Too Hot for a Spy

by Pearl Wolf

  “Time,” said Hawes, but he had to step in and separate them, for neither man stopped jabbing at the other. He took each man by the ear and shouted angrily, “I said time!”

  Olivia ran to Riggs’ corner and pleaded with him. “Give up, Rufus, and end it! Carter outweighs you by at least a stone and you’re tiring. You’ve already acquitted yourself well. There’s no shame attached to you if you concede.”

  “Never! Don’t ask it of me, Fairchild, please.” He turned his head to the footman who offered him water. As he drank, the servant wiped the sweat from his glistening body. He grasped the cloth from him and mopped his face.

  “Begin, gentlemen,” said Hawes and both men surged toward one another for the final round, Carter again having the advantage of weight and speed. Riggs heaved forward and stumbled. It was obvious that he was tiring. His right eye was swollen shut, yet he fought on, landing occasional blows to Carter’s ribs while Carter pummeled him with bruising jabs and uppercuts and right crosses.

  The match ended halfway through the final round, an ending that stunned every spectator and brought a hush to the room. Riggs had managed to summon some hidden strength within him and, with perfect coordination and timing, blocked Carter’s final left hook, swept his right fist up and connected it to Carter’s chin. The uppercut snapped his opponent’s head back, his legs buckled and he fell to the canvas.

  The spectators held their collective breath while Hawes counted to ten. When Carter did not rise, the boxing master took Riggs’ hand and held it high in the air. “Winner!” he shouted.

  Pandemonium broke loose. Winning bettors cheered and losers grumbled as Hawes waved the winner to his corner and bent to the floor on one leg to examine the fallen man.

  Carter rose on one elbow and whispered, “Will you help me up, sir?”

  Hawes held him so he wouldn’t fall, for his knees failed him. The loser held up a hand and waited for the room to quiet.

  He turned to the victor and saluted him. “Good show, Riggs. My apologies to you, sir.” His eyes searched the room for Olivia. “Fairchild? I offer you my apologies as well.”

  London—Helena sat on the bench in Darlington’s garden. She fidgeted with her handkerchief while she waited for her love to return from the home office. When he arrived at last, she said in a rush of words, “Oh my darling. We haven’t much time. I promised my father I would be ready to return to Brighton with him tonight. Heaven only knows it was hard enough to get him to allow me to accompany him to London. I had to lie and tell him I must see my modiste for a fitting. What kept you so long?”

  Without a word, Darlington took both her hands and pulled her up into his arms. She received his kiss with passionate eagerness, as though she hadn’t seen him in years. He stopped and searched her eyes when he felt her tears on his face.

  “Is something wrong, my love? Why all the tears?”

  “Oh, Chris. I dread being separated from you just when I need your strength most. If we were already married I could bear it better.”

  “What’s the matter?”

  “Father is still in such a pet about Livy, I haven’t the heart to broach him about our betrothal.”

  Chris hugged her to him. It soothed her to be held thus by the man she had loved since they were children. At last she said, “Livy suggested we settle for a long betrothal. Do you think he would agree?”

  Chris laughed. “Yes. If you threaten to elope with me to Gretna Green.”

  She giggled. “She thought I might hint at that.”

  “If you really want such a result, you may have to bludgeon your father with a sledgehammer.”

  “Heaven forbid!” Helena paced back and forth. When she stopped, she said, “What then? I want to be your wife, Chris. And I don’t want to wait for years and years. As it is, we won’t see one another until the fall. By then, you may be assigned to a foreign post, and we’ll be separated even longer. Perhaps we ought to run off to Gretna Green and end the misery of being apart.”

  He took her hand and searched her face. “No, Helena. No Gretna Green for us. You are my goddess. I worship you too much to subject you to such a sorry affair.”

  “Anything is better than nothing! This interminable waiting for married life to begin is maddening! Chris? Why don’t you seduce me? If I’m with child, my father will have no choice.”

  He looked affronted by the idea. “Never, my darling. That way leads to misery and censure as well. Besides, I won’t have our child born out of wedlock.” He paused a moment. “There may be a way, after all.”

