by Jayne Davis
Will smiled as their two guests left the room. “That was quick work, thank you. Has Mrs Curnow calmed down?”
She gave a little gurgle of laughter. “I think so. Dinner won’t be a grand affair, I’m afraid.”
Will shrugged. “No matter. Tregarth is happy with whatever is put before him and Sir John… well, if he wanted a formal dinner he should have given us some notice.” He took a deep breath. “Connie, Sir John’s visit must be something to do with the spy.”
“I assumed so,” she said. “It is Mr Tregarth who is your close friend, not his father.” She brushed her hands down her skirts, and Will noticed traces of dust. “If you’ll excuse me, I’ll change my gown. The guest rooms were not as dust-free as they should have been.”
Hoping she’d done the right thing, Connie had asked Barton to set four places at one end of the long table in the formal dining room. She was relieved to see Will nod in approval when he saw it. He held a chair for her before seating himself opposite.
In spite of Mrs Curnow’s mutterings, the cook had managed to produce dishes sweet and savoury, and Warren had chosen what Connie hoped was an appropriate selection of wines from their limited stock.
“How do you like the house, Lady Wingrave?” Tregarth, beside her, spoke with a kindly smile.
“Very much, Mr Tregarth.”
“It is rather smaller than Marstone Park.”
Connie wondered if this was a criticism, but Tregarth had a twinkle in his eye.
“I always preferred this place when I was invited to spend summer holidays with Will,” Tregarth continued. “He wasn’t Wingrave then, of course.”
“You must visit whenever you wish, Mr Tregarth.” Will would enjoy his company, and she rather thought she would, too.
“Yes, do,” Will urged from across the table. “We don’t stand on ceremony here.” He looked towards Warren, standing by the doorway. “Warren, please set out the port on the sideboard and leave us.”
Connie heard the clink of bottles and glassware behind her, then the door closed behind the butler.
“So, Sir John, what brings you to Devonshire?” Will asked.
Not the most subtle way Will could have broached the subject, Connie thought, but she too was curious about Sir John’s mission.
Sir John glanced at Connie, then took a sip from his wine glass. “It’s a lovely part of the country, Wingrave. Harry wanted to come to see how you were.”
“Sir John.” Will’s voice was calm, but Connie could see annoyance in the tightness of his jaw. Connie’s own irritation rose—it seemed Sir John did not trust her.
“I explained how I came into possession of the papers,” Will said. “Do you not think that the person who was responsible for both discovering them and replacing them…?”
Sir John’s lips twisted into a wry smile as Will’s words tailed off. “Very well, Wingrave, if you wish it. I imagine you would relate everything to your wife afterwards in any case.”
Connie hoped he would, and Will’s nod confirmed it. Her glance flicked to Harry Tregarth, sitting beside her. He must already be in his father’s confidence.
“Talbot… Have you been told about Talbot, Lady Wingrave?”
“Yes.”
“Good. As I understand it, Talbot always makes use of the best people he can get. Note the word ‘people’, not ‘men’.”
Connie relaxed. She had no idea what role she could play in Sir John’s, or Talbot’s, affairs, but it was satisfying to be included in the discussion.
“First, I have been authorised to tell you—both of you—that the message you found was very valuable. Talbot’s department wasn’t aware that information of such a nature was being sent to our enemies. He sends his thanks. I am only a messenger here, you understand. These matters are beyond my responsibility in government, nor do I wish to become involved further. However, as you had already spoken to me, and as Harry is known as a friend of yours, Talbot decided that sending me was better than calling on you himself, or summoning you back to London.”
Will’s eyes met hers, one brow rising. Talking of summoning implied they could make Will obey.
“The thing is, Wingrave,” Sir John went on, “Talbot has some idea who may have been responsible, but does not have sufficient information to deal with him, or to know if he is the only one. That is one reason why the papers were returned to be sent on their way. There will, no doubt, be others, and you are in a unique position here to intercept them.”
“I discovered those papers purely by chance, Sir John.” Connie resisted the temptation to say more, wondering if she had been wrong to interrupt.
“I know.” Sir John nodded at her, seeming to have taken no offence. “But Talbot is of the opinion that if you allow the smugglers to use your cellars, one of your men may be able to intercept any further messages.”
“How could…? I mean, we cannot plan on the next man being shot,” Will said.
“There are ways, Wingrave, but we can go into those later, if you accept Talbot’s proposition.”
That sounded as if it would involve more than merely letting smugglers use the cellars.
“Go on, Sir John.” Will was toying with his wine glass, his interest palpable and the food on his plate forgotten.
“Initially, you would intercept messages, copy them, and send them on.”
Initially? “This is not only to identify the traitor, then, is it?” Connie asked.
“Talbot may allow him to continue, my lady, but control what he knows.”
“Or send misinformation,” Will suggested.
“Possibly, yes. You will not be concerned with the content of the communications, however.”
That was just as well. Remembering who knew what about the local smugglers was bad enough; she’d hate to have to keep track of something that could affect the nation’s affairs. Whether she wanted to be involved at all was something she’d think about later.
