Bon Marche by Chet Hagan Read Free Book Online Page B

I’m rather proud of being French.”
    â€œOf course—as you should be.”
    â€œBut I’m more proud of being what I am now—an American.”
    â€œPerhaps we should allow our guest to eat,” Statler suggested.
    Katherine ignored him. “And the redcoats? How did they appear?”
    â€œKatie!” her father remonstrated. “Please permit our guest to enjoy his meal.”
    His daughter’s face was sullen. “Yes, Father.”
    â€œI’m sure you’ll have other opportunities to hear from Mr. Dewey.” To Charles: “I hope you’ll excuse my daughters’ demands for news from outside. We get precious few visitors here.”
    Dewey nodded his understanding. He was grateful that Statler had rescued him—now he could end the lying. And he was hungry, too.
    With the lamb were served golden-bright yams smothered with butter and some kind of boiled greens, bitter to his taste, but he ate them anyway, fearing that he might insult his host if he didn’t.
    As dessert was being served—a sweet white cake swimming in a thick sauce laced with rum—the master of Elkwood made a family announcement: “I’ve had a communication from Mr. Lee, and he has kindly offered us the use of his coach and horses to get to church on Sunday. I’ve accepted.”
    He turned to MacCallum. “Lee tells me, too, that carriage horses might be available in Charlottesville. Perhaps we can make arrangements to go there within a week or so and look at them.”
    â€œOf course,” the tutor replied.
    â€œThat damned Tarleton!” Charles saw anger in Statler’s face. “Leaving us without even the horses to go to church!”
    No one commented. Apparently the subject of the person named Tarleton was one that had been amply covered during other meals.
    Statler rose from the table. “Well, I’m up early.” He looked at Charles. “May I suggest, Mr. Dewey, that we conduct our postponed tour of the estate first thing in the morning?”
    â€œAs you wish.”
    â€œGood. I’ll have Samuel wake you at five-thirty.”
    Charles groaned inwardly, but he welcomed the opportunity to escape any more questions about Yorktown.
    IV
    I N a large bedroom on the second floor of the mansion, Martha Statler prepared for bed, clearly annoyed. Her sister was perched on the arm of a chair, watching her intently.
    â€œWhy don’t you go to your own room?” Martha snapped.
    Katherine giggled. “I’m just looking for a sign.”
    â€œA sign of what?”
    â€œOf how the charming Mr. Dewey’s presence has affected my little sister.”
    â€œKatie, you’re dreadful.” Martha tried to make light of her sister’s innuendo, forcing a smile. “What kind of sign could there possibly be?”
    â€œOh,” Katherine answered, grinning impishly, “a slight shortness of breath, a rosy blush on the breast…” She dropped her voice into a conspiratorial whisper: “Perhaps even an erect nipple.”
    â€œKatie! Really!” Martha turned away from her. “There are times when you can be quite crude! Please go to your own room.”
    â€œOh, dear, is my darling sister embarrassed by the truth: that the handsome Frenchman, with his fair blond hair, raises some desire in her?”
    Martha didn’t reply.
    â€œThat perhaps she imagines herself in her soft bed with him, intent upon—”
    â€œStop it!” Martha cried, rushing at her, a fist raised menacingly. “Stop it!”
    Katherine, easily dodging the half-hearted assault, sauntered to the door. “So it is true, dear Martha,” she teased. “Our young guest does stir the passion in you.”
    Martha, wanting to end the baiting, remained silent.
    â€œDo you think he would be exciting in bed?”
    No reply.
    â€œProbably not,” Katherine shrugged. “But then again,