Free The Rebel Pirate by Donna Thorland Page A

and reached for the brown-glazed pot on the table, the kind the Dutch merchants sold, a delicate Chinese piece set in a scalloped gold mount. It had once been Sarah’s, auctioned like so much else to fund the
Sally
’s voyage.
    Beside it was a plate of ginger cakes, baked, Sarah knew, by Micah’s cook, Mrs. Friary. They had been a favorite treat of Sarah’s in childhood, when Mrs. Friary operated a bakery near the wharf. Knowing how much Sarah enjoyed the little delicacies, Micah had hired the baker to cook for the new house. Sarah’s mouth watered at the thought of tasting one for the first time in years.
    “Information is currency,” said the widow, pouring a steaming ribbon of tea into Sarah’s cup. Evidently the Rebel prohibition did not extend to the households of high Sons of Liberty like Micah. “And
currency
,” continued Angela Ferrers, “of course, is currency, especially gold. It is welcome in every port of every nation and it is untraceable, melting back into the money supply after it has done its service.” She passed Sarah a cup. The widow’s hands were manicured, and she wore three dainty mourning rings crusted with pearls.
    “The gold,” said Sarah, seeing no point in dissembling now, “was captured by the British yesterday and will be in Boston by now.”
    “And you were on the same ship, yet here you sit. How is that?”
    Angela Ferrers was far too well-informed. “They tried,” she said, “to press my brother. So I took the captain hostage and ordered his men off the
Sally
. They had already removed the gold. I could not get it back without risking our freedom.”
    “Either you are a very singular young woman,” said Angela Ferrers, placing a sugared brown cake on Sarah’s plate—she could smell the ginger and molasses in it—“or that is the story you and Wild concocted to conceal your theft of the gold.”
    The spicy cake lost all appeal. “Why do you think
I
stole your gold?”
    “You are penniless.”
    “Being poor is not the same thing as being a criminal.”
    “Please, Miss Ward, your father was a pirate. Criminality, or so it is said, runs in the blood.”
    “I doubt such traits are heritable,” Sarah replied. “Neither of my parents could balance a ledger, yet I have a fine head for numbers.”
    A hint of a smile flashed over Angela Ferrers’ face. “You are more intelligent than I expected, but the fact remains. You are a Loyalist, and Wild’s lover. You had both motive and opportunity to plot such a theft.”
    “One encounter does not make a man a lover. Micah jilted me. And he is an ardent Patriot.”
    “And he was once your devoted fiancé. Until circumstances changed. Your head for numbers should lead you to a logical conclusion there.”
    She had never questioned Micah’s political loyalties, only his romantic allegiances. “You don’t trust him,” she said.
    “I trust Micah Wild to act in his own interest. I am here to discover where those interests lie.”
    “I am not Wild’s lover. Credit me with some pride, at least.”
    “I begin to suspect that you have more than is good for you. What became of the flint?”
    “The British threw that overboard.”
    “That is a pity. Flint is necessary to strike a spark.”
    “You mean it is necessary to start a war.”
    “Do not be fooled by the quiet, Miss Ward. War has already started. Formal declarations tend to come after the fact. King George has said that the colonies must submit or triumph. Your countrymen have given him their answer. They are stealing cannon from their village greens and laying chain across their harbors.”
    “The ports have been at odds with the navy over the press and the customs acts for years. You cannot be certain that this time it will come to war,” said Sarah.
    “It is my policy,” said Angela Ferrers, “to leave very little to chance. Congress is adamant that the colonies will not fire the first shot, but I will make certain that when that shot
is
fired, the American