When it was over, George Frederick Kingston took her out to the drawing room and told her, “I have some information for you.”
Eagerly she begged him, “Please tell me!”
“First the parson is dead. Toby tore his throat open before Hannah finished the dog by stabbing it with a carving knife.”
“I thought she would do something like that,” Betsy said. “I must admit I shall be troubled by all this for a long while.”
“She found the lad in a drunken state and threw him out into the street. A cobbler in the next building took him in.”
“And?”
“Hannah has vanished. She locked the place up as soon as she made burial arrangements for the parson. No one knows where she went.”
“And what about the boy, Gimpy?”
The actor looked sad. “I’m afraid it’s the streets for the poor boy. The cobbler who kept him overnight can do no more than that. He has too many mouths of his own to feed.”
She said, “If he’s left to the streets, he will soon die. He is not well.”
“That is plain to see,” Kingston said.
“What can I do for the poor lad?” she wondered.
The actor said, “Would you resent a suggestion on my part?”
“Of course not,” she said.
“I have a cousin who is a watchmaker,” Kingston said. “He has a busy shop, and he’s always on the lookout for smart lads anxious to learn the trade. Not only that but he and his wife give the apprentices room and board in their own lodgings over the shop.”
She said, “It sounds ideal. Gimpy is too frail for any heavy work.”
“That is what I was thinking,” the actor said. “This is an occupation where he would be able to remain seated for long hours and only use his eyes and hands.”
“Do you think you could persuade your cousin to take the boy on?”
“I could, miss,” the actor said. “But he expects a fee of ten pounds for the apprenticing. He returns it later when the lad has proven himself and is able to turn in a proper day’s work at the trade.”
“That sounds fair enough,” she said. “I shall give you an order on my account for the ten pounds, and you take Gimpy to him.”
Kingston looked pleased. “You’re making no mistake, miss. I promise you that. I’ll go to him straight off. I know where to find him.”
So this was settled, and she felt much better for it. Gimpy’s poor twisted body and wistful face had haunted her more than she was willing to admit. While she wanted to put the rest of the horrible experience out of her mind, she could not forget the lad who had befriended her.
Felix Black came to her after lunch and said, “I should like to have some evidence of your skill with a pistol.”
“I have not used one since my father’s death,” she admitted. “It was he who taught me how to shoot.”
“I have a room in the attic designed for target practice and other tests of skill,” the old man in black said. “You will follow me up there.”
He led her slowly up two steep flights of stairs to the attic of the old house. There she found herself in a room empty of furnishings of any kind. There were two windows to let in light, and the walls were unfinished boards. He went down to one end of the attic and put up a board with circles on it. Then he returned to her and handed her a pistol which he took from his pocket.
He indicated the target and said, “I want to see what you can manage.”
She weighed the small pearl-handled pistol. “It is just about right for me,” she said.
“I thought it would be when I selected it,” he told her. “You can begin whenever, you like.”
He stood back and let her aim for the bull’s eye on her first shot. She fired, and the bullet went far astray. It struck the outside edge of the target board.
She turned to him in dismay. “That was dreadful.”
“I’ve known worse,” was his encouraging comment. “I have had students whose first shots didn’t land near the board. You try again and keep on trying.”
Her second shot came much closer. She said, “I think I will come back to it after a little.”
“I’m sure you will,” he said. “You have a good eye.”
But it wasn’t until several shots later that she managed to hit the target next to the bull’s eye. She turned to the old man who had continued to watch her. “I’d best end this now. If I keep on, I’ll only get worse.”
He nodded assent. “You are right. You’ve shown great progress today. By the time you leave, you’ll be able to handle the weapon as well as you need to.”
“I like the pistol,” she said about to return it.
“No. Keep it,” he said. “It is yours.”
She looked down at it. “I’m not sure I could use it against anyone.”
“Don’t worry,” he said. “Circumstances will take care of that.” And they went back downstairs.
It was not until later that she realized the full meaning of his words. He had been telling her in a casual way that she would not hesitate to use the pistol if it meant her life. She was moving into a situation where weapons might well be directed at her, and she would be forced to defend herself. There would be no time for meditating on moral scruples.
She thought she had finished the period of testing, but she had not reckoned with the kind of instructor Felix Black was. When she and Major Eric Walters joined him in his study later that day, he had another surprise in store for her.
He told her, “This morning we tested your ability with a pistol. You did well.”
“Thank you,” she said.
“This afternoon I wish to find out if you are as expert a fencer as you have suggested,” the master spy went on.
She blushed. “I made no claim of being an expert.”
“But you do know how to handle a blade?” he asked.
“Yes. I have had fencing instruction.”
“Excellent,” Felix Black said. “Major Walters is also a veteran at fencing. He will judge your competence. For this test you had best wear trousers and a shirt to give you full freedom of movement. Mrs. Glenn has left these items in your room. You will go and change, then join Major Walters in the attic.”
