London Calling

by Anna Elliott

  “Thank you.” Susanna stepped past her into the room. Mrs. Careme really had been dragging something across the floor; a heavy blanket chest stood just to one side, with scuff marks in the carpet where it had been moved from just in front of the door. For whatever reason, Mrs. Careme had been nervous enough to bar her door. Which, Susanna thought, as she studied the older woman, accorded with the air of suppressed tension about her, the slight tautness about the corners of her mouth and eyes.

  Mrs. Careme shut the door behind her, turned the key in the lock, and said, “Well?”

  The direct approach had carried her this far; Susanna decided to forgo all attempts at subtlety and said, “Was Major Haliday here last night?”

  Mrs. Careme merely shrugged her shoulders, and Susanna said, “I should rather have asked, “Why was Major Haliday in your room last night?”

  Mrs. Careme raised arched brows and said, “Why do you suppose?” Her manner was really a passable impression of her usual cool insolence, Susanna thought. But the nervous movements of her fingers, unconsciously clenching and unclenching themselves on the silken sash of her dressing gown gave her away.

  “What I suppose,” Susanna said, “is that you knew or suspected who it is in this house who has been selling secrets gleaned from Admiral Tremain’s papers. You shared your suspicions with Major Haliday. And now Major Haliday has been shot, and you are afraid that you may be next.”

  Mrs. Careme’s face lost a little of its color, but she said, her voice still cool and hard, “Perhaps Major Haliday got what he deserved.”

  “Mrs. Careme—” Susanna searched for words that would convince the other woman. “Can you not see that your best protection lies in sharing what you know? That is the only way you may hope to be safe, if the traitor is caught and apprehended.”

  Mrs. Careme only shook her head, though. She still looked tense. But she said, “Perhaps. But‌—‌assuming that you are right and I do have knowledge of treasonous plots in this household‌—‌I have not yet decided what course of action I want to take.” A faint, ironic smile touched her mouth. “When I do decide, I assure you, I shall let you know.”

  Susanna looked at her, feeling frustration rise. But Mrs. Careme’s face was calm and quite determined. And she could hardly take the other woman by the shoulders and shake her and demand that Mrs. Careme reveal whatever she might know.

  “I will say goodnight, then,” Susanna said at last.

  Mrs. Careme bowed her head. “Goodnight. And, Miss Ward—” Her eyes fixed intently on Susanna’s with a look that was suddenly almost chilling. “Be careful, Miss Ward. As you yourself pointed out, Major Haliday has been shot. He may not even survive the night, or so I hear. I should hate to see you fall victim to some mischance as well.”

  Susanna went out, feeling abruptly cold with the suspicion that had struck her. Mrs. Careme had sworn to her earlier that she herself was not the spy‌—‌and Susanna had believed her. But what of Admiral Tremain? What if he were the traitor, selling his own state secrets and using Major Haliday as the go-between to make it less likely that he himself would ever be suspected or caught?

  Susanna walked back to her own room‌—‌so lost in the chain of conjectures that she almost walked straight into the panel of her own closed door. She opened the door instead and went inside, glancing at the clock on the mantle.

  Only half past ten. Another hour and a half before she could even hope that James might arrive.

  Sleep was impossible, but she still felt cold, so Susanna pulled the coverlet from her bed and wrapped it round herself as she sat down by the banked fire in the hearth.

  If the Admiral really was the traitor—

  That would certainly explain Mrs. Careme’s behavior tonight: the mixture of fear and indecision. If she knew Admiral Tremain had shot Major Haliday, she might well fear him. And yet, Susanna thought, Mrs. Careme might equally well hesitate to make her suspicions known. Admiral Tremain for her represented security, her chance at a lifetime of respectability and wealth. She would not readily wish to throw that all away by exposing the Admiral for a traitor.

  The hands of the clock seemed to move with interminable slowness. But they did, finally, register half past eleven o’clock. Susanna rose. It was early. But she felt as though she could not possibly sit still another moment.

  There was a candle in a bronze holder by her bedside. Susanna lighted it at the dying fire, and slipped quietly out of the room, pausing in the hallway to listen.

