The Guinea Stamp

by Alice Chetwynd Ley

  “As much as anything else, it was for your sake,” he said, between set teeth. He was now as pale as he had before been flushed.

  “If that is true,” she answered, seizing her opportunity, “and you have any genuine regard for me, then allow me to return home without delay. You can do nothing that will raise you more in my estimation.”

  He shook his head regretfully. “Impossible,” he said, shortly. “You know too much now to be allowed to go free. I fear you must reconcile yourself to a long separation from your relatives, ma’am.”

  She felt the colour ebbing from her cheeks. “What do you mean to do?” she cried, sharply.

  He laid his hand upon her arm. “Do not be alarmed, Miss Feniton. I could never harm you—but I must constrain you to remain here, until I have finished what I set out to do.”

  “What is that?” she gasped.

  “There can be no harm now in your knowing. We have constructed a special kind of offensive weapon which will enable us to destroy the ships at present anchored in Torbay—and that without any risk of our being apprehended!”

  She stared at him in horror.

  “You do not believe me?” he asked, watching her pale face. “Yet you, too, were present when Colonel Kellaway—a pompous ass, that man!—spoke of Robert Fulton’s inventions.”

  Light broke in upon her, as she recalled the conversation which had kept her in the drawing room of Teignton Manor that evening when she had wished to go downstairs to the man whom she had left in hiding.

  “But—you cannot do it!” she gasped. “You cannot send so many of your own countrymen to their deaths!”

  “In a new country, I may perhaps stand a better chance,” he said, grimly. “I disclaim all allegiance to this one.”

  “You are mad!”

  “Never more sane, I assure you, Miss Feniton. And now, I must go, for my plans will not wait to be put into execution. I shall be obliged to leave you here for some hours alone, but you will come to no harm, that I can promise. When I rejoin you, it will all be over, and we can begin a new life together, over the water.”

  By now, she had herself in control. There could be no benefit in behaving hysterically: she must be calm, and use her head.

  “A new life?” she forced herself to ask.

  He nodded, pleased to see her accepting matters so quietly.

  “In France, I will have some status,” he replied. “And I shall be paid well for my services. We may be married as soon as we reach Boulogne. Have no fears, Miss Feniton: I mean honourably by you. And now, if you will be so good as to go with me—”

  She did not move.

  “It is better that you should do as I ask,” he reminded her. “I have no wish to lay violent hands upon you, but I am in haste, and cannot stay to parley. Now, will you go, ma’am?”

  He offered her his arm. She declined it with a gesture of distaste, but moved forward in the direction which he indicated. There seemed nothing to be gained at present by opposing him. Once he had left the farm, she might possibly discover some way of escape. Perhaps the other man, the Frenchman, might be susceptible to a bribe? She had not brought a great deal of money with her, but she could promise more, and hold out strong hopes of a pardon if he turned King’s evidence.

  Masterman led the way along the passage and to the top of a winding, rickety stair. This terminated in another passage, out of which opened several doors. He chose one, opened it, and ushered her into the room beyond.

  She looked around her, trying to master her panic by a scrupulous attention to detail. It was a tiny room, lit only by a small skylight in a sloping roof. There was a truckle bed along one wall, and a plain wooden chair set against another. The floor was bare of covering, and dusty.

  “I must apologize for your accommodation,” said Masterman. “It’s the best I can devise at such short notice. You need not fear to be intruded upon by the man downstairs: I myself will lock the door, and keep the key. I will leave you a lantern, for it will shortly be dark, and I know you will not care to be without a light.”

  “I beg of you, change your mind, and let me go!” she said, making one last desperate appeal. “You cannot do this thing—you have been bred a gentleman, after all—release me!”

  “No,” he answered, harshly. “Haven’t I told you already that I cannot afford to be a gentleman?”

  “The man’s the gold, for a’ that’,” she quoted, sadly.

  He made no answer, not fully understanding her words. He went outside for a moment, returning with a lantern ready lit.

