London Calling

by Anna Elliott

  Had they not been, Susanna suspected, Mrs. Careme would not have lingered in the Admiral’s household long. As though picking up the thought, Mrs. Careme smiled. “Charles is a good man,” she said again. “You may not think much of me, Miss Ward. But I do have my own moral standards. Charles is offering me security‌—‌and in return I plan to make him an excellent and faithful wife.”

  Which might even be true, Susanna thought. “Thank you,” she said. She rose to go. “I appreciate all you have told me. And I do apologize for searching your room‌—‌though I am glad to know that you are not the spy.”

  “And I am glad to know your reason for being in my room.” Mrs. Careme rose, as well. “For a moment, when I found you, I thought you might be the mysterious jewel thief.”

  “That’s right. Your brooch was missing‌—‌I had nearly forgotten.” Susanna had almost forgotten Polly’s tears, too, but now she said, “You do not think Polly took it, do you? She came to my room terribly upset this morning because she thought you suspected her. She thought you intended to have her dismissed.”

  Mrs. Careme made a dismissive gesture. “Silly child. She need not have worried.” Susanna’s brows rose in surprise, and Mrs. Careme went on: “I am not a monster, Miss Ward. I would not turn away any servant without a good deal more proof than that. And, anyway, I did not seriously think that the brooch had been stolen by Polly. Oh, I admit the thought crossed my mind at first, but if nothing else, the way I have lived my life has taught me to recognize opportunists and thieves. And the girl is not the type to pilfer anything‌—‌let alone anything as valuable as a diamond brooch.”

  Mrs. Careme stopped abruptly and her eyes unfocused, as though her thoughts were following some secret inner track.

  “Mrs. Careme?” Susanna asked.

  Mrs. Careme shook her head and looked up. “It’s nothing,” she said. “Nothing of any importance.”

  Susanna took her leave of Mrs. Careme and returned to her own room. She knew, at least that Mrs. Careme was not the spy. But she had learned nothing else of any use. And tonight, she would have to meet James at the opera and tell him that they were no nearer to learning the identity of the traitor in Admiral Tremain’s house.

  Chapter 20

  Susanna and the rest of their party arrived at the theater in good time, having eaten an early dinner before departing for the opera. The theater was a high, impressive building of white stone, with a domed roof, and shone with the light of many lanterns hung without. Inside, the lobby was thronged with people: gentlemen in black evening jackets and tight black pantaloons, ladies in jewel-colored dresses and with ostrich plumes in their hair. Susanna followed the others up the wide, carpeted staircase to the box Admiral Tremain had procured for the evening and slipped behind the curtain to the red plush chairs inside.

  Admiral Tremain had, at the last moment, said that he could not attend the opera after all; he had important letters to write. And Miss Fanny had elected to stay home, too, declaring that a trip to the opera would be far too fatiguing after the visit to Vauxhall the night before. Marianne was there, though, wearing an old brown silk gown, but still with a glow of happiness about her that made her look pretty, in spite of the dress. Major Haliday and his wife were rather silent, she smoldering and withdrawn, he unusually pensive, while Mrs. Careme was regally arrayed in a gown of emerald silk, trimmed with tiny seed pearls and embroidered with gold about the flowing hem.

  Before leaving, Susanna had found time for a hurried conference with Ruth, during which she had acquainted her aunt with the details of both her visit to Mrs. Careme’s room and the plan to meet James at the opera tonight. Now, Ruth’s eyes met Susanna’s, and she smiled a reassurance. Susanna forced herself to smile back.

  Soon after they had settled in the velvet upholstered chairs, the lights dimmed, and the curtain rose. The opera that night was Giovanni, and Susanna supposed the performance must have been good, for the audience applauded loudly at the end of each act, and there were several cheers following the female lead’s aria. She found she could pay scant attention to the characters on stage, though, and kept scanning the crowd for a sight of James.