  The whole house seemed utterly still and silent. Susanna could catch no movement or noise behind the Halidays’ door, and spared a moment to hope that Aunt Ruth and Helen Haliday had managed to drop off to sleep.

  She felt at every moment as though some nameless threat‌—‌or worse still, Admiral Tremain‌—‌were waiting to jump out at her, but she went noiselessly down the stairs and into the Admiral’s library.

  Her lighted candle threw wild, flickering shadows over the walls and cast her own reflection, pale and nervous-looking, back at her in the room’s tall windows.

  Susanna drew back the window catch so that James might not have to force his way in again. And then she froze, her heart stumbling in her chest.

  From upstairs, directly above her head, came the creak as of footsteps moving over the floorboards.

  Why the sound should have made her heart jolt, Susanna could not even have told. She tried to tell herself that it was only nerves‌—‌that there were a hundred perfectly harmless reasons why Aunt Ruth or Mrs. Haliday might have needed something either for the Major or themselves, and have left the room.

  For rapid calculations told her that she was in fact standing directly below the corridor outside the Haliday’s room.

  But still, scarcely even aware that she had made a conscious decision, Susanna went swiftly back up the stairs. Heart pounding, she reached the hallway and found that it was deserted as before. But the door next to her own‌—‌Major and Mrs. Haliday’s room‌—‌stood just slightly ajar.

  Susanna crossed and pushed the door open wider. Then drew back with a jolt that nearly made her drop her candle.

  A low-burning oil lamp stood by the bed, and by its light, a woman stood, bent over the unconscious man and pressing a pillow firmly over his face.

  Chapter 24

  The sound of Susanna’s involuntary indrawn breath made the figure whirl round, and a ray of the lamplight fell across her face. For a moment, Susanna could only stare. Then: “Miss Fanny?” she gasped.

  The most horrible thing about the scene, Susanna thought, was that Miss Fanny looked precisely as she always did. Just as fluttering, just as dowdy. She stood outlined against the black of the window behind her, the picture of harmless spinsterhood.

  Then Miss Fanny smiled slowly, and a cold chill prickled across Susanna’s skin.

  “Ah, Miss Ward. Do, please, come in and join me.”

  Major Haliday was still alive; Susanna could hear the labored rasp of his breath, counterpoint to the sickening beats of her own heart. Susanna started to shake her head. Then she saw that Miss Fanny had taken something from her reticule and was aiming it at Susanna. A small, ivory-handled pistol with a double barrel.

  Susanna felt the blood in her veins turn to ice, but she stepped across the threshold, trying to clamp the fear inside her down. Fear and panic would do nothing, now, to keep Major Haliday‌—‌or for that matter herself‌—‌alive.

  Miss Fanny nodded approvingly.

  “Good. Now shut the door behind you.” Her voice was different. Hard, and clipped, with a ring of authority.

  Susanna did as she was bidden, looking towards the hearth, where both Mrs. Haliday and Ruth were slumped, motionless and plainly insensible, on the settee. Despite herself, a throb of renewed fear made Susanna say, “Aunt Ruth! What have you done to her?”

  Miss Fanny followed the direction of her gaze. “Oh, you need not worry, Miss Ward. A little laudanum added to the tea I sent up with their supper. Neither she nor Mrs.
Haliday will wake up until morning. By which time I shall have had ample time to deal with all this nuisance.”

  She might have been speaking of the price of fish or a broken china vase, Susanna thought with a dizzying rush of unreality. Though there was something about Miss Fanny’s gaze‌—‌some glittering brightness that looked almost mad, and made Susanna feel slightly sick. Had the madness always been there, and she had just never seen it before? Overlooked and ignored‌—‌like Miss Fanny herself?

  Miss Fanny was looking at her, a peevish frown creasing her brows. “Really, Miss Ward. It is most inconvenient of you to burst in this way. I do not know what I am to do with you.”

  Susanna’s heart was still hammering wildly. But she managed to keep her voice even as she said, “You can hardly shoot me here, at any rate. You would rouse the whole house.”

