The Intrepid Miss Haydon

by Alice Chetwynd Ley

  “That’s what I’d expect you to say, knowing you for a loyal friend. But might you not change your mind if you knew that the information Miss Haydon withholds could be a source of danger to her?”

  “Danger?” She opened her eyes wide. “Yes, I realise there is danger in all those matters in which my cousin — alas! — is concerned. But danger to Corinna? That I do not see.”

  “I assure you that it is so, nevertheless. Perhaps you will permit me to ask you a few questions which concern only yourself, however, since you remain unconvinced.”

  She looked troubled. “Mais oui, monsieur, I will tell you anything I may,” she said doubtfully.

  “Good. I understand from Miss Haydon that you are to take passage for France shortly, under the escort of your cousin.”

  She nodded.

  “Did he mention to you why he was making the crossing at this time of year, when smugglers don’t usually operate?”

  “Yes, he did,” she acknowledged slowly. “But I’m not at all sure that I ought—”

  “Mademoiselle, would you account me a trustworthy man in general?”

  “But of a surety, monsieur! Did you not bring us safely out of France?”

  “My part in that was negligible,” he said diffidently. “Much more was due to Monsieur Landier.” She blushed at the name. “However, I do think you’ve known me for long enough to believe me when I say I will do nothing to jeopardize your chances of a safe return to France. Neither do I intend any harm to your cousin, provided he’s prepared to agree to certain terms which I intend to put to him.”

  “What do you mean, monsieur?”

  “That is between the two of us, man to man. I wish to meet him, and I hope you will act as intermediary.”

  “Oh, I am not sure!” she exclaimed uneasily. “I don’t know what I ought to do!”

  “Do not be alarmed. What I intend is in your cousin’s best interests, believe me. But will you not now answer my first question, mademoiselle?”

  “He told me that he had an important passenger to convey to France within a few days,” she replied reluctantly.

  He nodded, satisfied. “Yes, I am tolerably certain that it was what Miss Haydon started to tell me, then drew back and would say no more.”

  “Why, yes!” exclaimed Madeleine impetuously. “So it was when she was talking to me this afternoon, monsieur, and I’ve never known Corinna to be at all guarded with me! I was telling her of my suspicions that this passenger might be a man — a Frenchman — who came secretly to Mr Grenville’s house last night. And I also told her that it seems to me I was asked to leave so suddenly because of the need for secrecy. Then she said something that seemed strange—”

  She broke off in dismay, realising too late that she had said too much.

  “What did she say?”

  She gave a Gallic shrug. “Ah, bah! Now I’ve already told you that, you may as well know the rest, for it does not help much. She admitted to knowing something of this man, but refused to say more. She spoke of having made a promise, but did not say to whom.”

  His eyebrows shot up at this, but for a while he was silent, evidently deep in thought.

  “Mademoiselle, it is imperative that I should speak with your cousin,” he said presently. “Could you summon him to you in case of urgent need?” She nodded doubtfully. “I urge you to do so, mademoiselle, for his own sake. Ask him to come here at this same hour tomorrow. You need say nothing of me, but I will be here.”

  “Unnecessary,” said a voice from behind them.

  They swung round sharply and Sir Richard came to his feet. The door through which the woman had vanished earlier was now open, and Jacques Fougeray stood on the threshold.

  He shut the door and came forward into the room, one hand in his pocket, his attitude alert and defensive.

  “You are the man who came from France with my cousin, I believe,” he said, in level tones. “And you wish to see me?”

  “My name is Beresford. Yes, there are urgent matters which I need to discuss with you.”

  “So. The nature of these matters, monsieur?”

  “They concern a man whom you are about to convey to France.”

  The hand that had been in Fougeray’s pocket was withdrawn, revealing a knife in its grasp. One quick movement brought him to Sir Richard’s side.

  “No!” screamed Madeleine. “No!”

  Sir Richard caught Fougeray’s wrist in an iron grip. For a moment the two men wrestled together, then the knife dropped with a clatter to the floor. Sir Richard kicked it some distance away.

