The Lost (Echoes from the Past Book 9) by Irina Shapiro & Irina Shapiro

Author:Irina Shapiro & Irina Shapiro [Shapiro, Irina]
Language: eng
Format: azw3
Publisher: Merlin Press LLC
Published: 2020-09-07T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter 41

October 1776

New York City

It was about a week after the theaters had been shut down by the occupiers that Richard Kinney came to see Jocelyn at her lodging house. New York was still recovering from the great fire that had consumed a quarter of the city only a few weeks before and had resulted in numerous injuries and deaths. There was an acrid smell of soot in the air that turned Jocelyn’s stomach, not only because the stench seemed to cling to just about everything but because it reminded her of how close she’d come to losing her own modest home. She had watched in horror, too frightened to go to sleep, as an orange glow lit up the sky, the hungry, crackling tongues of flame reaching ever closer and devouring everything in their path. Thankfully, she still had a place to call home, but she was acutely aware of the impermanence of her position.

Richard Kinney was a stocky man with ginger hair and soulful blue eyes. In his mid-forties, he was married, had two teenage daughters, and owned a printshop on William Street. Being something of a theater enthusiast, Mr. Kinney considered himself a patron of the arts and had printed leaflets and posters for the various performances free of charge. In exchange for this service, he liked to have a drink with the actors after a performance and sometimes asked to be permitted to watch a dress rehearsal. Jocelyn had no idea what he might want with her now that the theater was closed.

She received Mr. Kinney in the tiny parlor reserved for visitors and invited him to sit, taking a seat opposite him in a worn armchair. “How have you been keeping, Mr. Kinney?” she asked.

“Very well, thank you, Mistress Sinclair.” He glanced toward the open door and lowered his voice. “What do you mean to do now that the theater is closed?” he asked.

“Look for a domestic situation, one that offers room and board,” Jocelyn replied, wondering why he should care. “I can’t afford to remain here past the first of the month.”

“What would you say if I offered to help you secure such a position?” Richard Kinney asked.

“Are you looking to hire a maidservant, Mr. Kinney?”

“Not exactly.” He glanced toward the door again, but the lodging house was silent, all the women currently at work, and Mrs. Blunt, who owned the establishment, at the market, as was her daily custom.

“Look, Mistress Sinclair, I won’t beat about the bush. I know you’re no royalist. I’ve heard you express your opinions on the current conflict.”

Jocelyn sank deeper into the chair, suddenly worried about what she might have said after a tankard of ale and the high of a successful performance. She’d thought she was among friends, but perhaps she’d been mistaken.

“The Continental Army is outnumbered and outgunned, so our only hope of defeating the enemy lies in outmaneuvering them. We need intelligence that comes straight from the horse’s mouth, so to speak.”

Jocelyn stared at Richard Kinney, seeing him in a whole new light.

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