  “No. True enough.” Miss Fanny looked thoughtful. And then she said, with sudden brisk decision, “No, I believe you will have to accompany me downstairs, to my dear brother-in-law’s study. Then I can say that we surprised a burglar, who escaped through the window after shooting you. Yes.” Miss Fanny nodded. “Yes, I think that will be the best plan. I am sure I can make quite a convincing tale of it. Of course, I will still have Major Haliday to deal with. But I can see to him later‌—‌unless he is obliging enough to die on his own, of course.”

  Susanna felt another wash of unreality, as though she had stepped unknowingly from waking into a bad dream. It simply did not seem possible that she should be standing here, listening to prim, dowdy Miss Fanny calmly discussing shooting her and then coming back to murder Major Haliday.

  And then Miss Fanny gave a sudden, insane little giggle that made it all too possible and real. “No one will ever think of suspecting me. I have finally realized the benefit of being overlooked and continually ignored‌—‌no one ever suspects that you may be a danger to them.”

  Susanna forced stiff lips apart. How long had she been here? And how long until James was due to come?

  “I did not suspect you at all,” she said.

  Miss Fanny gave a small, pleased smile. “No. No one has. It never occurred to my dear brother-in-law that I might be stealing state secrets from him and passing them along to France.”

  “Using Major Haliday to sell them and collect the money?”

  Fanny did not question where Susanna had obtained her information; perhaps she was too far gone even to wonder. “Yes. One of the many disadvantages of our sex. I knew the French would never take a mere woman seriously. Besides, it would have been difficult for me to arrange meetings and so forth. I needed someone to act for me. I had heard of Major Haliday through Charles‌—‌of his money troubles, his gambling debts. I decided he was the perfect candidate. Greedy enough to keep on at the job, but not bright enough to work out the identity of his informant. It was all going beautifully until you interfered.”

  Susanna made an involuntary movement, and Miss Fanny nodded. Her lips hardened in a thin smile. “Did you think that I did not know? I must admit, Miss Ward, that I had no suspicions of you whatever. I suppose that means I am guilty of underestimating our sex, as well. But”‌—‌her long face hardened as she glanced towards Major Haliday’s unconscious form‌—‌“this fool told me. He had somehow gotten to suspect that I was the one who had been passing him information. He said that you were some sort of agent connected to the War Office. And then he tried to blackmail me. He demanded more than his share of the money he had made passing on secrets. Otherwise he would turn me in to my brother-in-law.”

  Miss Fanny’s lips tightened in another thin smile. “Of course, he did not consider me a danger, either. He looked so utterly surprised when I shot him. I missed his heart, though.” She shook her head. “I should have waited to be sure he was dead, but I did not want to be caught out of doors. And then I was afraid of getting blood on my clothing. So messy, and difficult to clean, as well. One of the maidservants might have begun to suspect if she had seen stains on my clothes.”

  Susanna half expected Miss Fanny to break into one of her familiar diatribes about the difficulty of finding reliable servants. She felt a hysterical wave of laughter break against her ribcage, but swallowed it down. Miss Fanny shrugged her thin shoulders.

  “But of course I can stand much closer to you when I shoot you. And besides, stains on my clothing will not matter this time. I can say that I made desperate attempts to revive you after you had been shot by the burglar.”

  It must, Susanna supposed, have been Mrs. Careme who let slip to Major Haliday Susanna’s role in the investigation. Or it was possible that Major Haliday had simply guessed, when she had lured him to the Lover’s Walk at Vauxhall and then abandoned him to James’s questions.

  Not that any of that mattered just now. Susanna swallowed against the dryness of her throat, and looked at Miss Fanny, gauging her chances. She was younger than Miss Fanny, and stronger. But she was separated from the older woman by nearly the whole length of the room. If she tried to rush at Miss Fanny, she would be shot long before she could tackle her.

  As though picking up the thought, Miss Fanny gestured with the pistol. “Downstairs, Miss Ward. Now. I will follow you. And do not try any tricks, or I promise you I will shoot you.”

  Slowly, Susanna turned. The blood still pounded in her ears, and she felt Miss Fanny’s presence behind her like a knife in the small of her back. And she did not dare let herself think of James, either to hope that he would somehow arrive in time to save her, or to wish desperately that if she were to die tonight, she might at least see him one last time.