  She saw no sign of him, though. Young blades in pointed neck-clothes and eye glasses quizzed and teased the misses in boxes, calling out compliments and extracting giggling promises, while stout matrons applied their opera glasses to the rest of the crowd, eagerly winkling out food for scandal, and gossiped behind their hands to their seat mates.

  When the curtain fell on the third act, Susanna felt as though her nerves ought to be standing out from her body and curling at the edges. Major Haliday escaped, on the pretext of procuring them all some refreshment, though Susanna saw him making straight for the gentleman’s bar‌—‌and for once she was more in sympathy with him than not.

  Scarcely had the Major been gone, though, when the curtain of their box was swept aside, and a man’s dark form appeared.

  Susanna’s breath went out in a rush of relief.

  “Good evening, ladies.” James spoke in the accented tones of M. de Castres, and came into the box, bowing low.

  “Why, M. de Castres. What a pleasant surprise.” Mrs. Careme rose swiftly to her feet and came to meet him, one hand outstretched. “We”‌—‌her green gaze flickered to Susanna‌—‌“are all delighted to see you, I am sure.”

  James did not miss the look. Susanna saw him go still, looking swiftly from Mrs. Careme to Susanna and back again. But he only said, with the same smooth courtesy, “I thank you.” He raised Mrs. Careme’s hand to his lips, then moved to greet Mrs. Haliday, Ruth, Marianne, and finally Susanna herself.

  As he bowed over Susanna’s hand, he murmured. “I had to wait until Major Haliday was gone‌—‌even he might recognize me from last night, and I dare not take the risk. Even now, I had better not stay. Can you slip out during the next act?”

  Susanna had time for a brief nod, and then he straightened. “A pleasure, indeed.” His glance included all of them. “And now, I must be one my way. I must return to my seat before the next act.”

  He bowed his way out of the box, and just in time, for Major Haliday returned almost immediately after, bearing a tray of iced lemonades for all. Susanna sipped hers, waiting with barely contained impatience until the lights dimmed and the curtain rose again. She waited until the strains of music filled the air, then quietly rose from her seat. She had purposely chosen a chair at the back of the box, nearest the curtain, and she was able to slip out without any of the others noticing.

  In the dimly lit hall outside, she paused uncertainly, but almost at once James’s voice spoke beside her.

  “Come with me.”

  In spite of herself, Susanna started. “Where did you spring from?”

  “One of the boxes. There’s an empty one a few down. Follow me.” He led the way to one of the curtained-off doors and drew the hangings aside, then followed her in.

  “Keep to the back of the box, out of sight,” he warned. “Or else every gossipmonger in the place will be wondering who the girl disgracing herself with M. de Castres is.”

  “I suppose that is true. No respectable woman would look at me if it was known I’d been in an opera box alone with a man. Although,” Susanna said, “if that is the worst danger I have to complain of, I will be heartily thankful. James, I have searched Mrs. Careme’s room. But I have bad news for us.”

  On stage, the operatic tenor finished a song, the audience broke into applause‌—‌and speaking in a low voice, Susanna acquainted James of the details of her visit to Mrs. Careme, and of what she had learned.

  James listened in increasingly grim silence as her story unfolded.

  “That’s that, then,” he said, when she had done. “I do not suppose there is any chance Mrs. Careme was lying‌—‌that she is the spy after all?”

  Susanna shook her head. “I do not think so. I know you did not hear her story, but I believed her. You could speak to her yourself, of course—”

  J
ames shook his head. “No, I trust your judgement.”

  He spoke almost absentmindedly, his brow furrowed in thought. But Susanna felt warmed by his words all the same. “You trust my judgement?”

  James glanced up with a sudden grin. “Of course I do. You were able to appreciate my sterling worth right from the moment we met, were you not?”

  “Stop!” Susanna jogged his arm. She felt herself smiling, though.

  James sobered almost at once. He was still frowning, and seemed to be debating whether to speak.

  “James? What is it?” Susanna asked.

  James exhaled. “Philippe has called a meeting‌—‌for tonight, at the usual place.”

  Susanna felt as though her whole body had been abruptly drenched in ice water. “How do you know? You have not seen him, have you?”

