never could she be thought a man. Her cheeks were too soft;
her skin too perfect. Her hair was tucked in her hat, and when I told her she
could never pass as a man, she stopped.
As she searched
the ground around us, I was unsure what she was about, until she picked up a
clump of dirt. She rubbed some on her nose and cheek then tossed it aside.
“People do not
look too close if you do not initiate contact. Life is hard, and there are many
other things to occupy the mind. No one would look twice at a person dressed as
I am,” she said as she resumed walking.
“That is untrue.
I would always notice you.”
She cast me a
sweet smile. “Yes, but the difference is that you have been trained to see
everything.”
We stopped
before a two story brick house that was like every other house in the square,
nothing grand or glorious about it. The shutters were closed, and the knocker
was off the door, but that did not deter us. We went to the door, pounding for
the servant I knew George employed.
When there was
no answer, I stepped away from the door. “I am going to see if I can get in
through the servants door. Stay here, I will be but a moment.”
“I am going with
you,” said Guinevere at once.
“No, I will be—”
“I am going,
Jack.” She stood waiting, uncompromising, and as stubborn as always.
I eyed her for a
moment, trying to think of a way to deny her, but I knew that she would follow
me regardless. There was a narrow gap between George’s house and his neighbor’s
house. Usually a door could be found if houses were not built upon their
neighbor’s as houses had been in Philadelphia.
At the back
door, I stepped up to it, pulling out a black pin from my coat pocket. The door
lock was an aged one that looked as if it had not been changed in the last
eight years.
In our training,
we had learned how to pick almost any locks in under a minute. Leo was the
quickest, but Bess would say she was almost as swift. I allowed her to believe that,
though to be sure I was second to Leo.
When I got the
door unlocked, for the lock and handle nearly fell off into my hands, I rose to
open the door.
“Good work,”
Guinevere said as she moved past me. “You were nearly as swift as I am with
locks.”
All was silent,
and the door led to a staircase. There was a light shining underneath the door
at the bottom, and there was a smell of something burning. Guinevere fairly ran
down the stairs then paused at the door just long enough to pull her dagger
pistol from her belt. I reached her as she twisted the doorknob and stepped
into the room, ready to do battle.
All we found was
a kitchen with an aged man sitting on a chair, his head resting on a worn wooden
table. The stone hearth had a small fire burning, and an iron pot was hanging
over it, the contents of the pot boiling over into the fire. There was an empty
bottle before the man and a lantern sitting on the table, but no other person
was in the room.
Guinevere
advanced into the room, searching for any sign or door that could lead to
George or her sister as I checked the old man.
“Drunk as a
wheelbarrow,” I told her before searching for something to take the pot off the
fire.
“I will search
above stairs.” Guinevere snatched the lantern off the table and turned for the
door.
“Wait!” She was
half way up the staircase at the end of a small and damp hallway by the time I
reached it. She opened a door at the top of the stairs and disappeared from my
view as I went up quickly.
My heart felt
heavy, like a loaded cannon, and Guinevere was the torch. Her heedless ways
were going to make me do something drastic.
As I entered the
main part of the house, I moved to the parlor where all of the furniture was
draped in holland covers. The house had a deserted
feeling to it as if it had not been used in many years. George was not keeping
Guinevere’s sister in the house, but Guinevere was not giving up hope. She was
upstairs, throwing doors open and shouting her
her skin too perfect. Her hair was tucked in her hat, and when I told her she
could never pass as a man, she stopped.
As she searched
the ground around us, I was unsure what she was about, until she picked up a
clump of dirt. She rubbed some on her nose and cheek then tossed it aside.
“People do not
look too close if you do not initiate contact. Life is hard, and there are many
other things to occupy the mind. No one would look twice at a person dressed as
I am,” she said as she resumed walking.
“That is untrue.
I would always notice you.”
She cast me a
sweet smile. “Yes, but the difference is that you have been trained to see
everything.”
We stopped
before a two story brick house that was like every other house in the square,
nothing grand or glorious about it. The shutters were closed, and the knocker
was off the door, but that did not deter us. We went to the door, pounding for
the servant I knew George employed.
When there was
no answer, I stepped away from the door. “I am going to see if I can get in
through the servants door. Stay here, I will be but a moment.”
“I am going with
you,” said Guinevere at once.
“No, I will be—”
“I am going,
Jack.” She stood waiting, uncompromising, and as stubborn as always.
I eyed her for a
moment, trying to think of a way to deny her, but I knew that she would follow
me regardless. There was a narrow gap between George’s house and his neighbor’s
house. Usually a door could be found if houses were not built upon their
neighbor’s as houses had been in Philadelphia.
At the back
door, I stepped up to it, pulling out a black pin from my coat pocket. The door
lock was an aged one that looked as if it had not been changed in the last
eight years.
In our training,
we had learned how to pick almost any locks in under a minute. Leo was the
quickest, but Bess would say she was almost as swift. I allowed her to believe that,
though to be sure I was second to Leo.
When I got the
door unlocked, for the lock and handle nearly fell off into my hands, I rose to
open the door.
“Good work,”
Guinevere said as she moved past me. “You were nearly as swift as I am with
locks.”
All was silent,
and the door led to a staircase. There was a light shining underneath the door
at the bottom, and there was a smell of something burning. Guinevere fairly ran
down the stairs then paused at the door just long enough to pull her dagger
pistol from her belt. I reached her as she twisted the doorknob and stepped
into the room, ready to do battle.
All we found was
a kitchen with an aged man sitting on a chair, his head resting on a worn wooden
table. The stone hearth had a small fire burning, and an iron pot was hanging
over it, the contents of the pot boiling over into the fire. There was an empty
bottle before the man and a lantern sitting on the table, but no other person
was in the room.
Guinevere
advanced into the room, searching for any sign or door that could lead to
George or her sister as I checked the old man.
“Drunk as a
wheelbarrow,” I told her before searching for something to take the pot off the
fire.
“I will search
above stairs.” Guinevere snatched the lantern off the table and turned for the
door.
“Wait!” She was
half way up the staircase at the end of a small and damp hallway by the time I
reached it. She opened a door at the top of the stairs and disappeared from my
view as I went up quickly.
My heart felt
heavy, like a loaded cannon, and Guinevere was the torch. Her heedless ways
were going to make me do something drastic.
As I entered the
main part of the house, I moved to the parlor where all of the furniture was
draped in holland covers. The house had a deserted
feeling to it as if it had not been used in many years. George was not keeping
Guinevere’s sister in the house, but Guinevere was not giving up hope. She was
upstairs, throwing doors open and shouting her
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