It was late in the afternoon when Mr. Cholcombe returned to the house in company with Mr. Dorlais. They promised company for dinner. Between them, they could muster several acquaintances among the ships’ officers, and of these, no less than four were at liberty to take advantage of Lady Feniton’s invitation on that very evening. This was good news to Lady Feniton; she liked nothing better than to fill her house with visitors.
Miss Catherine Lodge was not so well pleased. She was anxious for a quiet talk with her betrothed. She had no intention of breaking her word to Joanna, and making any mention of the extraordinary revelation which had been unfolded to her that afternoon; but her heart swelled with affection and loyalty towards Guy which must be expressed in some way. Her manner towards him was, therefore, very different from what it had been of late. Although they had few occasions of conversing in private, he could not help noticing the change. He, too, wished the party could have been smaller.
“Do you still keep your old interest in theatricals, Cholcombe?” one of the officers asked him at dinner. “We had famous fun at Pompey with ‘The Triumph of Friendship’, if you recollect!”
“Yes,” said another. “And what was the name of that other piece—the one where you came on dressed as an old washerwoman? ‘Pon oath, you brought the house down on that occasion!”
“I had no idea, Algernon,” said Lady Feniton, in a disapproving tone, “that you indulged in theatricals!”
“But yes, ma’am, you must have done!” said Kitty. “Do you not recall that Guy—Mr. Dorlais—mentioned the fact, when we were questioning him about his acquaintance with Mr. Cholcombe—I mean, of course, before Mr. Cholcombe arrived,” she added, feeling that perhaps she had not made herself very clear.
“We played together in ‘The School for Scandal’ at Trelawney’s house,” volunteered Dorlais. “He was the leading man on that occasion: I tell you, he’s a deuced versatile chap, this Cholcombe!”
“I never before suspected you of toad-eating, Dorlais.” replied Cholcombe, with a drawl.
“Only fancy! But I suppose it is scarcely surprising,” said Lady Lodge, thoughtlessly, “that you should be an accomplished actor, Mr. Cholcombe. After all, it’s in the family—I mean your Mama, you know!”
Lady Feniton coughed loudly, and glared at her friend. Lady Lodge caught the look, choked a little over her fish, and subsided. Augusta was foolish, she thought resentfully: after all, it was a very old scandal, and my Lady Cholcombe was now an acknowledged leader of fashion in London, and everywhere received.
“I see that the Pope has at last crowned Napoleon as Emperor of France,” remarked Sir George, thinking to create a diversion. “According to report, it was a most magnificent ceremony.”
“The newspapers seem to have more to say on the subject of Master Betty’s prodigious success at Covent Garden,” remarked Cholcombe, nobly seconding Sir George in his attempt.
“Master Betty?” asked Joanna, who was seated beside him.
He looked down at her gravely for a moment.
“He is a boy actor who’s created quite a furor in Town,” he said. “He appeared a few days since in a tragedy of Dr. Brown’s entitled Barbarossa. I’m told that there was a regular stampede to get into the theatre. Apparently His Royal Highness was there, and showed his approval by applauding frequently—and loudly.”
She smiled. “I can well imagine that he might.”
“Prinney has few inhibitions,” he agreed. “But it really does seem that, this youth is something out of the common way. I must see him for myself.”
“You like the theatre?”
“So much,” he answered, “that I could almost have chosen to enter the profession.”
“But that, of course,” she said, questioningly, “was not to be thought of?”
“No,” he replied; abruptly, and fell into a reverie which was presently broken by Lady Feniton signifying that it was time for the ladies to rise from the table.
When the gentlemen rejoined them later in the drawing room, Guy Dorlais went immediately to Kitty’s side. She looked up at him, her brown eyes warm with affection. He managed to catch her hand and give it a quick squeeze before anyone could notice.
“Am I forgiven, Kit?” he asked in a low voice.
“Stupid,” she whispered back. “There is nothing to forgive!”
“You’re not going to pretend that you have not been vexed with me this long while?” he asked incredulously.
“Oh, Guy, if I was, indeed I am sorry!” she answered, contritely.
“My love! There are many things in my conduct which must puzzle you sorely—but I hope the time is not far distant when I can explain them all satisfactorily to you.”
“I—” she began, then broke off, as she noticed Lady Feniton’s eye upon them.
She fancied that she heard Guy let drop a mild oath as he moved away from her side, but she was well content.
It was not until after their guests had departed that Mr. Cholcombe found a much sought for opportunity of being private with Miss Feniton. She had gone upstairs to fetch a shawl for her grandmother’s shoulders; on her way down again, she encountered him loitering in the passage outside the drawing room.
“I have been desiring a word alone with you all evening,” he said, his expression more serious than was usual. “If you can spare me a moment, we might perhaps go in here.”
He indicated the door of a small anteroom nearby. She hesitated a second. No doubt he wished to speak to her of this morning’s incident. She did not see what business it was of his, but she might as well hear what he had to say, and have done with it.
“Certainly,” she answered, coldly, and passed before him into the room.
There was, a small fire burning in the grate; he indicated a sofa which was set before it.
“Shall we sit down?”
