Chapter Three | My Dearest Mr. Townsend
Miss Margot Risdon, Robert has learned, is a very singular woman. Her passions seem to rule her, but as the weeks of their acquaintanceship grow into months, he comes to discover that her coquettish nature is little more than an exaggerated front, honed into masks and glamours of which she uses generously. It is a simple disguise made elaborate; a stretch of truth that is most compelling, especially when he manages to catch a glimpse of the woman beneath it all.
He finds himself curious to play part in more of their strategic games. While he usually dislikes the art of social engineering as a rule, he finds that her particular brand of it is engaging and ever intriguing. Despite seeing her only once a month, he feels as if they have become accomplices of a sort, and when he is being honest with himself, he admits that he looks forward to her trips to York City. But do not presume to think that Robert Townsend feels anything else for Margot Risdon. He is merely curious of the way she is able to move about the tavern in plain sight, and yet remain unseen even when all eyes are upon her. It is terribly fascinating to watch her play her hand.
Not always, though.
"You received a letter, Robert," James Rivington calls, appearing in the doorway that leads to the stairwell. It is mid-morning, and Robert has been busy stripping the beds that were previously occupied and gathering the linens to be sent off with the washwoman. He hasn't heard anything of import to pass along to his good friend Mr. Culper and hasn't taken out an advertisement in Rivington's Gazette for some time. Furthermore, it has been roughly one month since Margot's last visit to the city, and he is beginning to grow concerned at her late arrival. Her visits are never punctual in that they fall upon a specific day, but they are not usually so spaced out.
"Leave it on the counter. I'll read it later," Robert responds as he steps towards the kitchen to make fresh coffee. The afternoon is usually busy with requests for the drink, and with Rivington's habit of ignoring the tavern work in favor of his newspaper business, it often falls upon Robert to ensure that everything is prepared. He doesn't mind it overmuch, though. Allowing Rivington to sniff out his gossip is in fact a fortuitous and reliable method for extracting information, for Rivington likes to make a habit of gleefully informing Robert of all that he has learned.
As he approaches the threshold of the kitchen, his business partner turns to eye him with an expression of eagerness. It is an expression Robert has begun to associate with the man's favorite hobby: wishing to know everything that is going on around him, and the more scandalous the better. It naturally makes Robert pause to lift a questioning eyebrow at him.
Rivington quirks an enthusiastic smile and says, "Are you quite sure you don't wish to read it now, Robert? There is a faint scent of perfume upon these pages."
Ah. That explains it. Rivington, as always, is sniffing for information regarding his love life – or lack thereof. Robert resists the urge to roll his eyes and snaps, "Who on earth would send correspondence with – " and then, abruptly cutting himself off, he realizes that there is one person who might be brazen enough to do such a thing, and he promptly changes course to snatch the letter from Rivington's hand.
He is breaking the seal before he remembers that Rivington is standing beside him, eagerly watching his every movement. This reminder makes Robert snap his eyes up to stare at him with the same hawkish nature that usually makes others uncomfortable. Unfortunately, however, James seems to have grown somewhat immune to the look over the months of their partnership, and impatiently says, "Well don't just stand there, man! What does your lovely creature wish to convey to you?"
A flicker of annoyance pervades Robert upon hearing these words. Margot is, after all, not his, nor does he wish her to be. If she were to claim obedience to any man, it would be to Mr. Culper, their mutual friend and the reason that Robert and Margot are acquainted to begin with. There is no other reason for which she would send him a letter, certainly. This is surely to do with Culper business, and suddenly he is wary about reading it in front of Rivington. But Margot is an intelligent woman, he has grudgingly found, and she surely wouldn't be foolish enough to send an uncoded letter into the heart of British-occupied York City.
He sends Rivington a warning look that goes unheeded and breaks the seal.
'My dear Mr. Townsend,' it says,
I fear my next trip into the city will be delayed due to an unavoidable circumstance of which I will inform you of when I see you next. I beg you not concern yourself over my safety, for our most Esteemed friend is looking after me with the utmost care, and while conditions therein are not ideal to a woman who, forgive me, is much accustomed to a certain dispensary of everyday comforts, I find myself fortunate in a life of relative, if not complete, contentment. I shall endeavor to visit both you and my cousin in one week's time if God is willing. In the interim, our mutual friend is having quite an excitable time, and I look forward to regaling you of all that is occurring. Until then, you are in my thoughts and prayers as I eagerly await the day of our reunion.
