Unlikely Spy Catchers (St. Brendan Book 2)

by Carla Kelly

  Sir B couldn’t help but notice. He patted Meri’s cheek. “Go on home, you dears,” he said. “It’s late. It’s just that I enjoy your company,” he said simply.

  “And we, yours,” Meri said.

  The captain kissed her hand. Able heard Grace Croker’s quiet sigh. My word but life is complicated in the ordinary world, he thought.

  “You’ll have to tell me more about this watch,” Sir B said as Gervaise wheeled him toward the entrance, his guests beside him.

  “I’ll be pleased to, sir,” Able replied.

  They made curious progress to the door, with Meri close to Able on one side and Jean Hubert crowding him on the other. Grace may have noticed Jean’s eagerness to get away, but she said nothing. She confined herself to chatting with Sir B in that teasing, casual way of theirs, the sort of conversation that came from years of friendship. For a split second Able almost envied them. He had no idea if the few friends he had made in the Dumfries workhouse were even alive.

  The bigger issue now was getting Jean out of the house without Gervaise coming close. Jean took care of it. He opened the front door before the butler even had a chance and darted out. “I’ll alert the coachman,” he said over his shoulder, and was gone.

  “I would have done that,” said the footman, sounding wounded.

  “He does like to be of assistance,” Meri told the servant. She gave him her smile that continued to captivate men of all ages, from little boys in the lower grades, to the husband standing beside her, his hand on her waist. “Sir B, let me know if you would like some rout cakes from Ezekiel Bartleby’s bakery. He asked about you only yesterday.”

  Oh, Meri, you’re a wonder, Able thought, as they left the house and moved down the front steps, talking about pastry. Meri waved goodbye to Sir B and blew him a kiss. Gervaise had no choice but to close the door.

  Meri waited for him with Grace until Jean returned from the stable. “What was that?” she whispered.

  “Later,” he said. “I’m not done.”

  Smart woman. She nodded and stood with him the few minutes it took before the Croker carriage came around the corner and stopped in front of Sir B’s row house. With a flourish – his expression settled now and cheerful – Jean helped Grace into the carriage and Meri next.

  “How forgetful of me,” Able said suddenly. “Go on without me. I left my umbrella inside.”

  “We can wait,” Grace said. “It’s rather a long walk.”

  Meri leaned close to Grace. “Sometimes Able likes a long walk to clear his mind. We’ll go on.”

  “So true,” he said with a rueful shake of his head. “I’ll wander home soon.”

  Before the carriage pulled away from the curb, he bounded up the steps and opened the door without knocking. The hall was empty, but he called out for Sir B. Gervaise came to the door of the captain’s bookroom, his expression neutral, the perfect valet.

  “Gervaise, I forgot my umbrella. Would you please look for it? I might have left it in the sitting room.”

  Do you doubt me? Able thought, watching skepticism work its way quickly across the valet’s face and vanish. “Just please look,” he said in his sailing master voice, not loud, but commanding.

  “Very well, sir.” Gervaise started down the hall, taking one backward glance.

  Able went into the bookroom and locked the door behind him. Sir B looked up from the desk, surprised. “What in the world, Able…” he began.

  “Not now,” Able said, equally commanding. “I need to talk to you and Gervaise cannot overhear us.”

  He had never spoken to his captain and mentor in that tone of voice, but it carried the day.

  “Very well,” Sir B said and closed the ledger. “Unlock the door or Gervaise will be even more suspicious than he already is. I’ll fob him off.”

  Able did as he was asked. He heard Gervaise’s footsteps and sat down in the chair by Sir B’s desk, leaning back, his arms behind his head.

  “Sir, I can’t find your umbrella,” Gervaise said most carefully.

  “I’m too young to be this forgetful,” Able replied. “Well, damn me. Now I have a long walk.”

  “I can summon a hackney with no trouble,” the valet told him.

