Chapter Two | Many Layers Make a Man
When he sees her next, it comes as something of a surprise. It has been several weeks, and though many a British officer has come through the doors of Rivington's Corner, he hasn't discovered anything of note to pass along to Culper. No dark conspiracies or important intelligence; nothing that would require him to take out another advertisement in Rivington's Gazette. There should be no reason for her arrival here, at least not on his end, which can only mean that something is occurring with Culper himself.
Now, Robert Townsend is a very logical sort of man. He values rationale over whimsy; strategy over impromptu absurdities. This sensible foundation is the very cornerstone of his character and has been for as long as he can recall. Logic is what drives him. It should be said, then, that logic is not what drives Margot Risdon – or at least not the same sort of logic.
"What are you doing here?" Robert demands in an undertone when he meets her at the counter. He places a pitcher of ale onto the surface of it, half-empty from the rounds that she had interrupted upon her arrival. The cloth that he had draped over his arm is thrown down beside the pitcher with an impatient sort of energy that is derived entirely from her unexpected presence, and what it could mean. His mind spins with the implications of it, trying to understand.
Margot sends him a wide smile that does nothing to mitigate the edge of fear that has cropped up within him. This is how it always is, these days. Spying is the devil's work and goes against the inherent Quaker parts of him, which also build upon the foundation of his character. It had taken some time and quite a lot of convincing for Robert to agree to join the Culper ring in the first place. The reasons for his initial rebuttal were not only because of the sin brought upon by lies and deceit, but also because of the danger to himself and to his family. If he gets caught as a spy, the Continental army won't be able to help him. He is behind the lines in British-occupied New York and therefore at their mercy. Spies are the underbelly of society, worse even than whores and anarchists.
"I'm visiting my cousin," is Margot's response. She glances off to the side for a split second before leaning against the counter and purring, "And I'm here to see you, of course, Robert. I missed you."
Not being one to receive such declarations, Robert is momentarily taken aback by the brazenness of it all, until he remembers that they are supposed to be childhood friends and not new acquaintances. This reminder, however, does little to quell his rising impatience.
Robert sends her another of his hawkish stares.
"…Is that the only reason you're here?" he quietly demands, eyeing her with just a hint of the distrust he feels. It leaks into his gaze even as he tries to squash it down. Not that he cares if this woman sees it for what it is, but they do have a role to play beneath the watchful eye of the patrons.
The true nature of his question is apparent enough. He's asking if Culper had actually sent her, and if there's something going on that he should know about. But Margot only waves a hand dismissively and lightly replies, "Of course. I told you the last time that I would be making frequent trips to visit my cousin, regardless of…current events."
His eyebrow twitches at that, mainly from her boldness. Current events, indeed.
Before he can interrogate her any further, Rivington flounces over and eagerly greets, "Miss Risdon, how nice to see you again! Are you here to surprise Robert?" Then he chuckles, "The man could use some excitement in his life!"
Robert resists the urge to roll his eyes. He exchanges a dry look with Margot, who is smiling in amusement. The both of them know that his life is plenty exciting enough. In fact, if anything, he'd much prefer far less excitement.
"I'm just here for a short visit, I'm afraid," Margot informs Mr. Rivington. "I know Robert is much too busy to cater to me."
Indeed, Rivington's Corner is packed. British officers and others of import within the city are everywhere to be found, enjoying late afternoon meals and cups of coffee, ale and conversation. It will only become busier the later it gets once duties are finished for the day and more officers have time to sit back and enjoy themselves.
Rivington takes a glance around the establishment and exclaims, "Pish posh! I'll handle this. Robert, why don't you take Miss Ridson out for a stroll around the neighborhood. It will be good for you to get outside for once!"
Robert turns his dry expression to his business partner and drawls, "Miss Risdon is quite right, James. I am far too busy for a stroll." The word rolls off his tongue with a contemptible lilt, and he quickly adds, "Besides, I'm sure you'll become far too distracted fishing for gossip and forget to do the other part of your job."
Rather than finding offense at this, Rivington clucks his tongue at him and sighs, "Robert, I sometimes wonder if you know how to have any fun at all. Who knows the next time you shall see Miss Risdon? It could be weeks!"
Robert's eyes slice over to hers. Beneath his breath, and just loud enough for her alone to hear, he mutters, "If only."
Far from upsetting her, however, the sarcastic mumble makes a small smile alight upon the edge of her mouth. She studies him with a lofty expression for some moments, but it's clear enough to him that it is only for show. She seems amused and mischievous both, which rankles him in a way he can't explain. He is not accustomed to amusing people – quite the opposite, actually – and as a result he is caught between vexation and indignance.
Is this some strange ploy to be had by women when they are trying to get the better of a man? An attempt at silently drawing the line between them, to put them in their place, to gain the upper hand? Robert eyes her carefully, but no matter how hard he tries, he can't seem to read the eyes that stare back into his. Strategy is his forte, but in his experience, women seem to redefine the rules of it entirely.
