It was true; I loved finding things. Buttons. Flowers. A beautiful line of poetry. It was one wrecker instinct I couldn’t rid myself of.

From the judge I received a rock clustered with bright gemstones. “Blue agate,” he said. “All the way from the gem mines of Brazil. You can have it made into a necklace if you wish, but I rather like its rough, natural beauty.”

I smiled. No wonder I liked him so. “I adore it, Judge.”

Aunt Nora and Uncle Henry gave me Evelina, a novel I’d been wanting desperately. After months of reading novels to improve my speech and conversation, I’d made the shocking discovery that I enjoyed books. I seldom daydreamed anymore, but reading gave me a similar escape.

Charlotte pushed the next gift at me. “Open, open. Before I do it myself.”

I didn’t get far before a visitor was announced.

Major John André’s entrance always seemed to have the same effect. The gentlemen grinned broadly. Charlotte kicked me under the table. Lucy sat up straighter, sucking on her lips to redden them. Mrs. Holdridge and Mrs. Winter shared a private smile.

André was the most elegant gentleman I knew. Everyone’s favorite—including General Clinton, England’s top war commander. He had a face like a Greek statue’s, a trim build he showed off in perfectly tailored regimentals, and a charming personality only made better by hints of devilment. I knew quite a few young ladies who’d had their hearts broken by him. Some men were King Arthurs, my friend Rebecca liked to say, but André was a Lancelot.

He tucked his hat under his arm. “Friends, forgive me the interruption,” he said, his English voice carrying such a fine, clear ring. “But I won’t take more than a moment. I sent a message earlier, Judge. My aide-de-camp has arrived sooner than expected. He comes tomorrow. I trust you’ll be ready for him?”

Housing in New York posed a real problem. Every day, Loyalist refugees and runaways poured in by the dozens in search of the Crown’s protection. It didn’t help that the Great Fire had burned down a third of the city’s dwellings a few years ago. With a large home all to himself, the judge sometimes lodged British officers.

“Yes, I received your message and wrote back this morning,” replied the judge. “I have a relative arriving this week, but there’s room for them both. I shall be glad to host your aide, Major.”

André frowned. “You wrote me? Do you see how desperate I am for good help? I thank you, Judge. I know Lieutenant Duncan is quite eager to be here.” His gaze came to me.

“Of course he must be,” the judge said, and smiled at me as well. A chill traced a cold finger down my spine. “Won’t you join us, André? I’ve not yet finished all the cake.”