With all my heart, Yours Always,
Margot Risdon
P.S. Your father is doing well in Oyster Bay and has begun the process of rebuilding the barn. I have not seen him in person for some time, but I have heard word that he is just as jovial as ever.
Robert stares at the way she had signed the letter for one long, torrid moment before he snaps the paper shut and clears his throat. Infuriating, brazen creature. She had clearly and correctly guessed that Rivington would endeavor to read the letter at all costs, which is precisely the reason Robert hadn't moved to a more private area to peruse its contents. He wouldn't put it past his business partner to riffle through his things while he is doing inventory or out purchasing supplies for the tavern. The man has no qualms where it concerns gossip, especially of the feminine sort.
As expected, Rivington had tried his utmost to read the contents of Margot's letter over Robert's shoulder, and is now grinning in a most unapologetically gleeful manner as he chuckles, "Robert, you scoundrel. Miss Risdon is soon to be a married woman!" However, it is evident that Rivington is hardly concerned with this fact when he adds, "I might have known. Whenever she stops in to see you, you have the expression of a man yearning."
Now Robert Townsend is certainly not the sort of man to yearn for anyone's company, woman or no, and sends Rivington a sharp look that barely masks his annoyance upon hearing this most unfortunate breech of the reputation he has built up for many a year.
"Miss Risdon is a childhood friend," he reminds Rivington in a tone of warning.
"Yes, yes, worry not, Robert, I shall keep your salacious secret!" Rivington replies without even a moment's hesitation, as if he was fully expecting Robert to deny his assumption. Then, chuckling, Rivington murmurs, "'With all my heart'. She must think highly of you, my stiff-necked friend."
Robert once more resists the urge to roll his eyes. He tucks the letter into his plain black waistcoat. As he does, the faintest trace of perfume lifts from the page. It is a flowery scent, not overwhelming and rather pleasant, and his mind is suddenly filled with an image of Margot sitting at a writing desk and penning the letter, that tiny smile overcoming her as she mischievously writes, 'My dearest Mr. Townsend', surely knowing well enough that her equally flowery endearments would make him scowl.
Brazen woman.
"I'll be heading down to the docks to oversee our shipment of port," Robert informs his partner, attempting to put an end to this rather embarrassing conversation. Allowing Rivington to make presumptions of his acquaintanceship with Margot Risdon is a necessary evil, he supposes, but he doesn't much enjoy the knowing glances that Rivington enjoys bestowing upon him these days. Honestly, if the man knew the truth of their acquaintanceship, he surely wouldn't be quite as amused.
"Very well," Rivington says, waving him off with yet another gleeful grin. "In your absence, I shall hold down the fort, as the soldiers say! Ah, speaking of – Captain Addington, how nice to see you! Any news on the latest scuffle around Duck Island?"
As Rivington bustles out from behind the counter to greet the British officer, Robert finally gives into the urge to roll his eyes and turns to fetch the shipment details to bring to the docks.
He sees her next one week later in the early afternoon, his arms laden with supplies from the market, most notably a bushel of apples and as many fresh vegetables as he could purchase with supplies of the sort being so limited. Luckily, Rivington's Corner does far more business in the wine and liquor industry, unlike his previous establishment across the city. Meals are still prepared for those guests who are staying in one of the rooms upstairs, but most of the officers prefer to come here for drink and conversation.
Rivington's Corner is relatively empty this time of day, though several tables are occupied by the fireplace. He glances towards the occupants as he steps into the establishment with his purchases, trying to discern the names of the fellows therein. Names hold power in his business. If nothing else, it would be something to send along to Culper. His intelligence has been abysmally lacking of late, with nothing of import to note.
Upon viewing the epaulets that mark the men as lower-ranking officers and therefore less likely to be in possession of important military information, Robert continues on his way to the counter and then beyond, intent on putting his purchases into their rightful places within the kitchen. He doesn't get very far, however, before he hears a rather strange sound from within said kitchen and finds himself drawing to a prompt halt.
A woman's voice lilts within the space therein, muffled just so by the closed door. Just after it sounds, he hears Rivington's laughter, also muffled, and feels his lip curl down. Is the man consorting with women in the kitchen, of all places? He has no dignity whatsoever. With a pursed mouth, Robert continues on his way, not about to let James Rivington stop him – but when he reaches out to turn the doorknob, he stops again. This time because he hears his name.