  “No need for that,” he said brusquely, holding on to the other man. “Hear me first — it will pay you.”

  Fougeray wrenched himself free, regarded his opponent for a moment in silence, then shrugged.

  “D’accord. I’ll hear you, then we shall see.” He turned to the trembling Madeleine and spoke soothingly. “Go to the woman, my good child, and do not concern yourself.”

  “But — but, Jacques, you will not — please, please do not harm Sir Richard! He is my friend, and I think perhaps yours, too, if you will let him be so!”

  He grinned wryly. “I think your Sir Richard can have a care to himself, petite. But no, at this present I do not intend to harm him. Now go.”

  She obeyed, closing the door reluctantly upon them.

  “And now be brief,” recommended Jacques. “I may as well tell you that I overheard some of your conversation with my cousin. You spoke of a matter of business. Explain.”

  “I have a proposition to put to you, but first I’ll tell you to your head that I’m well aware of the nature of your connection with a certain gentleman of property in these parts.”

  “Vraiment? You’re a bold man, monsieur.”

  Jacques made a quick dart towards the knife, but Sir Richard put out a foot and tripped him. The Frenchman quickly recovered, snarling; but Sir Richard had already seized the knife, snapped it shut and thrust it into his own pocket.

  “Fight if you must,” he said, squaring up to the other. “But with fists, not a knife. No weapon for a French aristocrat, you must agree.”

  By way of answer, Jacques rushed upon him. He was a strong young man, but he found he had met his match. Sir Richard, like many another active English gentleman, was not without some expertise in the national sport of boxing.

  “There’s no need for this, you know,” he said, warding off his opponent’s blows, but making no attempt to score a hit himself. “Show sense, man — listen to me first!”

  Jacques paid no heed, however, but fought on with unabated fury. At last Sir Richard, seeing no help for it, landed him a blow which rocked him off balance and sent him sprawling on the floor. He rose, panting.

  “For God’s sake, have done!” urged Sir Richard. “I intend you no harm — quite the contrary. Call a truce, and hear what I have to say.”

  Jacques glared belligerently at him for a moment, then shrugged and collapsed into a chair.

  “Very well,” he muttered sullenly.

  Sir Richard sat down, tugging at his disordered cravat.

  “Had you warned me of your intention to start a mill, I’d have removed this damn thing, and my coat, too,” he said, breathing a trifle unevenly himself.

  Jacques broke into a short laugh. “You’re a cool customer, as I said before, monsieur! Well, what have you to say?”

  “First, that I don’t intend to take any action about my knowledge of your activities until your cousin, Mademoiselle de Fougeray, is out of this country. On that I give you my word.”

  Jacques studied him for a moment. “I think I can believe you,” he said, at last. “And afterwards?”

  “If you’re wise, there will be no afterwards as far as you’re concerned. I recommend strongly that you yourself should remain in France, never to cross the Channel again.”

  The other gave a derisive grunt. “And what do you suppose I should do in France? My lands are forfeit, and the only employment I am trained for is smuggli
ng. Do you perhaps suggest that I should join Napoleon’s navy and help him wage his war? Bah! That one is no better than the Revolutionaries who guillotined my relatives!”

  “One cannot live in the past, my friend. True, your lands are irretrievably lost to you, but you may still return to France under your rightful title, as French law no longer persecutes aristocrats. Many emigrés have already returned, in fact.”

  Jacques flung out his hands. “An empty title! And I dare say plenty who will sneer at it! And how do you propose I shall get a living, monsieur? You don’t answer that.”

  “On the contrary, that is the crux of my proposal. Would you agree that it’s your capacity for organisation which has brought you success in your present trade?”

  The young man nodded. “In part — perhaps the greater part,” he admitted.

  “Such a talent can equally be applied in other, more lawful, directions. Your cousin is to marry into a family with commercial interests, and I’m confident my friend Landier would gladly establish you in one such. As for your immediate needs” — he hesitated, then went on — “should you find yourself temporarily short of the ready, so to speak, I’ll be pleased to fund you to any amount.”