Eric looked embarrassed. “I promise you I’m only a very ordinary swordsman!”
She told him, “I will go to the attic as soon as I have changed.”
The trousers and shirt were on her bed as the master spy had promised. She slipped off her dress and bustle. Then she put on the tight-fitting black pants and the shirt which she left open at the neck and loose at the wrists. She stared at herself in the mirror and was amazed at the great transformation in her. She looked like a lithe young boy!
Her hair was swept up, and she feared it might get in her eyes if it tumbled down, so she unpinned it and tied it back with a ribbon. This made her look younger and even more boyish. She smiled at herself grimly and wondered whether Eric Walters expected her to have any true fencing skill. Her teacher had actually been one of Napoleon’s officers who had filled in time by working with her patiently.
Once the emperor had come upon them fencing and had actively encouraged her. Her father had also been proud of her skill in this field. But again she had not fenced for a long while.
When she reached the attic, Eric Walters was there alone, waiting for her. He had taken off his jacket and vest. His shirt was also open at the neck, and he had loosened his shirt sleeves. He was testing a blade when she joined him.
“You may have your choice,” he told her, offering her the blade to test.
She held it, moved it about, and balanced it. Then she tried the other blade and decided. “I like this one.”
He went to the corner and found masks and gave her one. As he fitted his own on, he said, “No use being without protection.”
“No,” she agreed, adjusting the straps on hers and putting it on.
He stood facing her, sword in hand, seemingly loath to begin. “I will take it at a slow
rate,” he promised.
She raised her eyebrows. “For my benefit?”
“Of course.”
“But you mustn’t,” she protested. “Otherwise how will it be a proper test of my ability?”
“I’m a man,” he said. “You’re a mere slip of a girl.”
“The blades do a good deal to even that.”
He smiled. “I like your spirit. I hope you’re still not feeling hatred toward me for what happened so long ago.”
She said, “I will always think of it.”
He still hesitated. “I’m sorry about that. I think it important for us to be friends.”
“Why is that necessary?”
“We are moving into great danger — an expedition from which none of us may return.”
“So?”
“We need a close alliance. A feeling that each can depend on the other.”
She eyed him coolly. “As far as our work together is concerned, there is no reason why you cannot depend on me. My personal feelings are something else.”
His handsome face took on a bitter expression. “You prefer to cling to your hatred as a drowning man clutches at a spar.”
“I think we have discussed it long enough,” she said.
He nodded. “On the ready!” And he bent a knee in fencing position.
“Ready!” she called back and took the same stance.
Each hesitated for a fraction of a second, then they moved in, their swords clashed, and the combat between them began. She was light on her feet and very sure. He had the advantage of strength in handling his blade, but he was not as quick.
Several times she darted back just as he had the advantage, and then she moved in again to engage his blade and further taunt him. Her style was cleaner than his, and he began to hack the air at times and assume dangerously careless postures.
The duel went on. They were both breathing heavily from the unusual exertion, and she could see the streams of perspiration running down the cheeks of her handsome opponent. His eyes kept fixed on her, and he tried to corner her with an aggressive motion of the blades, but she was able to free herself and engage him on her own terms.
The battle seemed equal since her superior skill was matched by his sheer strength and staying ability. She knew that she was tiring and soon must begin to falter. Then, when she least expected it, something startling happened! He was slashing at her in one second and in the next his knee buckled and he stumbled.
Her extensive training came to the fore. She could not help but take advantage of his faltering. With an expert twist of her blade she sent his flying to the floor beside him. In the next moment she was up to him, the point of her blade poised on his bare throat!
It was a moment neither of them would soon forget! Her eyes met his, and she saw both fear and admiration there. She held the blade point in that deadly position for a few seconds longer and then backed away.
He stood up and took off his mask. Staring at her, he said, “You could have killed me!”
She had removed her own mask, and now she nodded. “Yes. I found the moment frightening.”
“It wasn’t exactly pleasant for me,” the young man said. “Especially knowing how you feel about me.”
“I wasn’t thinking of anything but our match,” she said stolidly. “What happened to you?”
He looked embarrassed. “A souvenir of Waterloo! My right knee was injured. They thought I might have to lose the leg. But it healed. Every now and then it gives me trouble. Without any warning!”
She said, “I thought you escaped without any harm.”
“I wasn’t killed,” he said, “but I was wounded.”
“Knowing you have this weakness, it is rather mad of you to keep on fencing,” she said.
He smiled grimly. “I thought I was up against an amateur. That I had nothing to worry about. You are better than good.”
She said, “I had an excellent teacher. An officer who was an aide-de-camp to Napoleon on Saint Helena. He had plenty of time to take pains in teaching me.”
“He did well.”
“Thank you.”
