Sloane broke the seal, quickly read the contents, and frowned. “Does the captain require a reply?”
“Yes, sir, he does.”
“Naturally,” Sloane growled, then turned toward the clerk. “Fetch the small writing case.”
The clerk hurried to obey.
Nathaniel remained where he was, hat in hand, his expression somber. “Shall I wait outside, sir?”
“No. This will only take a moment.”
That was generous of him. Nathaniel waited as Sloane wrote.
The second man now stood in the doorway. He was broad-faced, with sandy brows, wearing a coat a little too plain for a gentleman, yet too fine for a laborer. A wharfman, perhaps. Maybe a merchant’s agent.
“You’re Whitby’s courier,” the man stated, taking Nathaniel in.
“When Whitby pays me,” he said, and smiled.
Sloan’s pen paused. “Practical fellow.”
“I try to be.” Nathaniel met his gaze. “That’s often why they’re hired.”
Before the man could retort, Sloane folded the reply and sealed it. “See that Captain Whitby receives this before supper.”
Nathaniel accepted the packet. “Of course.”
“And Mr. Reed.”
Nathaniel paused before heading to the door.
Sloane’s eyes narrowed. “If anyone asks whether you came here today, you delivered a bill of account and nothing more.”
Nathaniel gave a small nod. “A bill of account. Understood.”
“Good.”
Nathaniel left the counting house at the same unhurried pace with which he’d entered. He mounted his horse, turned away from the wharf, and didn’t look back until he reached the corner.
Only then did he glance toward the water.
The south wharf sat beneath the gray sky. A few gulls wheeled overhead. A man carried a coil of rope across his shoulder, and two boys chased each other past a stack of crates.
After dark, Nathaniel was sure the scene would look different. Men would move barrels marked as oil and pray no one asked why oil required secrecy, wagons, and threats about silence.
He nudged his horse forward. Now he had the details Caleb needed. Friday. South Wharf. Powder in barrels. A ship tied toWhitby’s quiet arrangements. It was a message good enough to send.
Unfortunately, it was also enough to get people killed.
Anna’s quick hands came to mind, along with the careful way she lowered her eyes while listening to every word spoken around her. If she’d heard even half of what he’d heard today, she would act. He knew it.
That worried him more than Captain Whitby’s letters, Mr. Sloane’s threats, or all the powder hidden in all the barrels in Setauket.
Five
By noon the next day, the Pembroke household had ceased to be a household and become a battlefield of linen, silver, beeswax, and opinions, most of which belonged to Mrs. Pembroke. Mr. Pembroke declined to comment, which didn’t surprise anyone. Half the time no one knew where he was.
This left Mrs. Pembroke to handle things. “This is not a ball,” she said at one point. “It’s an invasion! How am I to throw together a ball in two days?”