  “Diable! And why should you do this for me?”

  “Let us say, sporting instinct. In a sense, you’ve been forced by circumstances into this reprehensible trade. Besides, there’s your cousin to consider — Miss Haydon is very attached to her.”

  Jacques gave him a quizzical look. “You are a strange man, I think. The pattern of an English gentleman of Quality, I might suppose, did I not know one quite otherwise at Eastdean Place. Very well, I accept your advice, but as to funds” — he drew himself up — “I thank you, but I have salted down sufficient to provide not only for my own needs, but also for a dot for my cousin Madeleine.”

  “There is a condition, however.”

  “Ah, now we come to it,” said Jacques cynically.

  “The passenger whom you’re to smuggle out of the country is a French spy, as of course you know. I realise that this matters not at all to you, as you have no involvement with either side in this war.”

  “No. How could it be otherwise?”

  “Precisely. My case is different, however. The man has stolen important defence papers which must not reach the enemy. I intend to prevent his departure.”

  “You said you would not inform the authorities.”

  “Neither shall I. That will come later, after you and Mademoiselle Madeleine are safe away. This is a matter for myself to handle. All I require of you is precise information as to when and where this man is to join you for the crossing.”

  Jacques whistled. “Mon Dieu, I said you were a cool customer! You’re like to get your throat slit, but that is your affair. The time is half an hour before midnight tomorrow. We rendezvous at Birling Gap — you know it?” Sir Richard nodded. “There’s a group of tumbledown cottages there — we meet in the end one. Bonne chance, my friend.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  Corinna’s uneasy frame of mind persisted through a somewhat restless night and the morning that followed. She scarcely knew how to face Sir Richard over the breakfast table, and was thankful to hear him announce to Lydia his intention of returning to Chyngton Manor for the remainder of the day.

  After he had gone, she and Corinna set out to pay some morning calls. Lydia was fortunate in her neighbours, and so much enjoyed their company for the next few hours that she quite forgot her alarms of the previous day. She did notice, however, that her sister was not in spirits, and did her best to try and discover the cause.

  “You’re not in a fidget about that spy Richard told us of, surely, Corinna? It’s not like you to pay much heed to alarms, and I must say you took the news far more calmly than I could, at the time. I feel better now, however, and think perhaps he may not be in this neighbourhood at all.”

  For a moment, Corinna was tempted to confide in her sister, but she at once rejected the notion. Lydia had been made nervous at the mere suggestion that a spy might be lurking in the neighbourhood, so how would she be likely to react were she to be told all that her sister knew? She would certainly insist on informing Richard, a step which Corinna could not yet bring herself to take.

  If only she could see a way out of the tangle, she thought, and know for certain what she ought to do! Fabian Grenville’s story had seemed so plausible while he was recounting it to her, but doubts had set in with Sir Richard’s news of a dangerous French spy who might possibly be sheltering locally. To add to this was the uncomfortable conviction that she could never entirely trust Mr Grenville. She did not know why she had changed, or when; but there was no doubt that at some moment the scales had fallen from her eyes to reveal him as untrustworthy, and herself as deluded. It was for this reason that she had avoided giving him an answer yesterday when he had asked her if she cared.

  No, there was only one person to whom she might safely entrust all her doubts and fears, and that person was Madeleine. Mr Grenville’s story would be safe enough with her, true or false, since the only person to whom she might reveal it would be her cousin Jacques, and he must know of it already.

  Having reached this decision, she awaited Madeleine in the shrubbery throughout the afternoon with mounting impatience. By five o’clock, she realised it was hopeless. Her disappointment was intense. The thought of yet another day to endure of introspection and indecision was anathema to one of her impulsive, active disposition, yet what was to be done? She dare not again visit the summerhouse at Eastdean Place to leave a note for her friend; moreover, there was nothing to be gained by embarking on such a hazardous undertaking, as Madeleine would most likely visit her tomorrow, whether summoned or not.

