Free Paper Woman: A Mystery of the American Revolution by Suzanne Adair Page B

her
head into the shop and bade the men goodnight before heading upstairs, feet
dragging in pretense of weariness.   But
behind her closed bedroom door, she rushed to the desk and spread the new
cipher open.   Fairfax had left Confessions on her desk.   Did the new cipher use the
same key?
    Within minutes,
its message emerged: serpent knows all old fort too dangerous leave
immediately for havana woman in black veil awaits you church of saint teresa .   Her imagination leaped.
    If Don
Alejandro hadn't already been diverted to Cuba for the meeting, he might still
expect to rendezvous with a messenger in St. Augustine.   She could pose as the messenger, meet the
Spaniard, and learn who'd murdered her father and Jonah Hale.   Perhaps she'd even help bring the murderer
to justice.
    Ah, but
embracing such a plan required freedom, a horse, and supplies.   She had none of that.   She slumped in the chair with a ragged sigh,
admitting the crazy, reckless nature of the scheme.
    Brooding, she
rose, stuffed the new cipher and translation into her pocket, dimmed the
lantern, and lay back on her bed.   The
night was moonless, the atmosphere heavy with moisture.   No breeze ventured inside her window.   Sweat gathered between her thighs, in the
crack of her buttocks, and in her armpits.   She'd have been far more comfortable undressed to her shift, but
intuition prodded her that the night wasn't over.
    For the
information in the new cipher to be legitimate, the courier must have gotten
skittish at the sight of soldiers at the house and decided to drop the pot off
without drawing attention to himself.   The Red Rock closed at two in the afternoon on the Lord's Day, so the
courier would have had little chance to hear that the recipient of the
flowerpot was dead.   Therefore the
probability was good that she wasn't dealing with a false encryption, and she
could trust the cipher.
    Who was El
Serpiente?   A Spaniard, surely, but from
his actions, no ally to rebels or redcoats.   She stared at the ceiling.   Her
imagination, stimulated by books and business, yet bound for years by scant
contact with the educated world, ran amok.   So many different interests collided in the American War, but she had
yet to see any nation concerned for the people in the colonies.   What sort of world were these
"interests" bequeathing to her daughter and unborn grandchild?
    Uncanny quiet
held the night outside her window, crickets and frogs reluctant to complete the
melodies they started, reminding her of more immediate concerns.   Fairfax's story about the Creek was
absurd.   Knowing her discomfort with him,
Edward wouldn't have sent him to her house.   Something had happened to Edward.   Perhaps Captain Sheffield had had to assume command of the
garrison.   She knew nothing of
Sheffield, but she'd observed Edward's sensible leadership style contributing
to calm, fair relations between soldiers and civilians in the four months since
his arrival.   The repercussions for
Alton, if he proved unable to exercise his leadership, might not be pleasant.
    Again she
thought of his offer from the previous night.   She couldn't expect a better offer anywhere.   She had little money and was thirty-three, a woman with gray in
her hair and autumn in her womb.   But
she didn't love Edward.   If she never
grew to love him, how satisfied would she feel with her life?
    Even thornier
was the issue of class.   And in England,
Edward would court and marry someone Betsy's age and beget children upon
her.   Soon enough, Lady Hunt would
develop finesse at the non-intellectual means of taming her husband.   When it came right down to it, most males
responded to that non-intellectual persuasion with a predictable deficit of common
sense.   Did Sophie want to be in the
middle of all that?
    Something
scraped her window, so she rolled over and looked out.   Dark as the night had grown, she discerned
an oblong blot of midnight that lifted and scratched at her