The Guinea Stamp

by Alice Chetwynd Ley

  She quickly ran Sir George Lodge to earth in the library, where he and her grandfather were deep in the morning’s newspapers. Sir Walter was never anxious to have the privacy of the library invaded by the female portion of his establishment, and this particular hour of day had always been considered sacrosanct. He looked up in faint annoyance as his granddaughter entered.

  “I do not mean to keep you from your newspaper,” she said, in apology. “I have just this minute heard from Grandmama of the spy who was taken yesterday in Babbacombe, and I thought that you might possibly be able to add something to her account.”

  “Oh, yes,” said Sir George, who had risen reluctantly at her entrance. “A smart piece of work on someone’s part, though no one quite seems to know who was responsible for laying the information.”

  “Was the man concerned—the spy, I mean—a local man?” asked Joanna.

  “According to what I heard from Smythe, no one appears to know much about the fellow at all. It seems that he will have to answer charges on two accounts—there is evidence that he has been engaged in smuggling, as well as spying for the enemy. But his confederates are not known, nor his previous history—apart from his traitorous activities, that is to say.”

  Joanna’s heart gave a painful leap during this speech: a dreadful conviction was growing in her.

  “I suppose you did not think to ask—that is to say, you were not told his name?” she asked, trying hard to keep all expression out of her voice.

  Her grandfather had long since returned to his newspaper, and Sir George still held his copy, glancing surreptitiously at it from time to time while he was answering Miss Feniton. He looked briefly down at it now as he spoke.

  “His name, you say? Oh, if my recollection serves me it was—let me see—Jackson. Yes, Jackson, that’s it.

  She nodded, not trusting herself to speak, and turned towards the door as though all her interest in the subject had been satisfied. But the indefinable sympathy which exists between two people who hold each other in affection told Sir Walter, preoccupied as he was, that something was amiss with his granddaughter. He looked up, and exclaimed at sight of her bloodless face.

  “Joanna! What’s wrong, child? Do you not feel well?”

  “I—it is nothing—”

  She stumbled a little. Sir Walter went to her and put an arm about her waist, while Sir George thoughtfully pulled the bell rope to summon a servant.

  Hardly knowing what happened, Joanna was guided to a chair. A short while later, Lady Feniton herself had, her granddaughter in charge, and was settling her into her bed.

  “Upon my word,” she chided, as she tucked the covers around Joanna, and dispatched a maid for a warm beverage, “you are as poor a creature as Letitia, it seems! All this talk of spies appears to have quite overset you! I had thought better of your stamina, my dear, I must confess. But there, young ladies are often in the megrims on the slightest excuse—you will grow out of it in time. Lie there quietly, my love, and I promise that no one shall come near you until it is time for dinner, when you may get up again, if you are recovered.”

  Joanna made no reply to this, nor did she attempt to resist or aid anything that was done for her. She meekly drank the hot milk when it arrived, and lay down upon her pillows as though composed for sleep. She watched her grandmother and the maid tiptoe from the room without any change in her set expression of vacant misery.

  She must try to think. Captain Jackson had been taken at last, and she must find a way to free him. The idea of his not being saved sent a pain through her heart that seemed almost to stop her breathing. For a while, she could go no further than this—in her thoughts—that it might not be possible to save him, that he might have to pay the penalty.

  She must think. There was a way, there must be a way, to bring him safely off, if only she could use her wits to find it. But her wits seemed no longer at her command: they ran hither and thither, following now one, now another, useless train of thought. There were—there must be—people in authority who knew of his real activities, who were aware that he was innocent of the charges made against him. Who were these people? He had never mentioned them to her, and she could not conjecture who they would be. Mr. Pitt, perhaps, she thought vaguely, and let her mind wander over the other members of the Government who might be supposed to make foreign intelligence their business. How was she to reach them? Through her grandfather, or Sir George? She could not convince herself that either gentleman would hear her tale with any credulity. At best, they would suppose her to have been imposed upon by this French agent. It would take time—perhaps a long time—to persuade them to act: and by then, it might be too late for Captain Jackson. Even if she could speedily win them over, there would be the inevitable delays attendant on any Governmental proceedings. Captain Jackson’s life could not be allowed to rest on so doubtful a scheme as that: she must think of something more speedy, more certain of success.

  She sat up in bed suddenly, her panic receding as it came to her what must be done. There was one man who could help her, one man to whom tedious and delaying explanations would not be necessary. That man was Captain Masterman: why had she not thought of him before?

  She became quite calm again, the mists of confusion lifting from her mind as it fastened upon a definite course of action. She did not know for certain where Captain Masterman was to be found. Presumably he had returned to his home after accompanying his sister to the house where she was to make a visit: Masterman’s home was in Totnes.

  It might as well have been somewhere a thousand miles away, thought Joanna despairingly, for all her hope of reaching it. How was she to do so? To order the carriage was out of the question, even if her family had not supposed her to be ill. Lady Feniton would desire to be told exactly where she was going. It might be easier to sneak away unnoticed if she rode.