  James shook his head. “No. They advertise in the paper. They’ve worked out a certain code to appear in the personals column. There was a message there this morning, arranging a meeting for tonight.”

  Susanna swallowed, making an effort to keep her voice from shaking. “James, you are not thinking of going to meet Philippe and his gang, are you?”

  James did not reply at once. Finally he pushed a hand through his hair and said, “It might be our only hope, Susanna. So far we have no lead on the identity of Major Haliday’s informant. Nor do we know just what information was passed the other night. If it was something important, it could be vital that we find out, and pass it along to the Admiralty before the war effort is seriously compromised.”

  Susanna knew he was right. Countless men’s lives‌—‌sailors and soldiers alike‌—‌might depend on knowing what information had been betrayed to the enemy. Still, she could not stop herself from saying, “James, you cannot just walk into Philippe’s meeting. Think of that man the other night. He meant to kill you. And that is what Philippe will do if you give him another chance tonight.”

  “I have been thinking about that,” James said slowly, “and it seems to me that that is just what I have to do. What would an innocent man do in my position? Go to the meeting. An innocent man would not connect the assassination attempt to Philippe‌—‌there would be no reason to. If I turn up at the meeting tonight as usual, there is just a chance I can bluff them into believing I am exactly what I claim to be.”

  Susanna still felt numb with cold, but she said, “Then I am coming with you.”

  “You are—” James’s mouth closed, his jaw tightened, and he breathed for a moment. Susanna imagined him silently counting to ten. “Susanna, you cannot,” he said at last. “It is not just that I want to keep you out of danger. It is—” He stopped, his fingers moving to touch her cheek, slide over her neck and shoulder. “If you were to be anywhere near Philippe and the others tonight,” he said at last, “I would be too distracted with worrying about you to concentrate on the mission. Susanna, there is nothing I would not do—” He stopped, closing his eyes briefly, and then went on. “Please. Promise me that after the opera finishes you will go straight back to Admiral Tremain’s house.”

  His voice had gone husky and his dark eyes were at once hard and almost pleading.

  On stage, the music swelled to a crescendo and the soprano swept up to an electrifying high note and held it for what seemed an age. Then the sound ceased. The audience burst into a roar of approval and applause.

  Finally, Susanna put a hand on James’s shoulder, standing on her toes so that she could touch her lips to his. “Very well,” she said. “You have my word.”

  Chapter 21

  Susanna drew the folds of her cloak about her and shivered as she hurried along the darkened streets. She had kept her word to James. After the opera, she had gone straight back to Admiral Tremain’s house with the rest of the party.

  She had not, however, promised to stay there, and almost as soon as the household had retired to bed, she had slipped out the window of the Admiral’s library where she had climbed in the night before.

  Now, as she wended her way through the maze of narrow cobbled streets and alleys, she wondered whether she ought to have come after all. She had counted on being able to find her way back to the deserted warehouse in Broadmead Lane, but already she had lost her way twice and had to painstakingly retrace her steps before she found the route. Even now, she was not sure she was on the right street. They all looked alike in the dark, lit only by the flame from an occasional oil lamp.

  But she could not have simply stayed at home, knowing what James was planning to do. Knowing that at every moment she lay in bed in her room at Admiral Tremain’s, James could be wounded . . . ‌dying. Lying in the mud of that filthy back alley behind the warehouse, staring up at the sky with unseeing eyes—

  Susanna clenched her hands, trying to push that thought aside. Letting her own imaginings drive her to distraction was scarcely going to help James.

  A wind had sprung up, and a painted sign above a wine merchant’s shop swung on its hinges with a protesting shriek. Far off in the distance, a dog barked, and was quieted angrily.

  Susanna made several more wrong turns, but at long last she saw ahead of her the lighted windows of the public house at the end of Broadmead Lane. A drunken orange-seller staggered towards her‌—‌and then cursed Susanna volubly for failing to buy any of the withered-looking fruit. But Susanna scarcely heard. Her heart was pounding so hard her vision blurred at the edges as she made her way down the narrow street and towards the looming bulk of the abandoned warehouse.