  Instead she made herself walk out of the room and down the hall to the stairs. Somewhere between here and Admiral Tremain’s office, she was going to have to make a stand‌—‌fight. She might not succeed. But neither did she intend to simply walk to her death without a fight.

  Halfway down the stairs, she said, “You cannot possibly hope to get away with this, you know.”

  “Can I not?” Miss Fanny was several paces behind her, but the sound of her voice was chilling. “I said it before‌—‌no one would ever suspect me. I am just ‘poor Fanny.’ The unwanted poor relation, whom everyone pities, but no one wants.” Susanna heard her draw a sawing breath. “All my life, I lived in my sister’s shadow, always second best, taking second place. I had to live in her house, pretending to be grateful for whatever crumbs she and her husband flung me. After she died, I kept the Admiral’s home, ran the house, supervised the servants. And how does he repay me?” Miss Fanny’s voice rose, then dropped to a furious whisper. “He invites that . . . ‌that woman into his home! He has me pushed aside to make room for the likes of her! Well, I decided that I would earn enough to be free‌—‌independent of Charles and his Mrs. Careme. And so I have done. After this is over, I will get away, on my own. I will have a house‌—‌servants‌—‌all of my own.”

  Miss Fanny’s voice was rising again, growing more agitated‌—‌and Susanna risked a glance back at her. She had forgotten to be careful, and had moved closer to Susanna. Close enough that Susanna might risk tackling her now, while she was off guard.

  Susanna tensed her muscles. And then from the head of the stairs came a sharp cry of, “Stop!”

  Miss Fanny whirled with a little shriek. And Susanna, looking up, saw with a jolt of pure shock that it was Mrs. Careme who stood at the top of the staircase. Then everything seemed to happen at once. The pistol in Fanny’s hand went off with a deafening roar. Mrs. Careme cried out. And as Susanna watched, her whole body ice cold with horror, she saw a crimson stain spread across Mrs. Careme’s ruffled dressing gown.

  The force of the recoil had caused Miss Fanny to drop the pistol, though, and Susanna made a dive for it. Her fingers closed around the smooth ivory handle. But in the same moment, Miss Fanny, too, made a lunge for the weapon. She collided with Susanna on one of the middle stairs, and Susanna felt herself lose her footing and start to fall. She had just presence of mind enough to seize hold of Miss Fan
ny’s arm, dragging the older woman with her as she tumbled down the stairs.

  They seemed to fall forever, Miss Fanny’s sharp nails scrabbling at Susanna’s fingers, her shrieks of fury ringing in Susanna’s ears. Susanna had lost her hold on the pistol; she had no idea whether Miss Fanny had managed to seize the weapon, either.

  At some point in their tumbling fall, Miss Fanny managed to wrench herself free from Susanna’s grip. And then Susanna felt her head strike the hard marble floor of the entrance hall and a wave of blackness swallowed her whole.

  * * *

  Susanna swam up from an unconsciousness that was like warm black mud, clinging to her, weighing her down. Someone nearby was speaking her name. But her eyelids felt weighted, so heavy she could not manage to lift them to see who it was. There was something, though. Some reason she had to make herself move—

  And then, with a gasp, Susanna’s eyes flew open as fragmentary remembrance returned in a rush. The gun‌—‌Miss Fanny—

  It was James’s face that appeared before her, though. James, his face as white and taut as Susanna had ever seen it. Though the line of his mouth relaxed slightly as Susanna opened her eyes.

  “Susanna, thank God.”

  Susanna clutched at him, renewed fear sliding through her. “James, it was Miss Fanny! Miss Fanny all the time—”

  “I know. It’s all right.” James stopped her, taking her hands. “I know,” he said again. “She’s been . . . ‌dealt with.”

  Susanna’s head throbbed fiercely, but she looked around, taking in their surroundings for the first time. Somehow‌—‌she supposed James must have carried her‌—‌she was now lying on the sofa of the drawing room. “James, Mrs. Careme. She was shot. Is she—”