  She turned this notion over in her mind. It was a long ride to Totnes, more than eight miles. Moreover, it was not usual for females to ride the high road alone. This was not the time to be thinking of the proprieties, but, from a practical viewpoint, would it be wise to go alone? There might be obstacles to be met with on the way which would be better overcome by two people. She would be obliged to bring herself to the notice of one or more of the stable hands before she could obtain her horse; might it not be wiser to allow one of them to accompany her, thus disarming suspicion? It was no unusual thing for Miss Feniton to ride in the morning, but to ride without a groom in attendance would cause comment.

  In the end, she decided to take one of the lads with her. The next, more pressing problem to be solved, was how to reach the stables without being seen by anyone in the house.

  While she was puzzling this out, she rose, and. quietly began to dress again. She chose a dark red riding habit with frogged buttons, and pulled a hat tightly over her dark curls. The curtains had been drawn before the windows of her room. She left them as they were, and hurriedly arranged the bedclothes so that it might appear to a casual glance that the bed was still occupied. Then she opened the door of her bedchamber, and peeped cautiously out.

  It was by this time after eleven, and the servants had long since finished the routine tasks which took them into the family part of the house. Sir George and her grandfather were still shut up together in the library: Lady Lodge and her hostess were in the morning room, comparing notes about the vagaries of their respective charges. There was no one about in the passage outside Joanna’s room, or on the staircase.

  She ran lightly down the stairs, turning to the right along the passage which led to the side door which she had used on the night when she had followed the unknown person to the temple. There would almost certainly be a servant within reach of the front door, but here she might be fortunate enough to escape unnoticed. She slipped like a shadow along the passage, heaving a sigh of relief as she saw that the door was unguarded.

  She stepped quickly outside, feeling almost jubilant. Even the hint of rain which was in the air could not damp
her spirits. She managed to reach the stables without meeting anyone, and calmly gave good morning to the two or three hands who were gathered there.

  As she had expected, it caused no comment that she should wish to ride. Her horse was saddled and led out for her, and she was assisted to mount.

  “Shall I go with you, ma’am?” asked the groom who had conducted the business.

  She assented, and presently he followed her from the yard and down the drive which led to the rear entrance of the house.

  She noticed that he showed some surprise when they eventually turned into the high road; but it was not until they had covered some miles that he ventured to ask if Miss Feniton meant to turn back now.

  “No,” she answered, shortly.

  “Very good, ma’am,” he said, woodenly. “I only wondered seeing it was close on luncheon, an’ the rain beginnin’ to set in—”

  “I must reach Totnes,” replied Joanna, firmly.

  “Totnes, ma’am?”

  The man gaped at her for a moment, then rode on a little way behind her without saying anything more, but frowning a little.

  By this time, the rain was falling steadily, and both of them were very wet. She appeared not to regard it, however, merely urging her horse to a better pace. The groom, thinking that his mistress must have taken leave of her senses, kept up with her.

  They had been riding for some little time longer when they heard a carriage approaching. Rounding one of the frequent bends in the narrow road which they were travelling, they almost met it head on: it was a curricle, and being driven at breakneck speed.

  Just in time, the driver reined in expertly. Miss Feniton swerved, and a collision was narrowly avoided. In a moment, the groom was at her side, and had put a hand upon her horse’s rein, lending his strength to hers to control the animal. She was not looking at her mount, though, but at the driver of the curricle, who had also recognized Miss Feniton in that brief moment when they had almost collided.

  “Miss Feniton! I trust you are not hurt, ma’am?”

  She disclaimed hurriedly.

  “What brings you abroad in such inclement weather?” he continued, almost without pause.

  “That is soon told, sir,” she said, briefly, “for I came to seek you.”

  “To seek me, madam? How can I serve you?” he asked, swinging himself down from his high perch. He looped his horses’ reins, and came to stand at her side, gentling her mare to quieten the animal.

  “Captain Masterman, it is a matter of the utmost urgency! When I tell you that it is connected with one whom we both know, and who is called—” She paused, and threw a glance at her groom, who was standing nearby, uncertain what to do. “Who is called Jackson,” she finished, in a low tone. “You will not need me to say more, I am sure.”

  “No, indeed.”

  He stood still for a moment, while the rain fell softly about them, making a melancholy sound on the miry road. Then he roused himself, speaking with energy.

  “But what am I thinking of? My vehicle affords some shelter from the rain—you must allow me to escort you to some place where we may discuss this matter in private. Do you think it best to retain your groom? Or shall we send him home with your horse?”

  “I think it wisest to be rid of him,” whispered Joanna. “I could not avoid bringing him with me, but what I have to say to you must not be overheard. I shall have to ask you to put me safely on my way home after our talk.”

  He nodded, and gave the order to the groom. The man glanced uncertainly at his mistress, but could not do other than obey. The thought entered Joanna’s mind that she was flouting all propriety, and storing up trouble for herself later on with her grandmother; but she dismissed it instantly. She could think of nothing but the danger which threatened Jackson, and how best to help him.

  She was soon seated under the partial shelter of the curricle’s hood, pouring out her tale. Captain Masterman had drawn a travelling rug about her shoulders, and listened intently while she spoke. At the end of her recital, his face was grave.