  There, from the shelter of a nearby doorway, she stopped to peer towards the ramshackle building. All looked silent, utterly deserted, but Susanna still kept to the darkest part of the shadows as she skirted round, and, as she had done before, made her way down the narrow alley that ran along the side of the warehouse.

  At least the moon was at the full, and gave her light enough to see‌—‌and to avoid tripping over the broken crates and assorted other trash that lay in her way. At last she reached the boarded up window she had spied through before‌—‌and her heart lurched as she saw from between the broken boards a faint sliver of light.

  Susanna put her eye to the crack.

  The scene that met her gaze was much as it had been before: the same rough table and chairs, the same circle of men seated about a lantern in the center. Tonight, though, their faces were grimmer, their shoulders hunched forward, and they spoke in quick, urgent voices, the words too low for Susanna to catch.

  And James was not there. Susanna felt her stomach sicken, and her eyes moved over the assembled men again, and then a third time‌—‌as though she might somehow have missed seeing him there. Surely, though, his absence could not mean that Philippe and the others had already—

  Before she could finish the thought, a sound in the doorway of the room made the other men whip around‌—‌and the next moment James appeared.

  Even as she cursed him for his reckless courage in coming here, Susanna had to admit that James’s manner was perfect. He paused in the doorway, one hand resting lightly on the knob, eyebrows slightly raised.

  “You all look rather surprised. Were you not expecting me?”

  There was a moment’s utter silence. A few of the men had half risen from their chairs, but at a brief gesture from Philippe, they subsided. Philippe’s face was expressionless, save for a brief flicker of his eyelids. After a pause, he turned smoothly to James.

  “But of course we were expecting you, my friend. Come and sit down.” Hand outstretched, he went to greet James. “At it happens, we were just about to begin.”

  It happened so fast that Susanna scarcely had time to react. Nor could she have called a warning to James, even if she had been able to summon her voice to work. In one lightning movement, Philippe’s hand went to his belt, and Susanna caught the wicked gleam of steel. James had seen the flash of the blade at the same time she did. His eyes flared wide, but there was no time for him to draw his own weapon. He scarcely had time to duck to one side, so that the thrust caught him a
glancing blow to the side, instead of falling on his heart, where it had been aimed.

  Susanna gave a gasp of pure terror, and looked on, helpless, as a wet stain began to spread, crimson against the white of James’s shirt. Philippe had been thrown momentarily off balance when his blow failed to land home, but he recovered almost instantly, and lunged again.

  The delay had been long enough, though, for James to draw his own blade, and now he blocked Philippe’s blow with an upraised arm and made a quick thrust with the knife.

  A red stain blossomed on the shoulder of Philippe’s coat, and he gave a bellow of rage. “You fools! Don’t just sit there. Help me finish the traitor off!”

  His men were already up and moving, drawing knives of their own, and came forward at a rush.

  Susanna gripped the boarded window so tightly she felt splinters being driven into her palm. Her thoughts were an incoherent, Oh, God, please, please, please.

  James saw the oncoming wave of men, and paused a moment in the act of parrying one of Philippe’s thrusts. Then, in one swift movement, he kicked out, knocking Philippe’s feet out from under him and sending him sprawling backwards into the arms of his men.

  Philippe gave a scream of rage. “Never mind me‌—‌get after him.” But it was too late. James had already ducked out the door, shutting it behind him with a bang. Susanna guessed that there must be a latch or bar somewhere on the outside, for when the men rushed after him, they were met by solid resistance. The door refused to budge.

  Philippe was screaming orders to his men, but Susanna did not wait to hear them. She was already running along the alley to the front of the building, where James was just emerging from the open doorway.

  Susanna grasped at his arm. “Hurry! This way.”

  She felt James’s sharply indrawn breath, and his body went rigid with shock as he stared at her, looking as though he were unsure whether he were dreaming or awake.