  She sighed and returned to the house with the intention of keeping Lydia company until it was time for their solitary dinner.

  “Oh, there you are,” said her sister, as she entered the parlour. “I was just about to send this out to you — it arrived by a servant not five minutes since.”

  She handed a sealed note to Corinna, who looked at it, recognised Madeleine’s hand, then opened it eagerly. It contained only a few lines.

  I could not come to you this afternoon, as madame kept me occupied. I leave for France tonight, and this may mean that I shall not see you before I go. There is but one chance, dearest Corinna — if you are able to meet me at the cottage where I lodge. I should be there by a quarter after nine this evening. Bring no attendant for safety’s sake. If you cannot come, I wish you adieu, my dear friend, and pray we may meet again some day, when our countries are at peace.

  She checked the exclamation which rose to her lips and read the message again. She needed time to think.

  “What is it?” asked Lydia, with natural curiosity. “It’s from Madeleine, is it not?”

  Corinna was not practiced in the art of dissimulation but she recognised some need of it now.

  “Yes,” she answered, as carelessly as possible. “Explaining why she did not come this afternoon, and hoping to see me soon.”

  “Oh, is that all,” said her sister, losing interest.

  Corinna screwed the note up into a ball to indicate its lack of importance, but kept it in her hand as she sauntered from the room. Once in her own bedchamber, she smoothed the paper out, read it for a third time, then thrust it into a drawer of her dressing table.

  There was no point at all in confiding its contents to Lydia; for she knew very well that her elder sister would refuse to countenance the assignation, and she herself was determined to keep it. She puzzled for a few moments over how to achieve this without Lydia’s knowledge. Suddenly she recollected that Lydia had been insisting a few hours ago that she, Corinna, should have an early night. The very thing! There was only one drawback to this scheme; even on an early night, she could scarcely retire before nine o’clock, or Lydia would be summoning medical aid! This must mean that she would arrive at the meeting with Madeleine at least a half hour later than her friend had
suggested. But perhaps, after all, Corinna reflected, there was no real haste; was it not most likely that the smugglers would not move until after dark, which came very late at this time of year? No doubt Madeleine had suggested the earliest possible time in order to accommodate her friend, and not herself.

  She made some little alteration in her dress, suited to dining without company, and returned to join her sister. When the meal was over they sat down at Lydia’s suggestion to a game of backgammon; but Corinna’s attention wandered so much that this brought small entertainment to either player.

  “You’re uncommon stupid tonight, my love,” Lydia complained as she rose to put the board and pieces away. “I can’t think what’s amiss with you.”

  “Well, perhaps you’re in the right of it when you keep saying I need an early night. Now I come to consider the matter, I believe I truly am tired. What, is it only ten minutes to nine?” — with a glance of feigned surprise at the clock, which she had been covertly studying on and off for the past hour — “I quite supposed it must have been after ten! I think I shall go up directly, Lyddy, if you don’t object.”

  “Of course not, but will you not wait first to drink tea? It’s a trifle early yet to ring for the tray, but still—”

  “No, I won’t take tea this evening, for I feel it may keep me awake.”

  Lydia stared. “You must be feeling out of sorts! When did anything ever keep you awake? However, do you go up and get a good night’s rest. I dare say I shan’t be long in following you myself.”

  “Pray don’t look in on me when you do come upstairs, Lyddy, for it will surely disturb me,” said Corinna on a sudden inspiration.

  Lydia duly promised, and Corinna bade her good night without more ado. Quickly changing her present light sandals for the half boots more suited to a nocturnal pedestrian excursion, she selected a green hooded cloak to wear over her flimsy muslin gown. It proved not too difficult, if a trifle nerve-wracking, to creep down the back stairs and let herself out of the house unseen. Darkness was closing in earlier this evening, as the sky was clouded, with no glimmer from the moon to help her on her way. Fortunately, she had frequently walked this road to the village, although now the shadows wore a threatening aspect which made her start once or twice and look uneasily about her.