Circle of Spies (The Culper Ring #3)

Like the casualty report that said Stephen Arnaud.

“Still, we’ll not ask much of you. Just distract Dev when you can. That ought to suffice. Let this young man poke about wherever he might need to. If you call to mind something that might be useful for him, perhaps leave it where he can find it.”

An exasperated breath eked past her lips. “But he is not one of…of us.” Us. “How is it you trust him to handle this?”

“We will make sure he does what he ought with the information. But we must be certain to otherwise stay out of sight. The last thing the Culpers need is the attention of either the KGC or Pinkerton’s detectives. We operate successfully because we operate anonymously. Even the president does not know we exist. None has since Washington himself.”

A chill swept up her spine. From the wind or the talk? “What if I hear something or find something? Do I tell Granddad? Mr. Osborne?”

He glanced around the street. Few pedestrians were out, though carriages rumbled by now and then. “Your granddad can advise you on whatever you find. If it is something he feels Osborne should know about, he will direct you on how to get it into his hands. And while we are there today, we will…” He paused, drew in a deep breath, and pulled her closer. “There is a code and vials of invisible ink. If ever you need to get a written message to him, you must use those.”

Codes, invisible ink, spies, secret societies. They belonged in the pages of a Gothic novel, not in her life. “Did Stephen know?”

He made no hesitation as he shook his head. “Nor did Walker until Stephen sent him to your house. Knowing what we did by that time, we thought it wise to educate him. Mari.” He paused, thereby making her pause with him, and looked down into her eyes. “You mustn’t seek anything out. You mustn’t put yourself in undue danger. We’ve already lost Stephen.”

“I will be safe.” Even if Dev somehow found out, he wouldn’t harm her. She didn’t think so, anyway. He wasn’t a violent man.

But he would be hurt when she broke things off, not to mention if he found out she was aiding someone against him. Would he feel the same heartbreak that held her immobile on the floor last night? The same suffocating weight of the one you thought you loved proving to be someone else entirely?

Part of her hoped he would. He deserved to hurt, deserved to learn what it felt like to be lied to. Deserved to be told he was the most important thing and then find it wasn’t so.

That is the beauty of grace. Stephen’s words, spoken so many long years ago, echoed. He’d been reclining on their parents’ couch, his Bible on his lap. Gray trousers, crisp white shirt, his frock coat long abandoned. She could still see the wave of his dark hair, just like Daddy’s, the gleam of his warm brown eyes, and ink stains on his left middle finger. We all deserve punishment, but He gives us instead forgiveness. Redemption.

She hadn’t wanted redemption. She knew too well what it meant. If the Lord redeemed her, He would pay for her, buy her, and she would be His. A slave to Him, bound to do His will above her own. And she had liked her own far better.

Today redemption sounded very different. Today she didn’t much like where her will had taken her. Today she had slaves under her roof when she’d been taught all her life slavery was a vile practice.

Who was she? Yetta, the girl without a lifetime of memories to plague her? Mari, the young lady who could charm any man she set her sights on? Marietta, the rich widow who had too many ghosts rattling around in her head?

I don’t want to be any of those anymore, Lord. Maybe…maybe it’s time to see who You would make me. Redeem me, Father. Purchase me from this life of which I’ve made such a mess. Make me someone new.

“I’ve lost you.” Daddy’s smile had a sad note as he led her onward. “To the past?”

“Is there anything but the past?” She matched her step to his so she could lean over and, just for a moment, touch her head to his shoulder.

“There is. There is a whole future ahead of us. One that can be as bright as we’re willing to make it.”

Or as dark as they let it be.





Six


Slade stepped on stocking feet into the hallway and paused, listening. From below came distant kitchen noises, and a muted humming sounded from down the hall. He hadn’t the time to waste trying to pinpoint it. He had already been trapped here half an hour talking to a reminiscing servant. Satisfied no one was about, he headed down the stairs.

Five days in Baltimore already, and this was the first time he had been left alone in Devereaux Hughes’s house. Every other day he had been expected to go to the rail office and play the part of detective out to ensure the security of the rails.