"I do have news of your father, if you wish to hear it," Margot finally says, putting an abrupt end to the game that he hadn't even realized they were playing. The ending is so immediate that he feels almost as if he ought to recoil in surprise, or to startle at the very least, and it is only his logical and sensible foundations that halt the action.
"…My father?" he repeats, his voice somewhat deadpan.
She smiles, and he thinks he's beginning to abhor that smile. It's too knowing, too informed. In this game of strategy, that smile would surely give even the best player pause, if only to examine the mystery behind it so as to weigh out the odds. He finds himself doing just the same and comes up empty. It is quite a deplorable feeling.
This is, apparently, reason enough to force Robert from the tavern, at least in Rivington's eyes. "Go out and enjoy yourselves for a while and have a nice long chat," he goads, pushing Robert out from behind the counter. "Take Miss Risdon to some of the shops, why don't you? Though don't expect him to purchase anything for you, my dear. Robert is a miserly fellow. You need not look beyond his styleless wardrobe to see the signs of that."
Robert's face descends into a deep frown, clearly unappreciative of this remark. He is not entirely surprised to hear it, though. There are two things above all that Rivington enjoys badgering him about: his lack of interest in women and the care he takes with his money, which Rivington translates into stinginess. His frown lessens, however, when he catches sight of the way Margot turns to eye his ensemble with a closeness that makes him rather uncomfortable. Now that he is no longer standing behind the counter, which would have otherwise shielded him from the full brunt of her perusal, a strange feeling overcomes him. It is made up of shades of transparency, formed in part due to the speculative way in which she regards him. He feels, suddenly, as if she is seeing every piece of him both tangible and intangible, a complete summation of his character. It is unnerving, but what's more unnerving is the way the corner of her mouth quirks up into that tiny smile, which he is beginning to realize is something of a signature look for her.
"Oh, I don't know, Mr. Rivington," she says, nearly purring. "I find myself rather appreciative of Robert's design." She murmurs that last word in such a way as to make his Quaker sensibilities shudder, and not for the better. It almost sounds foul, as if drenched in all the aberrations of humankind, salacious and dripping with an infuriatingly amused carelessness which only barely manages to shroud the darker undercurrent beneath it. He stares at her in belated surprise, hardly knowing how to respond to such brazenness.
Unfortunately, Mr. Rivington does know what to say, and he has absolutely no qualms in saying it.
"Oh dear. Robert, it looks as if you have an admirer. Childhood friends indeed," Rivington smiles, his voice edged over with the smallest trace of laughter. The words 'childhood friends' spill from his lips with much the same infuriating carelessness that Margot had only just administered, and Robert's eyes narrow. Quite suddenly, he finds himself in a situation that is altogether too familiar: a treatment that reeks of being looked down upon in some way, whether for his seemingly uptight Quaker roots or his overall logical approach to life, both of which happen to go hand in hand.
Displeased, he ignores Rivington and lifts an arm for Margot to take, but the action is stiff and indifferent. It is obvious that he would much prefer not to touch her at all, especially after her words just now. She seems to know it, though to be fair, his stoic disapproval isn't that difficult to read. Still, he gains a sense of vicious gratification when he sees her hesitate before reaching up to curl the tips of her fingers into his sleeve.
"We will return soon," Robert tells his business partner, and makes for the door without waiting to see if Margot is prepared. Infuriating creature.
The world outside Rivington's Corner is just as busy as the one within. Once evening settles in, the streets with be swarming with soldiers out to enjoy what few hours of freedom they have until they are called back to their barracks. For now, there are only a handful of redcoats on the street and the majority of the crowd is comprised of townsfolk. Robert leads the way through the bustle with a quick impatience that stems entirely from the fact that he knows Rivington is watching from inside, most likely in a most gleeful and blithesome manner. Robert Townsend does not, after all, make a habit of taking strolls with women, and so this is naturally a very uncommon occasion.
"I apologize if I caused…offense," Margot hesitantly tells him as she hurries to keep up with his long stride. It is rather bad form of him, really, making her hurry after him like this, but she dares not mention it. Though this is only her second meeting with Robert Townsend, she feels that she is already walking on thin enough ice as it is.
Robert doesn't respond at first. He speaks only when Rivington's Corner disappears from view. It is only when they are turning the corner onto Allen Street that he shortly says, "I am accustomed to Rivington's brashness, Miss Risdon, but I would appreciate it if you did not instigate him."
He is rather proud of himself for keeping his tongue and not lashing out at her as he wants to do. Though her audacity had angered him, he tempers his anger with whatever thin layer of patience he has left, and says no more. Margot, however…
"I did not mean to instigate him. I'm sorry, Robert – "
"Mr. Townsend," he cuts in, and she falters.
"…Mr. Townsend," she says, now sounding more forceful and less apologetic. She stubbornly says, "Please accept my apology."
He glances over at her, only to find her already staring at him. His sharp expression does not make her hesitate this time, and after several moments, he grudgingly agrees, "Very well."
