Too Hot for a Spy

by Pearl Wolf

  “The spymaster has developed a serious infection as a result of his wound. It has caused a high fever.”

  Olivia turned ashen. “I see. Thank you for the confidence. I’ll leave you to rest now.”

  Mrs. Hunnicut’s brutally frank news stunned her. She paced her attic room most of the night, but found no release from the fear engulfing her. With little sleep, she woke at four the next morning when the morning bell sounded. She washed and dressed and hurried down to breakfast in the trainee dining hall. She could hear the chatter even before she entered, but when she did, all conversation died.

  “What’s wrong?” she said in alarm. “Have you had…bad news?”

  “It’s just a rumor, Fairchild,” said Riggs. “Can’t place much faith in rumors.”

  “All right,” she said evenly. “What is the rumor?”

  Perkins answered in a sympathetic voice. “You have a right to know. Spymaster’s taken a turn for the worse.”

  “Open those windows as wide as you can, Mrs. Hunnicut. Our patient is burning with fever. The cool night air may help.”

  “Yes, doctor.” She hurried to the window to do as he bid, while the doctor removed all of Sebastian’s clothes and proceeded to wrap him with cold wet linens in an effort to reduce the fever. The housekeeper helped him to finish the task.

  Doctor Davis looked at his nurse with keen eyes. “If the fever doesn’t subside soon, we’ll lose him. It’s going to be a long night. Get some sleep, Mrs. Hunnicut.”

  “I won’t leave you here alone, doctor.”

  “All right, my dear. I’ll take the first watch, then. Take the easy chair by the fire and close your eyes. I promise to wake you in an hour.”

  Several hours passed in this way, each resting in the fireside chair for an hour. Four hours later, the doctor felt Sebastian’s head again. Relief spread across his face. He shook Mrs. Hunnicut awake. “The fever’s broken, ma’am. We shan’t lose the spymaster after all. Our patient lives to see another day.”

  “Thank the Good Lord. If he lives, sir, it is only through your excellent care. You’ve performed a miracle.”

  Olivia spent a good part of that same night pacing back and forth in her room. It was three in the morning when, her skin crawling as if invaded by insects, she crept downstairs and out the kitchen door, taking care to avoid being seen. She tiptoed around to the front of the academy and stopped under Sebastian’s window to try to glimpse the man she loved. She moved up to it as stealthily as a cat, searching for a way to reach the sill, but it was too high. Instead, she sat below the window, her back against the wall and closed her eyes. To be this near the man she loved was small solace but it was enough. Her eyes flew open at the sound of a male voice coming from Sebastian’s room, for the window was open. No, not Sebastian’s voice. The doctor most likely, for it was the voice of an older man.

  “It’s all over, Mrs. Hunnicut. Our patient rests in peace now, poor soul. It’s clear I’m no longer needed here. I shall return to London first thing in the morning. I know I may rely on you to make whatever arrangements you deem necessary.”

  Olivia next heard Mrs. Hunnicut speak. “Poor lad. He suffered so much. I never thought his illness would lead to this. I’ll have to inform Denville.”

  Over? No longer needed? That can only mean one thing. Sebastian’s dead. I’ve murdered the man I love! She stumbled to her feet and ran away, blinded by tears. She never heard Mrs. Hunnicut’s final comment.

  “I’ll tell his aide to inform the local doctor he’s to take your place now that the spymaster is on the road to recovery.”

  Olivia stumbled back to her room she knew not how. She threw some of her things into her portmanteau and crept down the back stairs through the kitchen galley again. She snatched a fresh baked loaf of bread, some cheese and an apple and stuffed them into the bag, opened the door and fled into the night.

  When Doctor Davis awoke in the morning, he strode over to his patient’s bed, pleased to find Sebastian’s eyes open.

  “Morning, sir. Looks as though I slept off that drunken stupor you caused when you forced me to drink all that brandy laced with laudanum.”

  A wide grin covered the doctor’s face. “Indeed you have, son. Indeed you have. I hope you noticed that you still have your arm.”

  “I did indeed. Thank you for sparing it. May I have a bit of breakfast, sir? I’m as hungry as a bear.”