She obeyed, holding her grandmother’s shawl in her lap, and waiting for him to speak. He seated himself beside her, but gazed into the fire in silence for so long, that at last she turned her eyes upon him in surprise.
“I have something to say to you, Miss Feniton,” he began, presently, with rather less than his customary assurance. “Though how to begin, puzzles me somewhat, I must confess!”
Her heart missed a beat. Perhaps, after all, he was not about to speak of their encounter in Dorlais’s room that morning. This sounded to her ominously like the beginning of a declaration.
“This man Masterman,” he went on, abruptly. “What is he to you?”
She was considerably startled. “You have no right to ask such a question,” she pointed out, after a pause.
“But I wish to have the right!” he said, emphatically. “Miss Feniton—Joanna—”
Her eyes widened a little, but she gave him no help.
“You must allow me to tell you,” he said, more quietly, “how very much I admire and respect you. Will you do me the honour to become my wife?”
She looked full into his face. There was no trace now of the laughing gallant who had continually jested with her during his stay at Shalbeare House. His grey eyes were deep and serious. She took a quick breath.
“I—I scarce know what to say—”
“At least you cannot say that it is so sudden,” he remarked with a trace of his former manner. “You must be aware that I came to Shalbeare House with the intention of making you an offer.”
“I will not pretend to you,” she said, slowly. “I did know, of course.”
“We have no disapproval to contend with,” he remarked, a certain irony in his tone. “Both my parents and your grandparents desire the match. Everything is as it should be in that respect.”
“Ye—es,” she answered, hesitantly.
“So you see,” he said, watching her closely, “you owe it to me to say if Captain Masterman means anything to you.”
“You are thinking of what happened this morning,” she said, quickly, not sorry to change the subject. “I know that you found me—us—in a situatio
n of—of—seeming intimacy—but, believe me, things were not what they may have appeared.”
“Might I venture to ask for an explanation? You are not obliged to give one, of course, if you do not wish.”
She hesitated for a few moments, thinking what answer to make.
“I—it is difficult to explain. He and I went quite separately to Mr. Dorlais’s room, for a purpose that—for something which—”
She stopped, completely at a loss. He continued to watch her face and its changing expressions, but made no remark.
“It is a secret,” she said, at last, desperately. “I cannot tell you more. But this much you may know—there was no connivance in our meeting there, neither is there any attachment between Captain Masterman and myself. I think I owe it to you to inform you of that much, at least.”
He nodded. “I wondered, seeing you so close together,” he said, apologetically. “Watching your parting earlier today, too, the same doubts assailed me. Whatever may be your feeling towards the gentleman, I think that he is certainly in love with you.”
“Perhaps,” replied Joanna, uncomfortably. “It cannot signify—he means nothing to me. Are you satisfied now, sir? For Grandmama will be wanting her shawl.”
“Not quite,” he said, smiling a little. “You have not yet given me your answer.”
“Oh!”
Dismay spread over Joanna’s countenance. She was silent for a while.
“Must I answer you now, sir?” she asked, in a timid tone.
He looked a trifle chagrined.
“Not if you do not wish to do so. Perhaps I have been too hasty in speaking—but I could not wait—”
He broke off, and appeared to be labouring under some emotion.
“I cannot quite understand you!” said Joanna, impulsively. “So far, you have never given the smallest sign of being—of being—”
“Attached to you, you would say? No, perhaps not. I suppose I care as little as any man for making a parade of my emotions, and we have been seldom left alone together of late. You cannot bring yourself to believe, then, that I care for you? Is it such a new idea to you?”
“I have no wish to give you pain, Mr. Cholcombe, but I must insist that it is. We have had a vast deal of amusement together, and have been from the first on the easiest of terms: but as to anything of a deeper nature; I can only say that I have seen no sign of it.”
“No,” he said, rising abruptly and pacing uneasily about the room. “No, of course not: I forget—”
He broke off, and swung towards her.
“Do I understand that you do not positively wish to reject me, Miss Feniton?”
The tone was controlled and formal. She shook her head.
“No; I—in a way, I was prepared for this, and perhaps not sufficiently ready to hear your proposals. I need a little time, sir—”
“You shall have it.” He spoke shortly. “I will say nothing for the moment to your grandparents. When can I come for my answer, Miss Feniton?”
“You mean to go away again?” she asked, alarmed. Her grandmother would not like this, she knew.
He nodded brusquely. “You must see that I could not remain, under the circumstances. I shall leave tomorrow. Will a se’ennight suffice, do you think, to show you your mind? It shall be longer, if you wish.”
She gave him one of her compassionate looks. The soft hazel eyes twisted his heart.
“I will tell you by then,” she promised, softly.
He bowed low, and opened the door for her to walk out.
SEVENTEEN - The Enemy Revealed
A thin mist lay over the Bay, obscuring the lights on shore. The ship rocked gently at anchor, her timbers creaking slightly. Down in the cabin, two men faced each other across the table. One was wearing the uniform of His Majesty’s Navy: it bore an imposing amount of gold braid. The other was a fisherman. He was bareheaded, his black hair curling crisply back from a face that looked curiously pale in the light of the lantern which hung from the rafters.