“Misinformation would be discovered eventually, would it not?” Will asked.
“Undoubtedly. However, Talbot may wish to have his own men transported to the continent as well.”
“Why here, sir?” Tregarth asked. “Why wouldn’t whoever he is send his messages from the Kent or Sussex coast? Much closer to London.”
Sir John speared a piece of pie with his fork. “We don’t know who he is, Harry. How can we know his reasoning?”
“Then why would Talbot want to use Ashmouth for his own spies, once the traitor has been dealt with?” Will persevered.
“You tell me, Wingrave,” Sir John replied. “Excellent pie, this, Lady Wingrave. My compliments to your cook.”
Connie had to smile at the irritation on Will’s face. It was a good question, though. It had taken Will over a day and a night to reach London, with no stops. It would take at least two days travelling normally, and more in winter. “How long does it take a boat to sail from Devonshire to Kent?”
“It depends on the wind, Lady Wingrave,” Tregarth said. “With a westerly wind, possibly similar to the time it takes to ride from here to London.”
“I’ve heard it can take a week or more if the wind’s in the wrong direction,” Will added. “If the spies have sailed from Brest, or somewhere further south, landing them here rather than the Kent coast could make some journeys quicker.”
Using Ashmouth made some sense, then. Not all spies would be going to or from Paris, particularly if Will’s guess was correct and the information was intended for the colonies.
“Talbot reasoned something like that,” Sir John explained. “Although it is also possible that our traitor lives somewhere near here and just used the smugglers he’d been buying brandy from. And before you ask, Wingrave, I don’t know who Talbot suspects.”
And probably wouldn’t tell them if he did know.
“Well, what do you think, Wingrave?”
Will would want to accept, she was sure. He’d been thwarted in his wish to join the army; this would allow him to do something for their
country.
“I will let you know our decision in the morning, Sir John,” Will said. He met Connie’s eyes, one brow raised, and she smiled, pleased that he had decided to consult her.
“More wine, Sir John?”
Chapter 39
Will set the port and glasses on the table. “If you will excuse us, Sir John, Tregarth, we will leave you now. Do make use of the library if you wish.”
Shadows were lengthening in the early evening sun, but there was still time to walk in the gardens with Connie. He offered his arm, and they went out onto the terrace, to one of the benches overlooking the parkland. They sat, leaving enough space between them to half turn and face each other.
“You want to do this, don’t you?” Connie’s expression was hard to read—not outright disapproval, at least.
“It’s useful, Connie.” A duty, almost, now the task had been offered. It was also more of a challenge than farming. He was enjoying putting the estate in order, but there would be little to do once it was running efficiently.
“Will, I… I was pleased to be given Sir John’s confidence, and it does feel right to help, if we can. But how safe will it be?”
Will took her hand. “Connie, when this turns into only transporting Talbot’s men, it won’t be difficult or dangerous at all for us. For the first part—intercepting messages—the danger isn’t from the spies.”
“Sandow?”
“Yes.” He ran a hand through his hair. “The only way to reliably know when a messenger is being carried is if I, or someone I trust, is running the smuggling. I’ve been finding out about the way it works, and Sandow is cheating the villagers. I could take over.”
Her eyes narrowed. “Have you already been thinking about doing that?”
“Sandow has to be got rid of, Connie, you agreed to that.”
“That doesn’t mean you have to run it.” She sighed. “I suppose what Sir John is asking you to do is a good reason.”
“If I get rid of Sandow, someone else will become the leader, and may be just as bad as him. If I take over, I can try to run it without the violence.”
“Try to run it without violence? That isn’t good enough, Will.”
“Connie, I will not use Sandow’s methods. I’m not sure yet exactly how to go about it, but I’m working on it.”
Connie met his gaze for a long moment. “Very well.”
“It may involve some bribery,” he added. “I can’t explain to preventatives like Sullivan what we are about. Better that than another battle where men could get killed.” He hated to admit it even to himself, but this proposition gave him a legitimate excuse for something he’d been thinking about doing anyway.
She nodded wordlessly, her gaze on the lowering sun. It was a lot to take in for one evening; he should give her some time.
“Connie, do you want me to leave you to think? I said we’d give Sir John our answer in the morning.”
“I would like some time to consider, yes. But Will, if I say no, will you really give up the idea?”
“I would try to persuade you to change your mind,” he admitted. “But this is our home—I will not do it if you do not agree.” He stood. “I’ll join the others.”
Alone on the terrace, Connie watched the sun set, turning the sky from dusky blue through pink to purple. It reminded her of summer evenings in the vicarage garden, snatched when her father was away from home. She’d always wished for a loving family, like the Fancotts, but now she realised she’d thought little beyond that bare statement. Mr and Mrs Fancott both had their own goals in life, in addition to bringing up their children and, now, doting on their grandchildren. In their case, it was looking after their parishioners.