Now, eavesdropping being a sinful pastime to the humble Quaker, Robert nearly steps away. He surely would have, had the voice which had said his name not sounded so infuriatingly familiar. And so, against his better judgment, he waits and listens, and hears –
"He will not be gone long, will he? I am very much looking forward to seeing him."
He nearly drops the basket he is holding at the sound of Margot's voice, and promptly berates himself for his ridiculous reaction to it. It's only because he hadn't expected her to be in one of the back rooms, is all. It is surely not because he has been looking forward to seeing her, for that would be incredibly ridiculous and very counterproductive to their acquaintanceship. They are, after all, conspiratorial coworkers of a sort, and nothing more.
Through the door, Rivington responds, "He should be along shortly, my dear. You needn't bother yourself with all this – we do have hired help, you know – "
Robert doesn't linger any longer than this and pushes the door open, but the scene that greets him is not quite what he is expecting. Since making Miss Risdon's acquaintance and beginning to forge a friendship with her, he has been under the impression that she is the sort of woman who dislikes getting her hands dirty in the more palpable manner (spywork being a slightly more intangible recreation), and is therefore rather surprised to see her standing over a washbasin with her sleeves rolled up to the elbow as she endeavors to wash the dishware that had been dirtied from the morning rush. In fact, he is so taken aback by the sight of her hard at work that at first he does very little but stand in the doorway of the kitchen and stare. As he does, Rivington and Margot turn to stare at him in turn, though the both of them jump to very different conclusions as to the reason for his speechlessness.
Rivington smirks widely. "Your dear heart has finally returned, Robert! She has been anxiously awaiting your arrival."
Evidently, his business partner thinks that Robert's stare is due entirely to his own apparent yearning of the creature who stands before him. As for Margot herself…
"You needn't look so shocked, Robert," she says with that tiny smile. "I do know how to wash a plate, my dear."
He blinks, reeling slightly from that last bit, and turns his attention to Rivington. The man is watching the exchange with his usual look of glee, but upon noticing Robert's glance, he smiles secretively and declares, "I will leave you two alone, then. Don't do anything I wouldn't do, Robert."
And then Rivington pushes past him and closes the door. He sends a wink at Margot as he does, which makes her tiny smile grow into something that more resembles a smirk. It does wonders to the mischief alighting in her eyes as she turns to look at Robert, and, in turn, does wonders to the way Robert himself regards her. A pressing warmth fills him just so, though he is quite sure it's because the kitchen is hot from the fire and refuses to look any further into the matter.
Robert raises an eyebrow at Margot and sets his purchases down upon the table in which she is manning. He takes a moment to study the apron she has put on over her gown and the suds that cling to her forearms from her washing, still quietly taken aback at the domestic nature of the scene. Before now, he had rather forgotten that Margot Risdon is in fact a woman who is surely quite capable in the kitchen as all such creatures of marrying age are. Seeing her in this light, doing something so normal and so simple, certainly gives him pause.
Not for very long, though. You see, Robert Townsend is the sort of man who almost always has something to say, regardless of circumstance or situation.
"…A love letter?" he finally murmurs, sending her a dry look. He is still somewhat ruffled at the whole thing, though he hasn't disposed of the letter yet. The reason for his keeping it is not yet known to him in full, but his excuse is simply that he wished to speak with her directly before burning it to ensure that nothing is forgotten.
Margot laughs and resumes her washing. In a lighthearted voice, she responds. "Was it convincing, dear Robert?"
His stare grows somewhat more deadpan. "The perfume was a bit much," is all he says, which draws another laugh from her. This occurrence is most unfortunate and not in any way planned, of course.
She eyes him with a smile. "I thought it was a nice touch. It is what women do, you know, when they write to their love. Or, at least, I believe it is. In truth, I have never written such a letter before." She dispenses this kernel of sincerity in a low, conspiratorial manner, her voice edged over with the faint glimmer of laughter and her eyes twinkling in the mischievous way that Robert has long since memorized.
He thinks again that the room is a bit too hot, and busies himself with attending to the hearth as he admits, "I am…surprised to hear that. You seem like a woman who would have many suitors."
A silence falls upon this musing, and in earnest, Robert straightens up to add, "I did not mean to cause insult – "
Margot laughs again, though; a small snickering sound that makes him immediately fall silent. "Mr. Townsend, I do believe that was a compliment," she says, mirthfully surprised.