  “Farewell, for the present, Miss Feniton. I will be with you again before long,” he said, in parting.

  She made no answer. He shut the door upon her, and she heard the key turning inexorably in the lock.

  NINETEEN - The Passing of a Traitor

  It was mid-afternoon when a small fishing vessel sailed into the bay, and anchored off Tor Quay. Word was passed down to the cabin on the Admiral’s ship. The man who had been waiting there in expectation of this event went on deck to take a look for himself. He studied the new arrival carefully through a telescope.

  “It could be what we’re looking for,” he murmured, thoughtfully. “Yes, I believe it is.”

  He handed the telescope to the man who stood at his side.

  “Watch her carefully,” he ordered. “In particular, keep your eye on that mast. If they should lower it, call me at once.”

  “Aye, aye, sir.”

  He went below again. A number of the officers were gathered round the table in the cabin, the Admiral at their head. They turned round as Jackson entered, their faces expectant.

  “Well, Captain?” said the Admiral.

  Captain Jackson nodded. “I think this is it, sir. We had a signal when she started on her voyage, and the time would be right.”

  The Admiral turned to the others: “Well, gentlemen, I imagine we’re to play a waiting game once more—God knows we’ve lately had plenty of practice! What happens now, Captain?”

  “We’re watching for her to lower the mast, sir. Once that’s done, she can submerge totally in a very few minutes. It’s my belief that they’ll wait until the light’s beginning to fail—which should be in less than an hour from now—when she would be invisible from a distance of more than a few yards.”

  The Admiral grunted. “Give it half an hour, then, and we’ll go on deck, gentlemen,” he said. “Not going to miss the only bit of action that’s offered in God knows how long, are we?”

  There was general agreement at this: the watchdogs of the Channel were straining at the leash.

  Desultory conversations sprang up, in the way that occurs at such moments. The man Jackson was soon the centre of a group of officers, answering their animated queries. There was laughter, and an underlying sense of excitement well controlled.

  Time passed. The Admiral glanced at his watch. He nodded, and there was a general movement towards the door of the cabin.

  As they came up on deck, the light of the short day was wavering: already the houses on the quayside were dark shadows relieved here and there by pin points of illumination. The waters of the bay slapped monotonously against the sides of the ship as the men on her deck peered through the gathering twilight towards the shore.

  The fishing boat was a smudge of grey against the darker background of the buildings surrounding the quay.

  “I believe she’s moving,” said someone, in a low voice.

  For a moment, the rest could not be sure. The point was debated, as though it were only of academic interest.

  “Yes, she is!” exclaimed another man. He clamped his telescope firmly to his eye. “And they’re lowering the mast,” he added, after a moment.

  There was a faint stir at this, and all conversationn abruptly ceased. Everyone’s eyes were fixed upon the small vessel.

  The grey smudge changed shape, and appeared to shrink; gradually, it merged into a shadowy sea. In a few moments, there was nothing to be seen where once it had stood.
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  “They’ve submerged! How long d’you reckon it’ll take them to come close enough to be caught in the nets?”

  “It’s a slow business,” demurred Jackson. “They have to crank the thing along by hand. Say twenty minutes—half an hour, possibly.”

  “It’ll be dark by then,” said another, in a disappointed tone. “We shan’t be able to see anything.”

  “I fancy you will,” replied Jackson, grimly.

  They waited silently after that, while the shadows gathered thickly about them. The sky darkened, the lights sprang up more abundantly on shore. The silence was tense with uncertainty. Would the submarine, after all, manage to evade the nets? They had no other means of defence against this insidious enemy: this was not a warfare they understood. To remain inactive while the foe crept steadily upon them, unseen, unheard —this was a new experience for them, something uncanny.