“Did the emperor ever see you handle a sword?”
“Many times.”
“What did he think of you?”
“He told me I was an apt student and that he loved fencing. He had been an expert when he was a young officer.”
Major Eric Walters said, “If you don’t mind, I’ll give you a better than passing mark with Felix. And I won’t fence with you again.”
She raised her eyebrows. “How else am I to keep in good practice?”
The young man picked up his sword. “You don’t need to improve,” he said grimly. “You’re good enough.”
She went to the window and looked down into the cobbled cul-de-sac far below. She said, “All this seems like a dream. I’m sure I’m going to wake up soon and find myself safely home in bed in Kent. That none of this can be real.”
He came over to stand beside her. “I promise you it is real enough.”
She glanced at him. “Until all this happened, I lived in a secure little world. I didn’t know there were so many other worlds.”
He smiled bleakly. “Perhaps you were wrong to run away. You should have stayed in Kent and married.”
She eyed him angrily. “What do you know about it?”
“Nothing, I must admit.”
She turned to stare out the window again. “After my father’s death, I had no one. My mother is so weak. If my brother Richard had lived, it would have been different for me.”
He said, “I know you blame me for Richard. But I had no wish to cost him his life. He was my friend.”
She eyed him again in angry fashion. “I think that makes it worse. He must have trusted you, and you betrayed him!”
The young man shook his head. “I did not betray him. I followed my orders and sent him into battle. But I was at his side until I fell wounded.”
“I’d rather not discuss it,” she said wearily. “I’m going down to change.”
She went back to her room and bathed her face and slowly changed back into her dress. She was trembling a little at the remembrance of what had happened in the attic. She knew, and she alone, that there had been that first second after she’d disarmed Eric Walters and pressed the point of the sword against his throat that she had the impulse to drive it on through!
The blood would have gushed forth, and he would have choked to death. She would have been hysterical, and no one would have blamed her. It would be put down as an unfortunate accident. Perhaps Felix Black might guess, but he would not accuse her. He would perhaps be more satisfied with her and consider her better equipped for the business ahead.
When she went downstairs, Mrs. Glenn told her she was wanted in the study. She went down the hall and found the old man there standing looking out the window. On hearing her enter, he turned.
He said, “The fog is returning again.”
“It seems you often have fog in London,” she replied, feeling tense and wondering where Eric Walters had gone.
The master spy’s thin face showed no expression. He said, “It is the time of year. We suffer most in the spring and in the fall. But I have a liking for it.”
She smiled. “Perhaps because a thick fog offers easy concealment. Excellent for espionage.”
“Yes, that frankly is one reason for my not minding it,” he said. “Walters has left for the day.”
“Oh?”
“You could have killed him, I understand.”
“I think he exaggerates.”
“He didn’t act as if he were exaggerating,” the master spy said. “I think he was badly unsettled.”
“I had no intention of harming him.”
“I wonder,” Black said, studying her. “I think you have depths which most people don’t perceive.”
She tried to dismiss this lightly. “Mightn’t that be said of almost everyone. Few wear their hearts on their sleeves.”
“Cer
tainly not you,” he said. “I congratulate you on your fencing skill. And I have word for you from Kent.”
Betsy gasped. “You have told them where I am?”
He shook his head. “Never fear that.”
“What is the news from Kent?” she asked.
“You will be relieved to know that Lord Alfred Dakin has recovered sufficiently to return to his home. My informant says he left in a high dudgeon!”
“A horrible old man!” she said angrily.
“Yes,” the master spy agreed in a dry tone. “I very much doubt that your stepfather will get the loan he requires so badly from him.”
“I do not care,” she said. “Surely there is enough land to sell to look after my mother. Let Sir John curb his gambling.”
“I do not expect he will do that,” the man standing by the desk said. “I know the pattern. He has likely approached the moneylenders again and is on his way back to the gaming tables.”
“Surely his losses should teach him a lesson.”
“Gamblers seldom reform. As a matter of fact I know that Sir John has returned to London. He was seen gambling at Watier’s last night.”
She at once felt uneasy. “I should leave the city as soon as possible. He mustn’t find me.”
Felix Black gave her a reproving glance. “There are times when you lack the spirit I expect in you.”
“What do you mean?”
“You must learn to face danger if you are to be a secret agent. Learn to have confidence in yourself.”
“This is different! It is a personal matter!”
“Not so different,” he said. “It will be at least a week before you and the others will be leaving for Marseilles. In the meantime I want you to move about the city and be seen.”
“I cannot!” she protested. “Not with my stepfather here and probably conducting a search for me.”
“You will not appear as yourself,” the master spy told her. “You will be the French mistress of Major Walters. In the black wig with a delicate black mole affixed to your cheek and suitable costume you will not be a simple country girl but a woman of the world.”
Vintage Love Page 9