Her face promptly transforms. The trace of stubbornness in her eyes softens, the lifted chin and obstinate set of her jaw diminishes. It is replaced with that tiny smile – the one he isn't sure is genuine or not, for it lends a certain impish mirth to her countenance that makes a part of him inexplicably wary. She relaxes her shoulders and holds onto his sleeve with a little more firmness than she had before, and cordially says, "In any case, I was being completely sincere. I find no fault in your appearance, Mr. Townsend. Though – forgive me, you do have quite an impressive glare."
Robert's response to this is a dry, "I do believe that may be the only pleasant thing you've said to me thus far, Miss Risdon."
The tiny smile widens just so.
"Then I shall endeavor to say more pleasant things to you in the future, Mr. Townsend," she lightly returns.
He doesn't seem to know what to make of these words, nor does he appear familiar with the almost flirtatious tone in which they are uttered. To claim that he feels uncomfortable to be on the receiving end of them would not be a lie; he cannot recall ever being in a conversation such as this one. So, instead of maneuvering around the latest game of strategy that he has found himself in, he merely prompts, "You said you had a message from my father."
As he had hoped, this seems to distract her. From the corner of his eye, he watches her nod and say, "Yes, well it's not a message so much as an update, though he does send his regards. His eye is nearly healed, and he is beginning to require his cane less, or so he tells me."
They pause to make way for a carriage, stepping off to the side as it ambles past. Behind it, several British soldiers follow on horse. The epaulets on the one leading the group marks him as Captain.
"…A new arrival to the city, perhaps?" Margot murmurs, eyeing the carriage curiously. Any information is helpful to the cause, but with the curtains drawn about the windows of the carriage, there is no way of knowing who is passing them.
At her side, Robert quietly returns, "I will try to unravel that particular mystery this evening. Perhaps Rivington is better informed."
They share a glance that is bathed in a strange familiarity, considering the fact that they hardly know each other. Such is the life of a spy, though; comrades, in whatever form, are hard to come by, and a certain fellowship is therefore quickly obtained.
After the carriage and its escort has passed and they step back into the street, Robert abruptly brings the conversation back to his father. "You seem to be very aware of my father's condition, Miss Risdon." There is a hint of mistrust in his tone. The silent question within the deliberate words is apparent.
"Your father wished to receive updates on your position in the city whilst he is unable to make the journey to visit you, so yes, I have been made aware of his circumstances," she tells him in a business-like manner. Then, not quite as business-like, she adds, "He is a rather jovial fellow. I quite like him."
Robert casts her a short glance and disparagingly responds, "He enjoys meddling in my life whenever possible. If that is what you might consider 'jovial', then yes, I suppose he is."
Margot laughs at this, which had not at all been his intention. He promptly falls silent in the face of it, having not meant to bring about such a response from her and unsure how to react as a result. Margot, however, doesn't appear to notice his sudden silence and merely muses, "You seem very different from your father, Mr. Townsend…though I'm sure you have many hidden layers that I have yet to uncover."
She sends him that tiny smile again, and it leaves him with the impression that she means to uncover each and every piece of his character whether he wishes it or not. Once again, Robert is unsure how to respond to this, and so he settles with pursing his lips.
"Ah, have I caused offense yet again?" she wonders as they walk past several shops. Their reflection follows them: an austere man coupled with a woman quite the opposite.
Robert stiffly replies, "I am beginning to think that you rather enjoy causing offense, Miss Risdon." That he makes no mention of whether he has actually been offended has her smile edging further up.
Margot laughs quietly and catches his eye. "I apologize, Robert. You have this way about you. It makes me curious, and I can't seem to help myself."
He ignores her usage of his Christian name, for now, and raises an eyebrow. "Curious?" he prompts as they pause in front of a leather shop. He watches her tilt her head as she studies the window display, where a finely crafted saddlebag is being shown off beside an equally fine row of low-heeled shoes, buffed with various colors and shining with pewter details.
Margot catches glances up to view their reflections and catches his eye through the glass. "You do not outwardly appear to be very…sympathetic to the cause."
He stares back at her through the glass and murmurs, "My outward appearance is precisely the reason our mutual friend was interested in making my acquaintance."
She defers to this, inclining her chin in a short nod. But her eyes do not leave his as she does, and he feels suddenly that there is something there in the spaces between them that had not been there moments before, a certain camaraderie, perhaps. An understanding.
"Also…" he abruptly says, lifting an eyebrow as they maintain their reflected stare, "it is Mr. Townsend."
The smile she sends him then is half amused, half exasperated, but this time he can't find fault with it. The corner of his mouth twitches up too, just barely.
She turns to look at him directly. A demure expression captures her face, and if he didn't know any better, he'd say that it is entirely genuine. But when she breathes, "Mr. Townsend," he hears the slight edge of laughter pressed therein, and looks no further into the flirtatious nature of her tone.
Margot Risdon is, perhaps, yet another mystery that he will have to unravel. But with the Lord a day is like a thousand years, and a thousand years are like a day, and this mystery will have to be unraveled slowly and with care, and – he fears – with far more patience than he feels he has.