  And then their straining eyes caught a glimpse of a vague object bobbing up and down in the sea, not far from where the ships were anchored: it might almost have been the head of a strange whale-like creature. For a moment only they caught a glimpse of it; then suddenly a flash of searing flame leapt across the dark waters, and the quiet of the bay was shattered by the reverberating thunder of an explosion. The man of war rocked violently in the resultant swell. The whale’s head disappeared in trails of blue-streaked, ruddy fire.

  “The nets!” exclaimed the Admiral, triumphantly. “B’God, we’ve caught them! So much for the new weapon of war!”

  Jackson lowered his telescope. “The day may come when it will present a very real menace.” he said, soberly. “But for the moment, they have failed.”

  When the explosion was heard in Shalbeare House, a great commotion ensued. Servants screamed and ran hither and thither, declaring that the French had come at last. Lady Lodge, who had been comfortably dozing before the fire in the withdrawing room, awoke and went immediately into strong hysterics. Her hostess, after a useless attempt to rouse her from this state, finally left her in the more experienced hands of Sir George Lodge, and hurried to the library. There she found her husband placidly reading, as though nothing out of the way had occurred.

  “Feniton, how can you be so calm?” she asked, in the exasperation of a strong spirit who will not admit to fear. “Did you not hear that dreadful noise just now? The servants are saying that the invasion has begun, and it may very well be true! How can you sit there, as though nothing was toward?”

  He rose, and put an arm about her. “My dear, I am too old for heroics. If the invasion has indeed started, we must simply await the event. But I do not credit it.”

  “Then what can it be?” asked his wife, impressed in spite of herself by his calmness and rational mode of speech. “Here is Letitia going into hysterics in the withdrawing room, and all the servants nearly off their heads with fright!”

  “I do not need to tell you, my dear, that your friend is a silly woman, even though she may be a sweet person,” he said. “I believe that the noise may have been occasioned by nothing more serious than the military manoeuvers of our Naval friends in the Bay. Why look for a dramatic explanation, until one has exhausted the rational possibilities?”

  “I wish you will go and tell the household so! The housekeeper can do nothing with the females of the staff; and the men are rushing about, erecting barricades, and seizing upon anything which could conceivably be pressed into use as a weapon!”

  “I’ll have a word with them,” he promised, pulling the bellrope. “One of them can go down to the quay, and take a message to young Dorlais. He will be able to tell us what is really afoot.”

  Lady Feniton let fall a startled exclamation.

  “Joanna!” She made quickly for the door. “If she should have been roused from sleep by this uproar, she must be very nearly frightened out of her wits, poor child! I must go to her at once!”

  She went hurriedly upstairs, and threw open Joanna’s door.

  All was quiet within. The curtains were still drawn across the windows from which the light had long since faded, and the room was dim. A casual glance at the bed gave the impression that its occupant was still there. She paused uncertainly for a moment, then trod softly across the room, reluctant to disturb the sleeper.

  “Joanna, child—”

  She broke off, as she saw that the bed was empty. An exclamation escaped her, and she rushed from the room to seize a candle from a stand in the passage. She returned, and held the light so that it fell across the room. She at once noticed her granddaughter’s discarded nightgown lying over a chair; but there was no sign of the former occupant of the room having been there recently. Evidently Joanna must be up and dressed, and in some other part of the house.

  She went in search of Miss Feniton’s maid, knowing that at the present time it was useless to ring the bell with any hope of its summons being answered. She found the girl at last in tearful colloquy with some of the other abigails.

  “Where is your mistress, Betty?”

  Betty stammered incoherently that she had not set eyes on madam since helping her into bed after she was taken poorly earlier in the day.

  “There need be no more alarms!” said Lady Feniton, peremptorily. “The master is of the opinion that the noise was nothing but that of Naval exercises in the Bay. You must go about your concerns as usual. Search the house for Miss Feniton, and inform me at once where she is to be found.”

  This speech had the desired effect upon the abigails. They hastened to do her ladyship’s bidding. Lady Feniton returned to the drawing room, where her friend Letitia still lay stretched upon the sofa, looking like a ghost. Sir George was holding a vinaigrette to her nose, while a trembling maid pressed a wet cloth upon her brow.