  “Of course, lad.” He rang the bell.

  A sleepy-eyed Denville opened the door a crack. “Sir?”

  “You can come in now, Denville. The fever’s broken. Our patient is going to heal just fine.”

  The aide’s eyes lit up. He turned and repeated in a shout, “Fever’s broken. Spymaster’s going to live. Pass the word!” He shut the door and hurried to Sebastian’s side. “Morning, sir.”

  “Order up a large breakfast for me, Hugh. Eggs, a rasher of bacon, lots of bread and butter, coffee and tons of drinking water. I appear to have a huge thirst.”

  “Yes, sir! At once, sir.” Denville hurried out of the room.

  Sebastian eyed the doctor. “What’s gotten into my aide? He’s as frisky as a puppy. Acts as though he hasn’t seen me in ages.”

  “He hasn’t. You’ve been asleep all week, lad. You’ve also been delirious, a result of high fever. Fortunately for you, the fever broke and the crisis has passed. I’ll spare you the gruesome details, son, but I don’t mind owning that I’d almost given up hope for your recovery.”

  Sebastian grinned. “Then you, sir, are the first doctor who has ever admitted his doubts in my hearing. So many in your profession are happy to boast that, if it were not for their skills, their patient would be dead.”

  The doctor’s round belly shook with laughter. “We’re a disgraceful bunch of charlatans, aren’t we? Medicine is the only profession I know of in which the practitioner gets to bury his mistakes, no questions asked.” He examined Sebastian’s wound for the last time. Satisfied that the wound was extruding its poison, the doctor redressed it with a less cumbersome bandage. “You’re on the mend, lad. The wound’s healing well.” When Denville returned, he added, “Send for Mrs. Hunnicut, will you?”

  The housekeeper entered while Sebastian was busy attacking the first meal he’d had in a week. “Morning, sir. How pleased I am to see you in such good form.”

  “You owe Mrs. Hunnicut a great deal of thanks for your recovery, lad. She helped me nurse you during your ordeal.”

  “Then you have it, ma’am.” Sebastian wiped his mouth and signaled to Denville to remove the tray. “When may I rise from this bed, sir? I’m anxious to resume my duties.”

  “Not so fast, spymaster. You must follow my prescription for your full recovery to the letter. Your housekeeper and your aide have promised to help. Now your only task, you young scamp, is to obey their orders. Understood?”

  “Understood, sir,” Sebastian answered with unaccustomed meekness.

  Wilson Academy came to life again as news of the spymaster’s recovery made its way in and out of the building. Clive Davis, the London doctor who saved their leader’s life, became a hero to them. And all talk of magic potions and odd remedies were forgotten.

  Hugh Denville escorted Doctor Davis to the carriage that would take him home to London. To the doctor’s surprise, the driveway was lined with servants and staff. He acknowledged their cheers with a wave of his hand and a flush of pleasure on his cheeks, stepped into the carriage and rode off.

  “Doctor Davis is on his way home to London, sir,” Denville said when he returned to the spymaster’s chamber, pleased to see Sebastian sitting in a chair wearing his robe and his slippers. His wounded arm was resting in a sling, just as the doctor had prescribed.

  Two chambermaids were busy changing the linens on his bed, while two more removed all evidence of the sickroom the doctor had left behind—the table, the water pitchers, the linens—all but the necessary bandages and powders meant to aid Sebastian’s recovery.

  “I heard the cheers,
Hugh. Wish I might have joined the staff in their rousing send-off. Davis is a good man, though God knows I hope never to need his services again.” Sebastian sat back in his chair, and rested his head. “I feel so weak, Hugh. I had thought to allow the staff and the trainees to visit, but…”

  “That must wait till after you’ve had your morning’s rest, sir. Let me help you back into bed.”

  The last thing in Sebastian’s thoughts before he drifted off to sleep was the good doctor’s parting words; “Don’t let that bloody country doctor bleed you, son. You’ve lost enough blood to fill a cow.” He slept for two hours, a smile never leaving his face.

  London—“Sorry for the interruption, sir.”

  Viscount Sidmouth looked up from the paper he was reading. “Oh, it’s you, Darlington. What news of the spymaster?”

