“What she's telling us,” said Verily Cooper, “is that she's got her a knack.”

“Please keep such crudity for times when you are alone with the ill-mannered,” said Purity. “I observe people keenly, that is all. And from his accent I am confident that my reasoning was correct.”

The rough fellow, Mike Fink, spoke up. “When you hear a bunch of squealing and snorting, you can bet you're somewhere near a pig.”

Purity turned toward him. “I have no idea what you meant by that.”

“I'm just saying a knack's a knack.”

“Enough,” said Cooper. “Less than a week in New England and we've already forgotten all caution? Knacks are illegal here. Therefore decent people don't have them.”

“Oh yeah,” said Mike Fink. “Except she does.”

“But then, perhaps she is not decent,” said Audubon.

It was Purity's turn to blush. “You forget yourself, sir,” she said.

“Never mind him,” said Cooper. “He's just miffed because you made that remark about unspeakable presumptions.”

“You're travelers,” she said.

“John-James paints North American birds with an eye toward publishing a book of his pictures for the use of scientists in Europe.”

“And for this he needs a troop along? What do you do, hold his brushes?”

“We're not all on the same errand,” said Cooper.

At that moment the two she had seen in the river came out of the bushes, still damp-haired but fully clothed.

“Ma'am, I'm so sorry you had to see so much horseflesh without no horses,” said the White one.

The Black one said not a thing, but never took his eyes from her.

“This is Alvin Smith,” said Cooper. “He's a man of inestimable abilities, but only because nobody has cared enough to estimate them. The short one is Arthur Stuart, no kin to the King, who travels with Alvin as his adopted nephew-in-law, or some such relationship.”

“And you,” said Purity, “have been long enough out of England to pick up some American brag.”

“But surrounded by Americans as I am,” said Cooper, “my brag is like a farthing in a sack of guineas.”

She couldn't help but laugh at the way he spoke. “So you travel in New England with a Frenchman, who is only able to avoid being expelled or, worse, arrested as a spy, by pretending to be a mute. You are a barrister, this fellow is a boatman, as I assume, and the two bathers are…” Her voice trailed off.

“Are what?” asked Alvin Smith.

“Clean,” she said. Then she smiled.

“What were you going to say?” asked Smith.

“Don't press her,” said Cooper. “If someone decides to leave something unsaid, my experience is that everyone is happier if they don't insist on his saying it.”

“That's OK,” said Arthur Stuart. “I don't think she knows herself what was on her lips to say.”

She laughed in embarrassment. “It's true,” she said. “I think I was hoping that a jest would come to mind, and it didn't.”

Alvin smiled at her. “Or else the jest that did come to mind was of a sort that you couldn't imagine yourself making, and so it went away.”

She didn't like the way he looked at her as if he thought he knew all about her. Never mind that she must be looking at him the same way– she did know about him. He was so full of confidence it made her want to throw mud on him just to show him he wasn't carried along by angels. It was as if he feared nothing and imagined himself capable of achieving anything. And it wasn't an illusion he was trying to create, either. He really was conceited; his attitude reeked of it. His only fear was that, when push came to shove, he might turn out to be even better than he thought himself to be.

“I don't know what I done to rub you the wrong way, ma'am,” said Smith, “other than bathing nekkid, but that's how my mama taught me it ought to be done, so my clothes don't shrink.”

The others laughed. Purity didn't.

“Want something to eat?” Arthur Stuart asked her.

“I don't know, what do you have?” she said.

His eyes were still focused on her, slightly widened, his jaw just a bit slack. Oh, it was love all right, the swooning moon-in-juning kind.

“Berries,” said the boy. He held out his hat, which had several dozen blackberries down in it. She reached in, took one, tasted it.

“Oh no,” said Cooper mildly. “You've eaten a berry, so you must spend one month of every year in Hades.”

“But these berries are from New England, not hell,” she said.

“That's a relief,” said Smith. “I wasn't sure where the border was.”

Purity didn't know how to take this Smith fellow. She didn't like looking at him. His boldness bothered her. He didn't even seem ashamed that she had seen him naked.

Instead she looked at Cooper. The barrister was a pleasant sight indeed. His manner, his dress, his voice, all belonged to a man that Purity thought existed only in a dream. Why was he different from other men who dressed in such a way?

“You aren't an ordinary lawyer,” she said to him.

Cooper looked at her in surprise. And then his surprise turned to dread.

“I'm not,” he said.

What was he afraid of?

“Yes he is,” said Smith.

“No,” said Cooper. “Ordinary lawyers make a lot of money. I haven't made a shilling in the past year.”

“Is that it?” asked Purity. It could be. Barristers did seem a prosperous lot. But no, it was something else. “I think what makes you different is you don't think you're better than these others.”

Cooper looked around at his companions– the smith, the riverman, the French artist, the Black boy– and grinned. “You're mistaken,” he said. “I'm definitely the better man.”

The others laughed. “Better at what?” asked Mike Fink. “Whining like a mosquito whenever you see a bee?”

“I don't like bees,” said Cooper.

“They like you.” said Arthur Stuart.

“Because I'm sweet.” He was joking, but Purity could see that his fear was growing greater. She glanced around, looking for the source of the danger.

Smith noticed the way she looked around and took it as a sign, or perhaps just a reminder. “Come on now,” said Smith. “Time for us to move on.”

“No,” said Cooper. Purity could see his resolve harden. He wasn't just afraid– he was going to act on his fear.

“What's wrong?” asked Smith.

“The girl,” said Cooper.

“What about her?” demanded Arthur Stuart. He spoke so truculently that Purity expected one of the men to rebuke him. But no, he was treated as if his voice had equal weight in the company.

“She's going to get us killed.”

Now she understood. He was afraid of her. “I'm not,” she said. “I won't tell anybody he's a papist.”

“When they put your hand on the Bible and swear you to tell the truth?” asked Cooper. “You'd send yourself to hell and deny that you know that he's Catholic?”

“I am not a good Catholic,” said Audubon modestly.

“Then you go to hell no matter who's right,” said Smith. It was a joke, but nobody laughed.

Cooper still held Purity in gaze, and now it was her turn to be afraid. She had never seen such intensity in a man, except a preacher in his pulpit, during the most fiery part of the sermon. “Why are you afraid of me?” asked Purity.

“That's why,” said Cooper.

“What's why?”

“You know that I'm afraid of you. You know too much about what we're thinking.”

“I already told you, I don't know what anybody's thinking.”

“What we're feeling, then.” Cooper grinned mirthlessly. “It's your knack.”

“We already said that,” said Fink.

“What if it is?” Purity said defiantly. “Who's to say that knacks aren't gifts from God?”

“The courts of Massachusetts,” said Cooper. “The gallows.”

“So she's got a knack,” said Smith. “Who doesn't?”

The others nodded.

Except Cooper. “Have you lost your minds? Look at you! Talking knowledgeably of knacks! Admitting that Jean-Jacques here is French and Catholic to boot.”

“But she already knew,” said Audubon.