cousinly kiss on her cheek, then sat back down to work on his cakes.
“ We’ll have to buy you some fresh clothes, if you’re to go to the ball,” said Marie, as she looked over her servant’s work.
“ Good. There’s some business I want to attend to in town,” said Jake.
Marie’s expression warned him from saying anything more revealing in front of the girl, as if that were really a danger. He finished his meal, and within a half hour had hitched Marie’s horse to her chaise, or cariole , as the French called it.
Marie’s estate was located only a few miles from the bank of the St. Lawrence directly to the south of Montreal, but to reach a place where they could board a bateau they had to travel in a large circle to the east, passing through three neighbor’s holdings. Each of these had been broken into smaller estates and farms; Marie waved and greeted each person they passed by name.
Marie did not own a house in the city, but as the journey was somewhat lengthy, she planned to spend the afternoon and change for the ball in the apartments of a friend.
After she got Jake outfitted, of course. She knew a tailor who could be pressed into quick service for a few extra coins. Jake could make do with his present breeches, but a coat of powder blue – now that would be just the thing to set off his shoulders, wouldn’t it?
“ And you’ll have to get a new hat!” she exclaimed.
“ But I like this hat. It’s been with me since Boston.”
“ Exactly.”
In the end, he did get a new hat, a large, round beaver with an upturned brim and golden feathers that made him look vaguely Spanish, or so said the tailor. The man muttered considerably at the amount of work he was expected to do to prepare the coat – luckily ordered by a customer who had the bad sense to die the day before he was to pick it up.
The blue jacket threatened to clash with Jake’s brown breeches, but the addition of a yellow brocaded vest turned the outfit into something quite modern, even racy for the colonies. Two watch chains signified the cutting edge of fashion, with their charms, ribbons and baubles hanging off and making a pleasing clang when Jake walked. The fact that their ends were fastened to pieces of metal instead of watches were besides the point.
If there was a woman in Montreal who could have resisted his charms when he arrived, she would be positively swooning now. A bit of lilac water, a good deal of scalding to his hair, which was then powdered and tied in a correct black bow beneath his hat – London itself would have fallen at the feet of this young swain.
Which Jake supposed, was a good enough cover for a spy. For who would suspect the man who stood out from the crowd and called attention to himself instead of lurking in the shadows? “Do I look like Jake Gibbs, the rebel provocateur?” he would say to anyone confronting him. “Well sir, I am not, though from what I have heard of the dog, I would be glad to meet him face-to-face, so that I could challenge him on the field of honor for insulting the king. Rumor has it he hung a rosary of potatoes around the king’s effigy, and I would very much like to avenge that dishonor.”
Hopefully, brave words would be enough. For Jake had come to town unarmed, except for his pocket pistol – a larger weapon would have drawn too much attention, most especially at the ball.
Jake tested his self-assurance as well as his disguise by striding through the Montreal marketplace not far from the wharf. The square teemed with soldiers, but they did not seem to pay him much mind; to them he was one more useless dandy.
Had they followed him, they might have changed their opinions. After making his parade – and adding several more plasters to his face to shore up his disguise – Jake walked to the printing shop of Fleury Mesplet. This was the same Mesplet who had come to Montreal with the Americans during the winter of 1775. A protégé of Franklin, he had stayed after his
“ We’ll have to buy you some fresh clothes, if you’re to go to the ball,” said Marie, as she looked over her servant’s work.
“ Good. There’s some business I want to attend to in town,” said Jake.
Marie’s expression warned him from saying anything more revealing in front of the girl, as if that were really a danger. He finished his meal, and within a half hour had hitched Marie’s horse to her chaise, or cariole , as the French called it.
Marie’s estate was located only a few miles from the bank of the St. Lawrence directly to the south of Montreal, but to reach a place where they could board a bateau they had to travel in a large circle to the east, passing through three neighbor’s holdings. Each of these had been broken into smaller estates and farms; Marie waved and greeted each person they passed by name.
Marie did not own a house in the city, but as the journey was somewhat lengthy, she planned to spend the afternoon and change for the ball in the apartments of a friend.
After she got Jake outfitted, of course. She knew a tailor who could be pressed into quick service for a few extra coins. Jake could make do with his present breeches, but a coat of powder blue – now that would be just the thing to set off his shoulders, wouldn’t it?
“ And you’ll have to get a new hat!” she exclaimed.
“ But I like this hat. It’s been with me since Boston.”
“ Exactly.”
In the end, he did get a new hat, a large, round beaver with an upturned brim and golden feathers that made him look vaguely Spanish, or so said the tailor. The man muttered considerably at the amount of work he was expected to do to prepare the coat – luckily ordered by a customer who had the bad sense to die the day before he was to pick it up.
The blue jacket threatened to clash with Jake’s brown breeches, but the addition of a yellow brocaded vest turned the outfit into something quite modern, even racy for the colonies. Two watch chains signified the cutting edge of fashion, with their charms, ribbons and baubles hanging off and making a pleasing clang when Jake walked. The fact that their ends were fastened to pieces of metal instead of watches were besides the point.
If there was a woman in Montreal who could have resisted his charms when he arrived, she would be positively swooning now. A bit of lilac water, a good deal of scalding to his hair, which was then powdered and tied in a correct black bow beneath his hat – London itself would have fallen at the feet of this young swain.
Which Jake supposed, was a good enough cover for a spy. For who would suspect the man who stood out from the crowd and called attention to himself instead of lurking in the shadows? “Do I look like Jake Gibbs, the rebel provocateur?” he would say to anyone confronting him. “Well sir, I am not, though from what I have heard of the dog, I would be glad to meet him face-to-face, so that I could challenge him on the field of honor for insulting the king. Rumor has it he hung a rosary of potatoes around the king’s effigy, and I would very much like to avenge that dishonor.”
Hopefully, brave words would be enough. For Jake had come to town unarmed, except for his pocket pistol – a larger weapon would have drawn too much attention, most especially at the ball.
Jake tested his self-assurance as well as his disguise by striding through the Montreal marketplace not far from the wharf. The square teemed with soldiers, but they did not seem to pay him much mind; to them he was one more useless dandy.
Had they followed him, they might have changed their opinions. After making his parade – and adding several more plasters to his face to shore up his disguise – Jake walked to the printing shop of Fleury Mesplet. This was the same Mesplet who had come to Montreal with the Americans during the winter of 1775. A protégé of Franklin, he had stayed after his
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