  “So can Able,” Sir B said. “I’m glad he’s here, actually, because I have a small matter to discuss.” He coughed into his hand. “I’m still hearing rumblings about the mysterious disappearance of Master Blake last year.”

  “Good God, don’t tell me identifying parts of him are starting to show up at low tide,” Able said, happy to play along. Blake’s parts had long gone to a dubious reward.

  “Nothing that drastic,” Sir B said with a languid wave of his hand. “Gervaise, go upstairs and prepare my bed. I’ll give you a halloo when I need your help.”

  “Very well, Sir B.” He bowed and left the room. Able thought his back looked a little stiff, his shoulders higher than normal.

  “I’ve offended him,” Able said. “How suspicious will he be?”

  Sir B waved his hand again. “No matter. I’ll just shake my head over the whole business and blame it on a careless bastard who has no manners whatsoever, even though his wife tries so hard.”

  Able laughed and the captain joined him. Still laughing, Able locked the door and pulled his chair close to Sir B. “I won’t take long, but you need to know what I saw tonight.”

  “Tell me.” Sir B said, his casual air gone, his eyes steely.

  “Am I right? I don’t know,” Able began. “Gervaise kept trying to move closer to Jean. He had such a look in his eyes! And when I pulled out John Mark’s illustrations from the block pulley factory, I thought Gervaise was going to crane his neck right out of his shoulders.”

  “I didn’t notice,” the captain said.

  “I watched Jean, too. He wasn’t even slightly interested in the drawings.” Able sat back. “What can you tell me about Gervaise?”

  A long silence passed between them, captain and sailing apprentice again, sitting in a frigate wardroom, years apart in age, miles away in social station, galaxies separated in brain power. Their glances never wavered. Sir B finally leaned back, too, breaking the spell.

  “What are you thinking, Able? Tell me the whole thing.”

  “I am thinking that if Gervaise isn’t a spy, he’s been alerted by someone to watch for one, and he thinks it’s Jean Hubert.”

  “And?”

  “Jean Hubert is either a greater actor than Edmund Keene, or he is precisely who he claims to be.”

  “Which is?”

  “A prisoner, a bit indolent, apolitical, who wants to sit out this war without too much strain to himself,” Able said. “And there is this – Gervaise seemed equally interested in the Rats standing the watch at St. Brendan’s.”

  Sir B nodded slowly. “You’re doing what Trinity House mandated.”

  “Precisely. We’re adding another layer of protection.” Able moved closer until his knees pressed against Sir B’s chair. “Sir, were you aware that Captain Ogilvie handed Gervaise something during that…that humiliating altercation outside of Trinity House.”

  “No. Captain Ogilvie?” Sir B sighed and rubbed his eyes. He made a visible effort to collect himself and squared his thin shoulders. “Gervaise is the son of Henri Françoise and Madeleine Turenne of Toulouse. He was an estate manager to the Duc d’Orleans, who had extensive properties in that Languedoc region and elsewhere. When things went from bad to worse after the storming of the Bastille …what, fourteen years ago… Henri and Madeleine escaped to England with Gervaise, a boy of eight. They settled in Kent.” He sighed again. “They had also managed some of my French property.”

  “You had French holdings?” Able interrupted.

  “The less said about that the better,” Sir B replied, in that sharp voice Able hadn’t
heard in years. “Had, had, mind you!” He chuckled, but Able heard no mirth. “I put Henri Turenne to work managing my Kent estates, and Gervaise came to work for me when…” Another sigh. Able knew this was hard for a proud man. “When I needed him.”

  More silence. Able heard footsteps in the hall again, quiet ones this time. He gestured to the door and shook his head. He took a pen and paper from the desk and wrote, Perhaps we should keep an eye on Gervaise. Eyes troubled, Sir B nodded. Able listened. The footsteps receded.

  Something else needed to be said. Something else he had noticed, brought to his attention a few days ago by his wife. He doubted Sir B would appreciate this bit of impertinence.

  “I noticed something else tonight at dinner,” he said at last.

  “What now?”