“You really mean it?” asked the officer, incredulously. “I can believe this fantastic story?”
“No doubt about it at all, sir,” replied the younger man, standing stiffly at attention.
“Well, I’m damned!”
The officer fingered his chin thoughtfully.
“And when can we expect this visitation?” he asked, at last. “Any notion of that, eh?”
“Not as yet, sir. We’re working on it.”
“Humph! There isn’t all the time in the world! Mind, I realize it’s difficult—”
“The difficult we do at once, sir: the impossible may take a little longer.”
The mahogany-coloured face before him relaxed into a smile.
“Yes, well—that’s the spirit! Of course, we shan’t be here for long, I trust. They may not arrive in time to catch us. Still, best to be prepared. We’ll plan a reception committee.”
“May I ask what your scheme is, sir?”
“Eh?” The older man had relapsed into thought, and now came to with a jerk. “Oh, yes—certainly. Nets, I think, don’t you? Go fishin’ for ‘em, y’know! Have to do the thing with caution, or we may frighten ‘em off. I’ll consult the others, of course, but I’ll lay any odds that’s the best way—nets. Tell you what, Jackson—or whatever that dam’ silly pseudonym of yours is—I fancy they’ll get hoist with their own petard this time, eh? What d’ye say?”
Jackson replied that he thought it inevitable. He refrained from remarking that the idea of nets as a protection against the submarine had also occurred to him. He mentioned that he must be on his way before long.
“Got to go, then, have you?” asked the officer. “Get on with the impossible, I suppose?” He laughed briefly. “Not bad, that,” he conceded. “But is there anything we can do to help, my boy? There are enough of us, and my fellows are pretty sick of inaction, give you my word! If only these Frogs would come out and fight!”
Captain Jackson commiserated with him. “There is one thing sir,” he said. “There’s a man called Kellaway—a Colonel in the Volunteers—”
The Naval man snorted. “Toy soldier, eh?”
“No sir, this is a Regular Army man, retired. Good sort of fellow. I need his help, but he does not know me—at any rate, not in this capacity. A word from you, however—”
“You shall have it. Give me his direction. What exactly is it you require?”
Jackson briefly explained his needs. The officer nodded, and made a quick note.
“When?” he asked, shortly.
“There is some urgency,” replied Jackson. “I propose to step into a hornet’s nest before nightfall tomorrow. By that time, I must know if the Colonel will be ready and waiting. My plans depend upon it.”
“He will,” promised the other, “even if we have to keelhaul him. I’ll send at first light, then, Captain, and let you know the outcome. Where can I reach you?”
Jackson gave directions for reaching the nearby cove where his friends were encamped.
“But you will most likely see me back here again, sir, before dawn—with your visitor.”
“Visitor?” The bushy eyebrows shot up. “Ah, yes, the fellow you want me to clap in irons. Got any useful information out of him?”
“He confirms all that we have guessed, but has little to add. He denies all knowledge of the identity of their leader—and in this I believe him to be telling the truth. One thing he has revealed, and that is that this leader himself will be in the submarine when the attack is made.”
“By God, we have him, then!” exclaimed the officer. “We shall net a fine catch there, Captain!”
“To be sure, sir. That is why we have allowed matters to proceed so far. To let their plan come to fruition seemed to us the only way to smoke out this man, and destroy once for all time this nest of spies in the West of England.”
The other man nodded. “Damned if you don’t have the best of it, Jackson,” he said, enviously. “If only we could see some action at sea!”
“Your time will come, sir, never fear! Sooner or later, they must come out and make a stand. When that day comes, I trust I’ll be with you.”
“There is no man I’d sooner have in my command,” was the reply. “Well, bring up your spy, and we’ll see him safely stowed away.”
*
“It is all quite settled, then?” asked Number Six. “You are to go alone, Jackson?”
“Ask yourself, my dear chap! There is no cover in a place like the village of Babbacombe. Besides, there can be no danger; we are aware of their plan.”
“But suppose they change their minds?” asked Number Six, dubiously. “It may somehow leak out that we are holding one of their men, and they may change over to another scheme.”
Jackson shook his head. “I should suppose it to be too late for that. It is some days since I first picked up the orders, do not forget, and their arrangements must have been already made then. Our captive told us that it is no part of the plan to shoot me out of hand. Their way is a deal more clever than that; it is all perfectly legal, on the face of it.”
“But they must hold you there until their chief comes,” protested Number Six. “Lord knows I’ve no wish to cast you into the doldrums, Captain, but there’s no saying what state you may be in by then.”
“Wonder how it is that they’re now so certain you’re no longer on their side of the fence?” asked another man, slowly. “By all the evidence, they were uncertain in the matter until very recently. What’s happened to confirm their suspicions?”
“I fancy I can tell you that,” said Jackson. “I can hazard a guess, too, as to who this chief of theirs will turn out to be.”
They gathered round him eagerly at this.
“Some of you may chance to know the name,” he said, and told it.
“Good God, impossible!” exclaimed one of them.
“Yes, I am a little acquainted with him, and—but are you sure?”
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