  “The very best, sir. The crisis is over. The spymaster’s fever broke yesterday morning. He’s on the mend.”

  “What of Davis? Still at Wilson Academy?”

  “No, sir. He’s on his way home to London. He left instructions for the spymaster’s care in the hands of the local doctor.”

  Sidmouth sat back, a look of smug satisfaction on his face. “I knew Davis would save the day. Glad I thought of sending him.”

  “Yes, sir,” said Chris with a straight face.

  “What is it Hugh?” asked Foster, the decoding instructor. “Why have you called us together so hurriedly? Is it more bad news about the spymaster?”

  “Don’t tell me that Brooks has taken another turn for the worse,” said Hawes.

  Mrs. Hunnicut said, weariness in her voice, “Allow me to explain, gentlemen. I asked Hugh to summon you here this morning. The news I have is bad enough, but it has nothing to do with the spymaster’s health. It’s Fairchild.”

  “What has that little troublemaker gone and done now?” asked Ned Mason, the humiliating scene of her nudity at the lake still fresh in his mind.

  “Fairchid not come to martiar arts today,” said Sensei Nori, as yet unable to master the letter ‘L’ within a word. “She sick?”

  “No, Sensei. Not sick. She’s run away. I’ve searched everywhere for her. What’s more, I’ve ordered every servant from the stable boys to the scullery maids to help me search for her. She’s nowhere to be found.”

  “If she’s gone missing, she hasn’t done it on horseback,” added stable master Tom Deff. “All our horses are in their stalls.”

  “Maybe she’s resigned from the training program and returned home. Has she left a note to that effect?” asked Hawes, a barely discernible note of hope in his voice.

  “No, she hasn’t. Nor has she returned to her home. Her family lives in Brighton for the summer. I even sent a groom to Havelshire to check the passengers on the mail coach to Brighton. There’s only one a day and she was not a passenger. Frankly, I’m worried for her safety, gentlemen.”

  “If our security was breached and she was abducted by enemy agents, we’ll all have a lot to answer for,” said Foster.

  “We have no reason to suspect any such thing, Aaron. I’ve a bigger worry to share with you all. It’s the spymaster. Let me assure you all that he will ask after her soon. If Fairchild isn’t found, what shall he be told?”

  The instructors froze at this startling thought. Each man waited in uncomfortable silence for one of the others to speak. It was Denville who was forced to shatter the silence. “Bloody hell, you lot! Speak up! Any suggestions?”

  Chapter Fourteen

  Wilson Academy—Thursday, The Twenty-second of August

  News of Fairchild’s disappearance spread through Wilson Academy like a spark of tinder on dry hay. Mrs. Hunnicut had cautioned the servants to keep the distressing news from reaching the spymaster’s ears. She swore them to secrecy, but for how long they would do so, she knew not.

  Hugh Denville, an experienced campaigner, took charge of the search. He set up one of the classrooms—for there was no thought given to training during this crisis—as his headquarters, spread maps of the areas surrounding the academy as well as Havelshire on a large table. He marked off small sections and assigned search parties. He also made sure to leave enough staff behind to gull the spymaster into believing that the business of the academy was running smoothly.

  Trainees, instructors and every able-bodied servant volunteered to help in the search for Fairchild.

  Olivia had no thought of any particular direction when she ran away. She no longer cared what happened to her. Even her quest to become a spy no longer mattered. What point in going on when she’d murdered the man she loved? But she was too much of a coward to take her own life. What good would it do anyway? Yet death would be a welcome relief from her torment.

  Perhaps she should find her way home to Heatham and beg her father to allow her to enter a nunnery where she could spend the rest of her days repenting her grievous sin. She imagined herself on her knees before the altar, dressed in a novice’s habit, taking vows of poverty, facing a suitably harsh life as a penance for the unpardonable act of murder. Might the authorities hang her for it? Well, she would welcome the gallows.