  “Do tell, my irresistible lover.” She nuzzled him.

  “Don’t distract me with your kisses, you minx. The time is right for me to pay another visit to Heatham to see the duke. I’m sure I can arrange for a brief leave from the home office.”

  “Father has already turned you down twice. What will you say this time that will make him change his mind?”

  “He turned me down before because I’m a second son and my prospects were bleak. Now if you had fallen in love with my brother Aubrey who is a marquis…”

  She laughed. “Pooh! He’s the stuffiest man alive. Not at all like you.”

  “I intend to inform your father that my prospects have greatly improved since the last time I begged for your hand. The house next to yours is mine, generously deeded to me by my brother on my birthday this year, and I have my eye on a parcel of land not far from Bath. The owner has accepted my offer and we’ve drawn up a contract, with the provision that he be allowed to remain there for the rest of his days. And though I wish him no ill, he is old and frail. He has no family, either. The money I shall pay him will go to his faithful servants.”

  Helena’s eyes sparkled in triumph. “Chris! That means you’ll become landed gentry! That would make such a difference. Let’s hope Father sees it that way.”

  “I’ll stop to see Olivia on the way to Heatham as well.” He grinned at the look of surprise on her face. “Did you think I didn’t know where she is, you goose? Why shouldn’t I know? After all, I work for the home secretary.”

  “How stupid of me. What a good idea, my darling. And you’ll inform Father that Livy is well?”

  “That’s the ticket, my love.” He removed his watch from his vest pocket and examined the time. “We have only one hour left, wife-to-be. Barely enough time to say our final farewells properly.”

  “When will I see you?”

  “Give me time to clear things with Viscount Sidmouth. I’ll spend a day or two visiting your sister and leave for Brighton from there. We’ll see one another soon, I promise you, my dearest goddess.” He took her in his arms and kissed her long and hard.

  The duke finished the meeting with his three financial advisors in time to lunch at White’s where he was expected by two old friends, both colleagues in parliament as well. Lord Gilliam Davis and Marquis Jarvis Henshaw arrived there before him, he was pleased to see. The three had much to talk about, for they were Tories—leaders of their party—and though Parliament was adjourned, preparations for the next session were necessary.

  “You’re late, Tony. What kept you so long?”

  “How are you, Gilly? Jarvis? Sorry I’m late. Financial advisors talked far too long.” The duke took his seat and gave his order to the waiter. He was about to say something to his companions when they were interrupted.

  “Hello there, Fairchild. Fancy meeting you here. I thought you were at Heatham,” said Viscount Sidmouth standing at the table.

  His familiarity irked the duke, who had more than one reason to dislike the trespasser. “Hello, Sidmouth. You know my associates, I’m sure.”

  “Of course I do. Good afternoon, gentlemen.” He appeared to hesitate, as if waiting for an invitation to join them. Sidmouth was nothing if not politically astute. It was a point with him to curry favor with members of Parliament. One never knew when one might need their votes.

  “Nice to see you again, home secretary,” the duke said affably, hiding his true feelings. He turne
d to his friends, sending an unmistakable message of dismissal to the viscount.

  But the gentleman was undeterred. “I hear your daughter is doing quite well, Fairchild.”

  The duke considered murder. It would not be out of place for such a social blunder. His colleagues knew nothing about the whereabouts of Olivia and he preferred to keep them in ignorance. “Yes. Now if you’ll excuse us?”

  “I understand. You’re busy.” Sidmouth bowed, an obsequious smile on his face, and withdrew.

  “Can you believe the nerve of the man?” asked Lord Davis. “He wants something, but what?”

  “Can’t be he wants to be prime minister again, can it?” said Marquis Henshaw. His sly wit met with laughter, for Sidmouth had proved such a disaster as prime minister, William Pitt the Younger was requested to return to the position.

  “Sidmouth is a bloody fool,” exploded the duke. “He mucked up that sorry Treaty of Amiens with France, didn’t he? What’s he planning now, I wonder?”