  “You may be easy, Letitia!” she said with something of a snap. “Feniton considers that we need have no alarms, and attributes the explosion to Naval exercises. He has sent for more certain information to Mr. Dorlais, and hopes to have your daughter back here with him presently.”

  “He is very likely right,” said Sir George, his brow clearing. “Good old Walter, he never misses a trick, for all that he deceives one into thinking that he takes no heed!”

  This was evidently a new view of her husband to Lady Feniton, for she was quiet during the next few minutes, while she weighed it.

  “Perhaps so,” she said, at last. “However, I am uneasy about Joanna at present. She has left her room, and I cannot discover where she has gone.”

  “Oh, she will most likely be rushing around the house, trying if she can to restore order,” replied Sir George, carelessly. “Come, Letty, come, my love! That’s a good girl, now!”

  Lady Lodge gave a faint moan, and sat up weakly.

  “Where am I? What has happened?” She clutched her husband’s arm convulsively. “For the love of Heaven, George, don’t leave me!”

  “I tell you it’s all right, Letitia,” repeated Lady Feniton, while Sir George hastily disclaimed all intention of deserting his wife in her present state. “Feniton is confident that it is not an invasion! We shall—”

  At that moment, voices were heard outside the room, and in walked Sir Walter, with Kitty and Guy Dorlais at his heels. Kitty rushed across to her mother, and enfolded Lady Lodge in a warm embrace.

  “Oh, Mama! Were you very frightened? Poor darling! I was too, only you see, I had Guy with me.”

  She looked up at Mr. Dorlais, and it was evident that any trouble which had existed between the lovers was now resolved.

  Sir Walter closed the door, and drew Sir George to one side.

  “I have the explanation,” he said. “Dorlais brought it. Prepare yourself for a shock, though.”

  In a few low words, he told his visitor the tale. “But I think,” he concluded, “that for the time being, we will keep to my original explanation as far as the rest of the household is concerned. The truth will probably have to come out later—that can’t be helped: but your wife, for one, is in no state to learn of this at present.”
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  Sir George could not but be in wholehearted agreement with this point of view.

  “Masterman, though!” he said, in bewilderment. “It’s—it’s incredible!”

  “A bitter man,” said Sir Walter, shaking his head. “Such people are seldom to be relied upon for sound judgment.”

  At this point there came a knock on the door, and one of the maids who had been deputed to search for Miss Feniton entered.

  “If you please, y’r la’ship,” she said to her mistress, “we’ve looked all over for Miss Joanna, an’ she ‘bain’t in the house.”

  “Nonsense! Where else could she be?” asked Lady Feniton, sharply. “Are you sure that you’ve looked everywhere?”

  The maid replied timidly in the affirmative, and after a few moments’ more questioning, she was dismissed.

  “Where on earth can she be?” asked Lady Feniton, turning to Kitty, who had now taken over her father’s duties with the vinaigrette, and in consequence had not had much leisure for attending to the conversation with the abigail. “She was taken unwell earlier in the day, not long after you had left, and I took her up to her room to lie down. I thought she must be sleeping, and did not trouble to disturb her until this explosion occurred, when I found her gone from her room—and now they say she is nowhere in the house!”

  “Unwell? Jo?” asked Kitty, much struck by this. “That is unlike her.”

  “Oh, well, anyone may have the headache,” said Lady Feniton, defensively. “Although I did think myself at the time that she seemed unduly put about over a stupid scare. I expect you heard that a spy was apprehended yesterday in Babbacombe village?”

  “Why, yes,” said Kitty, quickly. “In fact, Guy—”

  She broke off, and flashed a guilty look at Dorlais.

  “Well, I guessed you might have done,” continued Lady Feniton. “Only Joanna seemed to be vastly disturbed by the news—which is not in her character, you must agree. I have not brought her up to have a fit of the vapours just when there is a crisis! I have no patience with such ways of going on!”