He thinks over his words and decides that she is perhaps right. As this had not at all his intention, he is quick to clarify, "I only meant that it was a convincing letter. Though I'm quite sure Rivington was the most excited to receive it, between the two of us."
A look threads through Margot's eyes upon hearing this, but it is gone so quickly that Robert is unable to discern what emotion had driven it forward. Being someone who much prefers to have little to do with women and has in fact happily sentenced himself to a life of bachelorhood (unless God wills otherwise, of course), he is quite unsure what it is that lingers between them now; what disquiet emotion has lowered her smile so gently. Alas, for a man who makes habit of keeping his life free from any trace of female perspective, he is quite unsure indeed.
"…Yes, I thought Mr. Rivington would be keen to read it," Margot lightly says, evidently having gotten over whatever influx of emotion had just swept through her. Robert eyes her tentatively from across the room, still wondering if he had caused offense. Margot Risdon can be quite difficult to read.
Hoping to distract her from any perceived insult that he may have accidently dispensed, he steps back to the table to begin unwrapping his purchases and put them away. As he does, he lowers his voice and asks, "Why were you delayed, and what excitable adventures is our mutual friend experiencing?"
The question seems to place them back into familiar territory, from which they had strayed just now. She glances over at him as he settles beside her and turns her gaze to watch him unpack the apples and vegetables he had purchased at the market.
"…There has been continued…altercations in Setauket, with a man named Captain Simcoe. He has endeavored to make Abraham's life as difficult as possible. I fear he may suspect that there is more to our mutual friend than meets the eye," she murmurs quietly, and lifts her eyes to meet Robert's gaze, which has hardened with concern.
In a cautious voice, Robert asks, "Should I be concerned that this man will follow the trail here, to me?"
Margot immediately shakes her head and turns to face him, placing her hand upon his forearm. "No, Robert, you are quite safe here. The nature of our system seeks to protect you as best it can. You need not worry."
But still, his eyes flash with slight concern as he stares at her. He glances down at her hand and wonders, "And will it protect you? Your trips to the city have not caught the attention of anyone of…import?"
She shakes her head again and smiles that tiny smile. "Are you worried for me, Robert?" she asks, sounding somewhat amused by the notion.
His eyes snap to hers. After a moment of studying her face, he scoffs quietly and drawls, "No indeed, I suppose you can handle yourself just fine. And it is Mr. Townsend. I wish you would stop pretending to forget."
Margot's smile widens, and yet again Robert wonders why the kitchen is so hot today.
"Pretend? I'm sure I have no idea what you're implying, Mr. Townsend," she sniffs, though the corner of her mouth is still blazing with that impertinent smile.
Robert forces down a smile of his own and turns his attention back to his purchases. "Is this the reason for your delay, then, or is there something else I should know about?"
Margot nods thoughtfully and responds, "It is partly the reason. I have been moved to our Esteemed friend's encampment since last I visited you, though it is only for a short time. I cannot remain in Setauket whilst Simcoe is there…it would put us all in danger if he recognizes me in the city, especially on one of my visits to you. Questions would be asked after our acquaintanceship, especially if he does indeed suspect that Setauket is more than it appears."
Robert hums low in his throat, a sound of agreement. He sets down several bottles of brandy that he had purchased to replenish their stock and says, "And your time in camp…are you safe there?"
The true nature of his question is clear enough. An army encampment, whether it be British or Continental, is hardly a place for a woman. Camp followers are comprised of many a dishonorable consort, and while there are many officers' wives and other respectable ladies among them, the majority of women who follow the army are those who are looking to make coin from the soldiers. Their methods of procuring such payment are of the disreputable sort. Robert is inquiring into whether she has been accidentally lumped in with those women.
Margot casts him a wry look. "My, but I do believe that you are worried about me, Mr. Townsend. My heart is all aflutter with your concern."
His expression becomes slightly dryer. "You do not seem to take me very seriously, Miss Risdon."
Her smile turns a touch softer, and it fills with yet another emotion that Robert can't for the life of him identify – yet another recourse of his bachelorhood, perhaps, that makes it difficult to read the particular impression of her eyes.
"On the contrary," she murmurs, "I have the utmost respect for you, Mr. Townsend."
And with that, she turns back to her washing, and Robert wonders yet again why the room is so warm.