  “Rumor has it he’s trying to crush the opposition. He’s even created a spy school to support his plans. Have you heard anything about this secret operation?”

  “No, nothing,” said the duke. He beckoned to the waiter and said, “I’ll have another brandy. Make it a double this time.”

  Chapter Seven

  Wilson Academy—Thursday, The Eleventh of July

  The outdoor archery range was within walking distance of the main building. The space that had been cleared resembled a long rectangle facing several round white paper targets. These were attached to round straw mats attached to easels. The paper targets contained clearly marked concentric circles, each painted a different color, each narrower in circumference than the next, beginning with the largest at the outer edge, and ending in the smallest circle in the center, which was painted black.

  Olivia rummaged through the pile, searching for an archery glove small enough for her hand. Weaponry instructor Harry Green, an expert marksman in archery, rifle and pistols, observed her and offered, “I’ll have one made to fit you, Fairchild. Find one that you can make do with for today.” He was a short, block of a man, powerfully built, with a ruddy complexion. He turned to the other trainees and began his lecture.

  “Right, then. Pay attention, for archery will help you sharpen your skills in marksmanship. Any of you had training?”

  Carter’s hand shot up. “I have, sir.”

  “Toadeater,” Riggs whispered to Olivia.

  Green said, “Let’s see what you can do, lad. Step up to the line. Two tries.”

  John chose a bow and two arrows and took his stance. When the instructor nodded, he let loose the first arrow. It fell into the grass, several feet short of the target. Derisive laughter erupted, but it was short-lived.

  “I’ll have none of that, you lot!” the instructor warned in a firm tone. Carter’s second shot hit the target on the gold circle, the outermost ring. “Nice try, Carter.”

  As he was about to speak, Olivia interrupted in a small voice, “Excuse me, sir. I’ve had a bit of training.”

  “All right, Fairchild. Show us what you can do.”

  Olivia chose a bow and two arrows, put her left foot on the line and assumed the proper stance. She leaned forward and squinted at the target, then placed her arrow in the bow, pulled it back and let go. It soared in an arc and hit the circle just above the bull’s eye. Her second shot was a direct bull’s eye.

  Her face flushed with pleasure when she heard murmurs of approval, but Instructor Green scotched the sounds with a stern look. “That will do, lads. Good work, Fairchild. You have a keen eye.” He turned to the others and added, “We’ll begin with proper stance.”

  Carter turned to Olivia. “Nice work, Fairchild.”

  Surprised at the sincerity in his tone, she said, “Why thank you, Carter. Appreciate it.”

  “Darlington,” said Sebastian in surprise. “Welcome to the academy. A rare pleasure indeed. I hadn’t expected you. Thought you’d be long gone on your special assignment by now.”

  Chris shook the hand Sebastian offered. “I’m anxious to be off, but Sidmouth finds one task after another to detain me. How are you, Sebastian? How is your new class faring?”

  “No complaints. Come. Join me for lunch and tell me what brings you here.”

  Sebastian led him into his private dining room. He signaled to the footman to set another place while a second footman filled their goblets with wine. He dismissed them both by saying, “Thank you. We’ll help ourselves from the sideboard.” They bowed and retreated at once.

  The two filled their plates and returned to the table. “We’re private now, but I must caution you. Speak in a low voice, Chris. The servants are like bees bent on pollination. Secrets flit from flower to flower until the whole of the academy blossoms with gossip.”

  Chris grinned. “Just like the home office, if I may say so.”

  When they had finished their lunch, Chris sat back in his chair. “I’ve come for two reasons. The first is official business. Prince Joachim of Zarkovia has been invited to visit London by the Regent. He’s to sign a treaty allowing favorable trade between our two countries. It gives us our first port on the Baltic Sea for trade purposes.”

  Sebastian refilled Darlington’s goblet. “Go on.”

  “It’s a small country. Our spies report that the king is a despot and there is some unrest in the state. We must protect the prince from assassination.”

  “From Zarkovian anarchists?”

