Waiting was another skill the war had taught him. He’d once imagined espionage to be a far more exciting business. Secret meetings. Dramatic escapes. Clever disguises. The realityinvolved a great deal of patience and an alarming amount of sitting.
Five minutes passed, then ten. At last the door opened and a woman entered carrying a basket over one arm.
Nathaniel recognized her at once. Mrs. Tilden. A plump, dark-haired widow with three children and a talent for gossip that rivaled anyone in Setauket. At least that’s what most people believed.
She moved through the room and paused to speak with the tavern owner before selecting a nearby table. Nathaniel continued sipping his tea.
Mrs. Tilden removed a small bundle of sewing from her basket and for several moments worked on some mending. She began to hum, then spoke without looking at him. "Two wagons arrived yesterday."
Nathaniel stared into his cup. "From where?"
"Brookhaven."
That caught his attention. Military supplies rarely moved through Brookhaven. "Are you certain?"
She snipped a thread. "I counted the crates myself." She smiled at the tavern owner when her brought her some tea. She took a quick sip.
Nathaniel frowned. The British had become increasingly active over the past month. Additional patrols. More supplies coming in, and officers traveling between towns. Something was changing. The question was what.
"Did anyone say where the wagons were headed?" he asked.
"No." That was unfortunate.
Mrs. Tilden threaded another needle. "Captain Whitby entertained visitors yesterday evening."
Nathaniel looked up. That was new information. "Officers?"
"Three."
"Did you recognize them?"
"No,” she said. But one wore a naval uniform."
Nathaniel's thoughts quickened. A naval officer? Setauket sat along the coast. Naval activity could mean any number of things, none of them good.
The widow folded a piece of cloth. "My eldest heard something while delivering eggs."
He brought his cup to his lips. "What?"
"A ship."
Nathaniel's gaze narrowed. "A ship you say?"
She nodded. "The officers were discussing its arrival."
A ship. Additional supplies perhaps? More soldiers? Or something else entirely? Whatever the case, General Washington would want to know.
The war often turned upon information that seemed insignificant at first glance. A wagon of supplies, a merchant ship in the harbor, and more often than not, an officer's careless remark over supper. Small things, yes, but small things had a habit of becoming important.
Mrs. Tilden packed away her sewing. "I believe that is all."
Nathaniel set down his cup. "It is more than enough."
The widow rose and gathered her basket. To anyone watching, they appeared to be strangers sharing a common room. Nothing more. She departed through the front door without another word.
Nathaniel remained seated, his thoughts turning once more to Anna Turner. She’d risked her neck to request this meeting and believed him the enemy.
He pressed his lips together. One day he’d be able to tell her the truth, but until then, it was best if she continued to distrust him. Distrust, after all, was far safer than affection. Especially in times of war.