  Able knew that tone of voice from years at sea with his mentor. Sir B was not a happy man. Able gave the matter his usual nano-second consideration, which included the fact that he had a signed contract at St. Brendan’s that even Sir B couldn’t touch, if what he was about to say irritated him enough to request his resignation.

  “Sir, Gervaise wasn’t the only person watching someone.” How to say this? Able suddenly wished Meri were sitting beside him, her hand on his knee. “Sir, are you aware how Grace watches you?”

  Sir B’s hand went to his eyes again. He said nothing. Able plunged on.

  “Meri remarked on that to me, how she seems to lighten up when you come into a room. I…I…watched her tonight. She does.”

  Sir B slammed his hand on the desk, making the inkwell bounce. “What am I supposed to do about that?” he shouted in his quarterdeck voice, one he hadn’t used since the splinter cut off his leg at Aboukir Bay.

  Able stood up. He unlocked the door. “That is for you to decide, sir.”

  He left the bookroom and stood in the hallway, distressed with himself. Tears came to his eyes, as he heard his beloved mentor weep. To go back in? To leave? Why had he poked about in what seemed to be a harder subject than he thought? And where was Meri when he needed her?

  — Chapter Thirty —

  Hoping she wasn’t wrong, Meri opened Sir B’s front door. She held out her hand to Able who stood so indecisive in the foyer. He followed her from the house on Jasper Street where nothing felt well or right. Meri took her husband’s arm, leaning close as they stood together on the top step of Sir B’s house. Merciful darkness covered the bleak look that had shocked her when she opened the door.

  He seemed surprised to see her, surprised that she would wait, since she had no idea how long he would be. “It’s cold out here, Meri,” he said as they started down the sidewalk. “See here, I thought you left with Grace and Jean. How long were you planning to wait for me?”

  “Until you were done. I changed my mind about leaving.”

  He put his arm around her and they walked down the front steps. “It’s a hard thing to tell a man that his trusted valet might not be who he thinks he is.”

  What could she say to that? He seemed to be in no hurry, and truth to tell, she had long ago begun to cherish every quiet moment with this man she adored.

  “I hate war,” he said finally. He didn’t stop walking, but he turned slightly and looked back at Number 25 Jasper Street. “It nearly killed a good man.” He managed a mirthless laugh. “It hasn’t done me any harm. Thanks to death I was able to advance my career at a rapid pace.”

  “Don’t, Able.” She couldn’t help herself.

  “It’s true.” He chuckled again, but she heard the humor this time and relaxed a little. “I do have to give credit to the damnable Treaty of Amiens, without which I never would have met you. Meridee, keep loving me. I ask no more.”

  She stopped and grabbed him everywhere she could reach, holding him closer than a common streetwalker because she knew he needed her. He sighed and let her. When his breathing slowed, she let go. They continued arm in arm down the dark street that sloped toward the harbor.

  He spoke in a normal tone of voice, all business. “Gervaise Turenne showed an altogether too great interest in John Mark’s drawings tonight. I know you noticed how he tried to edge close to Jean Hubert.”

  “…and how Jean kept moving closer to you,” she finished. “Are we to assume that Gervaise is a spy and he somehow thinks Jean Hubert is, too?”

  “It might be a deeper game, Meri. Sir B said he would make some discreet inquiries through Trinity House to find out a little about our young émigré. As for Jean…well, we will continue to watch him.”

  She considered that. “There’s more.”

  “You know me. I had the nerve to point out to my captain, mentor and superior that Grace Croker appears to take a serious interest in him.” He stopped. “I made a hash of it. Left the man angry at me and in tears.”

  “She cares,” Meridee said, with a shake of her head. “I wish I had good advice. One difficulty might be that they know each other too well.”

  “How can that be a deficit?” Able asked, and he seemed genuinely puzzled, which always surprised her, because he knew everything. Almost everything.

  How to explain something to her amazing husband? “It’s like this: after years and years of acquaintance, some people take old friends for granted.” She wondered how he would take this additional information. “Married couples have been known to do that.”

