Anna released the portrait and pressed the hidden clasp. The second compartment opened. Martha Washington’s name gleamed on the hidden left side. The faint PR mark rested on the right, nearly invisible unless one knew to look.
Tucked inside was a folded scrap of paper. Anna’s mouth went dry. “There is another message.”
“Yes,” Mrs. Pembroke said.
Anna unfolded the scrap. The writing was small and hurried.
Bell alive. Midnight moved to night. Girl named. Reed watched.
Anna read it once, then again. “Bell alive. Moved to night. Girl named. Reed watched.”
Her heart thudded so hard the paper trembled in her hand. “Girl named,” she whispered.
“We may safely assume that means you, dear,” Mrs. Pembroke said.
Anna looked up, eyes wide. “They know my name.” Her voice cracked.
“Rothborne does.”
“Because of the ball?” Anna asked.
“Because you were unfortunate enough to be clever in public.”
Anna thought a moment. What had she done? Then it dawned on her. “I caught a spoon.”
“You caught attention,” Mrs. Pembroke said.
Anna sat in the nearest chair and stared at the little scrap of paper, then the locket. “Who sent this?”
“Someone who wished us warned.”
She looked at Mrs. Pembroke and fought an eye roll. “That’s not an answer either.”
Mrs. Pembroke heaved a sigh. “No, but it is the one I am giving.”
Anna glanced at the note again. “And Mr. Reed?”
Mrs. Pembroke closed the locket case, though the locket remained in Anna’s hand. “What of him?”
“It says he’s watched.”
“So it does.”
“By the British, Mrs. Pembroke?”
Mrs. Pembroke thought a moment. “Most likely.”
“What about the patriots?”
“Perhaps,” Mrs. Pembroke said.
Anna stared at her. “You know more than you say.”
“My dear, that is how I have lived this long.” The humor in Mrs. Pembroke’s voice did nothing to steady Anna.
She touched the tiny portrait with the edge of her thumb, then drew back before she smudged it. “Who is Bell?”
“A patriot courier.”