  “Yes,” he said, slowly. “I feared this might happen at some time, and I fancy we both know who was responsible for it. The thing is, what’s to be done now?”

  “In God’s name, think of something quickly!” cried Joanna. “I rely utterly upon you—if you fail me, he is lost indeed!”

  “He means so much to you?” he asked, glancing at her with an expression she could not define.

  “I—oh, what does it matter?” she stammered, desperately. “What can we do? There must be some way to save him—for he is innocent, after all!”

  “That’s true,” he said, frowning, “but it may be difficult to convince anyone in authority of it, in time to accomplish anything to the purpose. The people who can prove his innocence are far enough way—in London. It will take too long to reach them.”

  “Then think of something else!” she pleaded, in her intensity laying a hand upon his arm, and looking into his face with trouble in her green-flecked eyes. “For the love of Heaven, think quickly!”

  “If I should succeed in saving him,” he asked, studying her lovely, disturbed face, “do you mean to marry him?”

  “Marry?” She drew a deep breath, then shook her head violently. “Such a thing is impossible! We are poles apart! But I must save him, if I can.”

  “I think I see a way,” he said, laying his hand briefly upon hers. “Listen—if I were to ride to Totnes at the head of a body of Volunteers, I believe I could persuade the gaoler there to hand his prisoner over to me.”

  “But that is capital!” she said, breathlessly. “What would you do then? Where could you take him that would be safe?”

  “To a farm not far from here, where he would be amongst friends. There he could lie low, until we can get word to London of his plight, and orders can be sent to quash the charges.”

  “But in that case you must go at once to Totnes!” cried Joanna pulling at his arm. “We are heading in the wrong direction—did you realize?”

  “I am taking you to the farm I mentioned, Miss Fenton we can reach it in half an hour. There I shall leave you; making all speed to Totnes and returning later with Jackson—if all goes well.”

  “So that I shall see him once more,” said Joanna, in a low voice.

  He assented, and whipped up the horses.

  She fell silent, thinking of the man called Jackson. She was at peace for the first time that day since hearing of his arrest. Captain Masterman now had matters in hand, and he was a man to inspire confidence. She believed that he could save Jackson, if anyone could, and was content.

  She was so deep in thought that she scarcely noticed which way they were going. Early on in their journey, they passed the groom trotting the two horses back to Shalbeare House; but she paid scant attention, although the groom looked curiously after the curricle which bore his mistress and one of the recent visitors to Shalbeare House.

  It seemed scarcely any time before they pulled up before a farmhouse. Captain Masterman helped her down from her perch, and led her to the door. It opened before they could knock, and he ushered her quickly inside.

  “Diable!” exclaimed the man who had admitted them. “A woman!”

  “Keep a civil tongue in your head!” rasped the Captain: “The others—they have gone?”

  “Yes, mon capitaine,” replied the other, in a more subdued voice. “Some hours since—I am the only one left.”

  “Wait here,” ordered Masterman, and tried to take Joanna’s arm in order to lead her into a room on the left of the passage where they were standing.

  But she shook him off: with blinding clarity, too late she saw what she had done. The conversation in French could mean only one thing.

  Captain Masterman saw from her face that she knew. He motioned with one hand to the other man to depart. The fellow obeyed, vanishing silently.

  “I am sorry, my dear lady,” he said, with real regret in his voice. “I had to deceive you, for several reasons.”

/>   “You are that man for whom Jackson was searching!” she cried. “And I—fool that I was—thought you were helping him!”

  He nodded. “I had to make you think so, that day when we both attempted to search Dorlais’s room. Otherwise, you might possibly have guessed the truth. Besides, I had to find out if you knew the true identity of Jackson. I have known of your connection with him for some time now—in fact, ever since I read the letter which he left for you that night.”

  “So it was you who took the letter!”

  “I apologize, but again you must see that it was necessary for me to know more of the man whom we had good reason to suspect was false to our cause.”

  “Thank Heaven I did not—still do not—know who he really is! I might have unwittingly betrayed him to you!”

  “You tell me that there can be no question of a marriage between you,” he said, ignoring this. “That encouraged me to hope.”

  “You?” She laughed, putting all the scorn at her command into her voice.

  He coloured faintly. “Apart from my lack of fortune, I am your equal in birth, Miss Feniton.”

  Her grandfather’s words flashed across his mind.

  “The man is more important than the birth,” she said. “What kind of man are you, Captain Masterman? A traitor, a spy, a hypocrite!”

  “There are reasons for that,” he said, hotly. “Reasons of which you can know nothing! You do not know what it is to try to keep up an appearance to the world on insufficient means, Miss Feniton—nor to watch another man pay court to the woman you love, knowing that you may never approach her, because of your lack of fortune! Money, Miss Feniton, money—that is the reason for all I do!”

  Even at this moment, she could not entirely withhold a pang of that compassion which was so strong a part of her disposition.

  “You are not to blame for the conventions of our present day society,” she said, quietly. “That much I allow: but there are other ways in which your fortunes might have been mended, without injury to your honour: You have chosen the most ignoble way of all!”