  She nearly laughed out loud to see the shocked look on his face, at that bit of news. Her next instinct was to sniff back tears, because she knew he would never take her for granted. How she was sure, she couldn’t have said, except that this living, breathing extraordinary human she had married wasn’t constituted that way. Whether he knew it or not, the odd clicks, whirls and turns of his mind occasionally worked in her favor, too.

  “You didn’t know me at all,” he said, sounding so mystified. “Would your mother have been horrified?”

  “Hard to say. My brother-in-law was horrified, if you will recall,” she said, knowing what would follow.

  “Recall? Oh, Meri.” He cleared his throat. “I can still see him waving around that chicken leg! ‘I vow, if your sister did not need your help so much, I would send you packing, too, Meridee.’ And so on.”

  He even had the inflection and tone right, and the chicken-leg waggle, which made her giggle. “Able, please never change,” she said.

  “I doubt I could,” he replied, and she felt the weight of those words, too. “Seriously, Meri, what can we do for them?” He looked down at the sidewalk. “Sadly, if it happens, this marriage would be no meeting of robust participants. He is so frail. I wonder…well, you know what I wonder.”

  “Would they be able to satisfy each other in marital ways?” she asked gently, wondering where she found the courage for that commentary. One didn’t speak of such things. “Would she weary of the attempt? Would he die too young? Would neither of them make the other happy, no matter how much money they have, or how good their intentions? It’s a tangled web.”

  They walked in silence, arms around each other’s waists now, Able certainly as confident as she was that such a dilemma would never be their challenge.

  “He’s missing a leg,” she said. “It’s not the end of the world.”

  “But they’re both afraid to do anything or say anything to each other, because such matters aren’t bandied about in typical discussions.” He chuckled. “We’re even having a hard time right now, and look at us – quite married and with a child.”

  “It will take something drastic, I think,” Meridee predicted.

  A hackney came by, probably in the command of a jehu on his way home after a hard day. Able stepped into the street and raised his hand. “As much as I love a good stroll with you, wife, discussing embarrassing matters, it’s late and we’re a long way from St. Brendan’s,” he said over his shoulder, then beckoned to her when the conveyance stopped. “Up you go
.”

  “Where, please?” the man asked, rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

  “Kindly take us to St. Brendan’s on Saint’s Way,” Able said.

  Meridee had no objection to the ride, enjoying the chance to relax in capable arms. Able was in good enough humor by the time the jehu informed his horse in a quiet voice that this was the place. He took Able’s coin with a smile and tip of his hat, and they were again alone on the street.

  “Let’s walk along the sea wall. It’s the tail end of the First Watch, which should be Nick Bonfort and Smitty tonight,” he said, and offered his arm. “The sea wall is a little slippery, Mrs. Six.”

  “I’ll hold on extra tight, Mr. Six,” she told him.

  He shook with silent amusement. “Do you ever laugh at your – my – preposterous last name?”

  “Now and then, Durable,” she joked, getting into the humor of the moment.

  “I could petition to have it changed,” he told her as they strolled along in no hurry, because they could see their home across the street.

  “Never change our name,” she said firmly. “I like it.”

  “So do I. Now. It took a while.”

  He helped her down the few steps to the narrow walkway between the stone basin and the small copse that opened onto the harbor. The night was clear and cold, because winter seemed in no hurry to leave the scene, even though it was late April.

  “Where are they?” she whispered. “I can’t see them.”

  “Stand here. We’ll wait for them.”

  When her eyes accustomed themselves to the real darkness, she saw the outline of the hulks, filled with French prisoners. For most of her young life, she had been exhorted from pulpit and hearth to hate the French. All she felt right now was deep sympathy.

  The sight reminded her of something else. She patted her husband’s sleeve. “Able, last week, I came here one afternoon because I had left my extra towel by the stone basin. I looked up at St. Brendan’s and I saw Jean standing at his classroom window, sketching. Why he would he do that?”