  “No. We don’t think they are the problem. While they would rejoice if the young prince were assassinated on English soil, we have more to worry about from the Russians. The czar does not like this treaty by half. It threatens his domination of the Baltic, you see. Russian assassins may already be hiding here in England. We’ll need every man available to see no harm comes to the young prince. He’s a mere seventeen, but his father is dying. It won’t be long before he takes the reins. Needless to say, England wants his friendship.”

  “When is the prince due to arrive?”

  “Barring foul weather, he and his delegation will disembark at the East India docks in six weeks. The Regent is planning a grand celebration to herald his arrival. You mustn’t share this news with anyone, Sebastian. We don’t want the information to fall into the wrong hands.”

  “Who’s in charge of the prince’s protection when he steps on English soil?”

  Chris smiled. “Who do you think? The responsibility falls on your head and mine. I’m assigned to direct operations from the home office and you’re in charge of your people. As usual, we’ll communicate through our customary channels. I brought preliminary plans with me.”

  Sebastian’s spirits rose. Here was a challenge worthy of his talents. “Excellent. We’ll go over them in my office.”

  Chris grinned. “And when we’re finished, I’ll tell you my other reason for today’s visit.”

  Riding instructor Tom Deff sat astride his horse in the stable yard and faced the trainees. “You’ll be jumpin’ fences this afternoon,” he said. “Some fences higher than others. We’ve had so much rain, I don’t have to remind you to beware the soggy ground beneath each fence. And mind you don’t over-tax your horse. They’re all prime goers, well used to taking jumps, but they’ll balk if you push ’em too hard. You’ve all been over the course, so you know your direction. Be back in one hour. Questions?”

  “Can we make it a race, sir?” asked one of the twins.

  Deff thought a moment. “What say you all? Shall it be a race?”

  Eager heads nodded as one for the sheer sport of it.

  Deff glared at the twins. “But there’ll be no betting, BillyBob.”

  Disappointed, Billy answered for them both. “Yes, sir,”

  “Sir?”

  “Yes, Fairchild?”

  Olivia had mischief in her eyes. “Begging pardon, sir, but a race should have a prize.”

  Tom Deff checked the urge to laugh. “What do you suggest, lass?”


  The taciturn Perkins made the winning suggestion. “Last one back forfeits tonight’s dessert to the winner!” There were so few pleasures during their harsh training program, this seemed to everyone an excellent notion. Especially since they had learned at breakfast that the prize was to be plum pudding and a dollop of crème fraîche.

  Deff consulted his watch and announced, “Ready? Go!”

  The trainees tore across the open field with reckless abandon. Olivia surged forward, head down, reins held high, but the others were not far behind. She took the first fence easily. But Carter overtook her on the open field. She spurred her horse on and took the next fence first. He was right behind her.

  Her advantage was her skill. An accomplished horsewoman, she’d been riding beside her father at Heatham as well as in London since she was five years old. When Her Grace seemed unlikely to bear more children, the duke had despaired and had devoted himself to teaching his willing daughter.

  His Grace was overjoyed when his wife managed to birth three more healthy children in rapid succession—Helena, Edward his heir and Georgiana. Mary was born two years later, but Jane, his youngest at eight years of age, was born at a time when the duke and his duchess had supposed themselves to have been past having more children.

  Olivia was determined to win the race. She pressed forward, neck and neck with Carter. They rode that way up to the final fence, when disaster struck. Carter, whose horse hesitated at the height of the fence, managed to rein in, but Olivia was unable to do the same. Her horse reared back on his hind legs and stopped so abruptly, she flew over the fence and landed in the muddy ditch on the other side.

  Carter dismounted and hurried to her, concern on his face. “Are you all right, Fairchild?” He lifted her out of the way and set her on her feet just as the others thundered by.

  “Thank you, Carter. But for you, I’d still be in the mud. We’ve both lost the race, I fear, but I’ll forfeit my dessert to you anyway.”

  He grinned. “I’ll take it as my reward for my unaccustomed chivalry, lass. Here. Hold my reins and I’ll get your horse.”