood outside, giving Hannah and Michael a few minutes of privacy before leaving. Alone in the dark, Becca leaned against him, her back to his chest. “Will they ever see each other again, do you think?
“All will be well,” Daniel said.
Becca twitched as if she’d been shot through with some of Dr. Franklin’s electricity.