"I don't want to wear a dress. I want to serve our cause," said Alison, handing the chemise back.
"And so you will, no matter what you wear. This is a patriotic dress. It was woven in defiance of the king's ban on weaving. Women declared their independence first in this land. Men may boast, but it is women who take the risks and act first, protecting our homes and our rights. You will learn that as you grow older."
"I have already seen it," said Alison. She studied the dress a moment. "Do you think it will look attractive?"
"I think you would look as pretty as a butterfly in it."
Whether it was Mrs. Hulter's appeal to patriotism or her soft, reassuring manner, Alison finally submitted, allowing herself to be made up in a way she had scarce imagined possible. The bold patriot who had risked her life to save Jake and clamored continuously to help General Washington had not been banished; on the contrary, defiance shone all the brighter in her eye. Yet it had been magnified by a physical beauty that previously had been severely disguised.
"Your hair is our final problem," said Mrs. Hulter, stepping back. "It has a natural beauty to it, but it will be months before it grows long enough to curl. A wig would be too fussy — ah, I know just the thing."
She disappeared out the door and down the hallway. There was a small mirror on the bureau. Alison picked it up furtively, glancing at the image as if she might see something painful. She had worn dresses before, of course — her father absolutely insisted on them for church — but she had never felt like this.
Mrs. Hulter returned with a gauze-and-silk turban and a colored plume. Within a few minutes, Alison's face was set off by a colorful crown. The overall transition was so remarkable that Mrs. Hulter's son Timothy was knocked speechless, retreating to the wall as the two women descended the staircase.
"Well now, you certainly look beautiful," said Jake, meeting them downstairs in the house. He swept down as if introducing himself for the first time. "Jake Gibbs, on special service to General Washington. Pleased to make your acquaintance, Miss."
Alison turned red and found it impossible to speak, as if her wit had been left with her old clothes. It was difficult even to look at his eyes — though she strongly hoped to find the shadow there Mrs. Hulter had spoken of.
For his part, Jake wondered whether he should try and talk Mrs. Hulter into adopting Alison. But he decided the poor woman would have her hands full nursing her brother back to health and keeping her farm running besides. She had done yeoman's service merely getting Alison to wear a dress.
"We have to leave soon for New York," said Jake. "It will take us more than an hour to get to the ferry from here."
Mrs. Hulter insisted that they eat before they leave. It was now nearly four, and all she had given Jake for breakfast was a half-loaf of rye. They sat down to a large dinner of boiled salt pork with some freshly dug potatoes. The meal was not a rich one, though Jake judged it must be as expensive a luxury as the good woman could afford during these difficult times.
"Alison, you have become very quiet," said Jake.
"I'm just — thinking."
"I see. Well, you may think a while longer while I consult with Professor Bebeef once more," he said as he rose. "But then we will leave promptly."
As accomplished as he was in affairs of the heart, Jake in this instance had made a mistaken interpretation, believing that Alison was infatuated with young Timothy, not himself. He went across to Bebeefs rooms feeling rather smug.
"I have prepared the bullets," the professor told him, looking up from the jars and tubes that arrayed the long desk where he was working. "I have adapted some simple copper balls and soldered them whole. They are somewhat fragile; you must not handle them too much before they are loaded."
"They will stay in their case until the duel," said Jake. He picked up the small ball and shook it; it seemed solid, if light.
The matched pistols were very plain, with only the slightest piece of scrolling at the very end of their butts. Their heavy, straight lock mechanisms betrayed their French design. No self-important English gentleman would condescend to use either to dispatch his ailing horse with, let along uphold his honor.
"They're the best I have," Bebeef apologized. "I'm not much for dueling."
"They'll be good enough. My friend may sneer all he wants, but he is obliged to accept them."
"The poison will work so long as it can penetrate the flesh. I have had to weaken the gunpowder mixture in your small horn there, to guarantee the balls will not explode in the barrel when the charge ignites." "So there won't be much power in the bullets?"
"I would not vouch for their flying more than twenty paces with any real velocity," said Bebeef. "It would be best if they had an unobstructed path to the flesh when they struck. Even a thick coat might save the victim."
The thought of facing a bare-chested Bauer was almost too much for Jake to stand.
"The bullets will pass through a light shirt and still do their duty," said Bebeef hopefully, noting Jake's frown. "The liquid is red, so it will look like a very handsome wound. Aim for the chest."
"I intend to."
"Here is all I have left," said Bebeef, holding up a small tube whose glass ends had been melted shut. "The material that bonds the ingredients is very gummy, and will adhere to metal. If you rub a sword blade with it, the effect will be the same."
"But it's red. Anyone will spot it in an instant."
"It's a good thing you didn't choose swords then," said Bebeef. "It must pass through the skin, so you have to wound the victim lightly."
Jake took the vial and placed it in his vest pocket.
"Touch the wound with pure water to counteract the poison. Do not use city water by any means."
"I wouldn't even wash a horse with city water."
"You only need a drop. The effects will wear off in an hour without the antidote," Bebeef said. "The breathing and heart do not completely stop, but slow so much at first that it is difficult to tell. Gradually, they improve. After a few minutes, even a country barber could tell the victim is alive. I would advise you to shoot first, no matter the code."
"But professor, I have to stand on my honor."
Bebeef could not tell whether Jake was kidding or not. "I have been wracking my brain for a truth serum," the professor added. "There are several formulas in my books, but they are along the lines of love potions and very undependable."
As Major Dr. Keen had tried some such potions on van Clynne with poor results, Jake shrugged. He had already concocted a ruse to fool Bauer once he was revived.
With luck, Culper would have solved the problem by the time he returned to the city. Then Bauer's information would be superfluous. In any case, the Tory bastard would be a fitting trophy to present General Washington with.
"I have also prepared a small supply of sleeping powder," said Bebeef, walking to the collection of trays standing below the triangular window. "I know it is one of your favorite concoctions."
"It's very useful for putting out guards without noise."
"And stunning cats, according to your father."
"I have not launched an attack on a cat in many years!" Jake laughed.
"Take care, my young friend," said Bebeef as Jake started to leave. He reached up with his bandaged hands. "Do not discount Keen."
"I have not. But he is a man like the rest of us."
The professor's reluctant nod revealed that he might not completely share that opinion.
Timothy's eyes were wide circles, glittering as if he had seen the goddess Diana on the hunt. Jake could barely suppress a broad smile.
"Come," he told Alison. "If we are going to brave the ferry, we'd best do it when there is a crowd."
"I have been waiting for you," she replied, turning with a sudden swirl. She started out the door so quickly Jake had to trot to catch her as she swished past the blooming money plant at the edge of the walk.