Will had a purpose now, in improving the farms, and hopefully in helping her to bring up their children when they came. But once the improvements were made there would not be enough to do to keep him busy. For a man with a taste for adventure, running the estate and bringing up a family would not suffice. He’d need something more; something like this offer of Talbot’s.
Her initial reaction had been to refuse; it was too risky. But the current peril was from Sandow. Messengers going to and fro, doing their best to remain unnoticeable—would they really cause additional danger?
This new life was still a little strange to her, but when she’d settled into it properly she would need a purpose of her own, in addition to family. She would never have chosen to be part of his espionage project, but Will needed it as well as wanting it. Her role could be to make sure he considered the welfare of others involved—the villagers, and the servants here at Ashton Tracey. It would be his project, but she would encourage him, help him when she could, and accept that it was part of who he was—of who they were.
Martha had said it would be well. Connie smiled as she returned indoors. Her friend could never have imagined this.
Connie gently moved Will’s arm from her waist and got out of bed. Moving quietly, she pulled on a chemise and robe and sat in the window seat listening to the sounds of the night.
Their lovemaking had been as good as before—better, really, now some of her shyness had gone. She had lost herself in the sensations, the joy of giving pleasure as well as receiving it. Now, though, she envied Will’s ability to sleep. Her mind would not rest, turning over the implications of the proposition Sir John had presented.
It would not—could not—be a secret known only to the two of them. The villagers would not be comfortable dealing directly with Will, so that meant someone else would have to be directly involved. Archer, probably.
All the villagers would know. About Archer, at least, and by inference that Will was involved in some way. And if the villagers knew, then all the staff at Ashton Tracey would know too.
“Connie?” Will sat up in the bed, little more than a pale shape in the moonlight.
“I couldn’t sleep,” she said, pulling her robe tighter around her body.
He threw the sheet back and came over to her, pushing his arms into the sleeves of his banyan. She moved to one end of the window seat, and Will sat down next to her.
“Are you thinking about Sir John’s proposition?”
“Yes.” She had yet to give him her answer, and now she had more questions. “Will, they want you… us… to do this for a long time. Do you trust your father not to change his mind and sell the place?”
“No, I do not.”
“He will find out, about the smuggling at least.”
“Not if we’re careful.”
Connie shook her head. “You can get rid of Mrs Strickland, but she would go straight to your father. If you keep her, eventually Archer will miss a letter from her, or she’ll give it to someone else to take to the post. We don’t know yet whether anyone else here is in your father’s pay, either. Would he regard smuggling as breaking your agreement?”
“Undoubtedly.” It was something that had been at the back of Will’s mind since the discussion at the dinner table. Trust Connie to have thought of it too.
He put out a hand to stroke her hair. “We’ll make a good team, Connie.”
He couldn’t make out her expression in the dim light, but he heard her sigh.
“Will, I accept that you want… need… to do this, but I don’t want you to lose Ashton Tracey over it. That would end your usefulness to Talbot. And you only married me because your father threatened to sell—”
“Connie, stop!”
He shuffled closer, and took her hand. “That was part of the reason, yes. But I realised it was time I settled down. I also did it for my sisters, in a way.”
“Your sisters?”
Damn this moonlight; he couldn’t see what she was thinking. “My father will arrange their marriages as he did mine. I don’t intend to let them be married off to someone they do not care for, and I can do that better with you to help me guide them through society.”
“I don’t know anything about society.” Her words were slow, doubtful.
“Don’t worry abo
ut that now, Connie. The point I am trying to make is that Ashton Tracey was not the sole reason. And all those reasons are irrelevant now that I know you.” He put one arm around her shoulders, feeling the tension in her body. “I would not go back and undo this marriage, Connie.”
She relaxed a little.
“Come back to bed,” he whispered in her ear.
“Don’t try to distract me, Will.” She pulled away.
You distract me, woman. He bit his lip against the impulse to say the words.
“I’m not trying to distract you, Connie. I had been thinking the same thing. I have an idea, but I need to think it through first.” He put out one hand again. “Come to bed. Just to sleep, if that’s what you wish, but I like the feel of you beside me.”
She was still for a moment, but then put her hand in his and allowed him to pull her to her feet.
Chapter 40
Thursday 17th July
Will and Connie met Sir John in the library before breakfast.
“I take it that your Mr Talbot is not offering payment for my services,” Will said, getting straight to the point.
Sir John inclined his head. “Correct. It is assumed that the satisfaction of serving our country is sufficient for men—and women—of our station.”
“You are aware, I think, that Ashton Tracey belongs to my father, not to me?”
“I am, yes.”
“And that my father has threatened to sell it if I break certain conditions?”
“Yes. Talbot had some enquiries made before deciding on this proposal,” Sir John replied. “Reasonable, under the circumstances, I think.”
It was, Will had to admit. “The point is that my residence here could be terminated with little notice. Unless, that is, you or Talbot are prepared to lend me enough money to buy the place.”
“Go on,” Sir John urged.
“It would require some subterfuge,” Will continued, “but that should not be an impediment, given the business you are recruiting us for.”
“Agreed.”