  She knew little of the woods surrounding Wilson Academy, yet she was clever enough to avoid the route to the lake and the equally familiar route she’d taken when she hiked with the other trainees. Instead, she chose to lose herself in the dense forest, cutting her way through thick branches and climbing over tangles of rotted underbrush. She paid no heed to the deep scratches unruly twigs etched on her arms. She only yelped in pain when sharp branches snarled her long hair in their web. To free herself, she was forced to hack off her curls, glancing with disdain at the fallen ringlets. What did it matter? There was no one to care how she looked any longer.

  Her legs buckled when a wave of exhaustion forced her to a halt. She spied a small glade hidden by surrounding woods ahead of her, managed to make her way to the clearing and fell asleep, her head resting on her portmanteau.

  After Sebastian’s bath, rather than leaving his care to a footman, Denville changed the bandages. He shaved him and helped him to dress. He tied a cloth around the spymaster’s neck to form a sling, one of the orders left by Doctor Davis.

  “Not half bad, Hugh, for someone lately at death’s door,” said the spymaster examining himself in the mirror. “Alert all the instructors, will you. I’d like them to join me for lunch.”

  “Yes, sir. Except…I’ve granted Hawes and Mason a free day today. They’d some pressing personal business to attend to. That all right with you?” Denville held his breath, for the men were out leading two of the day’s search parties.

  “Of course. You’re in charge until I’m fully healed. I’ll see them when they return.”

  Denville grinned, but warned, “You’re not to tire yourself, sir. You promised.”

  “I know. I know. I’ll nap after lunch, you tyrant. While you’re at it, be a good chap and inform the trainees to report to my private dining room at five for dinner.”

  Denville’s heart dropped into his boots. “That’s a bit much all in one day, sir. Put that off till tomorrow.”

  Sebastian turned to him, the silly grin of a schoolboy pasted on his face. “You know which trainee I can’t wait to see. In fact, I’m a little surprised Fairchild hasn’t fought her way past you and burst in here already. Has she taken the news of my recovery well?”

  He stopped, for his aide stood frozen, his face turned pale. “Where’s Fairchild? There’s something wrong, isn’t there? Why hasn’t she been to see me? You’d better tell me at once.”

  She woke to the faint sound again. At first, it seemed part of her dream, but within moments, she knew it was real. She rose to her feet, trying to determine the direction of the sound. The rush of running water was nearby somewhere. She listened for the sound again. It came from the same direction. She took her knife out of the bag, hefted the heavy load on her back and followed the noise of the rushing water.

  She cut more brush out of her way as she advanced toward the sound.
It grew louder with each step. When she cut away a final tree limb, she faced a small rock formation shaped like stepping stones, one on top of the other, perhaps five feet taller than she was. The water came rushing down from the top, creating a waterfall. To her astonishment, a mewling kitten clung to a branch on the third rock.

  Olivia put her portmanteau down on a dry patch, removed her boots and rolled up her trousers. She stepped carefully onto the first rock, for it was covered with slippery moss. For purchase, she held onto the thin branches sprouting from between the rocks. When she reached the bedraggled kitten, she tucked it into her jacket and climbed down.

  Her eyes searched the terrain as she drew on her boots. It was obvious that the kitten was new-born. Where was its mother? The half-drowned puss had to come from somewhere nearby. Her eyes focused on the gully filled with water at the bottom of the rock formation. She spied the kitten’s dead mother and three tiny offspring drowned in that shallow pool. The gruesome sight made her feel sick.

  The trainees had been warned that poachers plied their trade in the forests surrounding the academy. They must have drowned the lot. She hurried away from the grave site.

  “How long has she been gone?” demanded Sebastian. “She took none of our horses you say? Have you checked the mail coach rosters in Havelshire? Have my horse brought round, Hugh. I’m going out to search for her.”

  Denville protested in a loud voice. “No! You’re not going anywhere in your condition. Let me remind you that I am in charge. You said so yourself not five minutes ago. With all due respect, you’re far too weak to ride a horse. Let me assure you if I have to tie you to your bed, I will. I’ll handle this. I promise you we’re all doing everything we can to find her.”

  Sebastian rose from his chair and said in a heated voice, “I don’t take orders from you. I’m still the spymaster.”

  “You will take orders from me,” Denville shouted back. “You’re simply not well enough. I’m directing the search and that’s the end of it. Sir.”