Letters For A Spy

by Alice Chetwynd Ley

  ‘Crowle?’ he repeated, loudly. ‘See, that’s East Bourne way, ’baint it, ma’am? Yes, yes, ye can have a post chaise and no trouble at all. And what time will ye wish to be startin’, ladies?’

  After a little debate, they settled on nine o’clock as a suitable time. The landlord bowed, asked if there was anything further he could do for them, and, being satisfied that there was not, disappeared into the coffee room once more.

  ‘Well, that’s settled,’ said Margaret, as they stepped outside the entrance door of the inn. ‘Now all our arrangements are in order, and we have nothing to do but pass the time agreeably.’

  On the cobbled forecourt outside, a man was standing, dressed in a shabby snuff-coloured suit with a green neckcloth knotted round his collarless shirt. He doffed a battered, greasy felt hat as the ladies approached, and drew their attention to a valise which was open at his feet, displaying a quantity of brightly coloured silks, ribbons and small items of haberdashery.

  ‘What d’ye lack, ladies?’ he cried, in the mendicant’s brisk tones. ‘Honest Joe Potts can supply all yer wants at a fraction what ye’ll be asked by them thievin’ merchants in the town.’

  Elizabeth automatically halted on being addressed, though the more experienced Miss Ellis would have walked on. At that moment, Mrs. Wood walked out of the inn, and she too paused by the pedlar’s pack. Seeing that he had an audience of three females, Jem Potts was quick to press his advantage. He seized some knots of cherry-coloured ribbon and thrust them into the ladies’ hands.

  ‘Here y’are then, y’r la’ships, ma’am — see, not better anywheres in Lewes — only tuppence for that length, ma’am — cost ye three or four times as much elsewhere, I’ll warrant! And here’s a fine muslin, only three shillings the yard — seven yards will make ye a fine gown, y’r la’ships, and all for a guinea!’

  Out of the corner of her eye, Elizabeth saw that Robert Farnham had also come out of the inn and was loitering close to the group around the bagman. Hastily she dropped the knot of ribbon she was holding, and shook her head.

  ‘No, no — I want nothing today.’

  She turned away, but the bagman leaned over towards her, speaking urgently in a slightly lower tone.

  ‘Then mayhap there’ll be some other service I can do ye, ma’am — an errand, maybe? Fetchin’ and carryin’? I do all manner o’ that sort o’ thing — now a parcel, now a letter. Ye don’t chance to ’ave anything o’ that nature about ye, now, that I can relieve y’r la’ship of?’

  Something in his tone gave the simple words an added significance. It was this that made Elizabeth pause instead of continuing on her way to follow Margaret, who was already several paces ahead. She looked keenly into his crafty eyes for a second without speaking.

  ‘I’ll be on the road again tomorrow,’ went on the bagman, watching her just as keenly. ‘South to the coast, around East Bourne. Maybe ye’ll have something ye’ll not care to trust to the post, something too delicate to go otherwise than by hand. If ye’ve anything for down that way, village or hamlet, be it so small a place as Eastdean or Crowle — then I’m y’r man, m’lady.’

  ‘Crowle?’ breathed Elizabeth.

  Jem Potts opened his mouth to reply, but at that moment the landlord came bustling out of the inn towards them. He addressed himself to the pedlar, his usually jovial face clouded with annoyance. ‘Now, see here, Jem Potts, I can’t have ye a-pestering of my guests in this way. I’ve told ye afore I don’t hold with ye a-settin’ up to sell your wares outside the front door o’ my inn. A respectable house, is the White Hart, patronised by the Quality, an’ I’ll not have the likes o’ ye lowering the tone o’ the place. Has he been bothering ye, ladies?’ he asked, looking round him. ‘Or ye, sir?’ to Mr. Farnham, who was still lingering on the outskirts of the group, apparently idly taking the air. ‘Because if he has,’ went on Mr. Jilkes, without waiting for an answer, ‘out he goes, bag an’ baggage, ye may depend, and he’ll not find a bed here again in a hurry!’

  ‘Nonsense, landlord,’ snapped Mrs. Wood, before any of the others could reply. ‘The man’s doing no harm that I can see — in fact, I shall certainly purchase some of this ribbon. It will save me a journey to the shops.’

  Mr. Jilkes looked far from pleased at this unwelcome championship of the pedlar, but knew his business better than to disagree with a customer. He adjured Potts sharply to attend to the lady’s wants and thereafter to make himself scarce. He then went back into the inn, and stood glowering in the doorway to make sure that his orders were obeyed.

  Elizabeth and Margaret walked away, turning into the street. For some time they were silent, then Elizabeth said, thoughtfully, ‘What could that man have meant, I wonder?’

  ‘I collect you’re referring to the pedlar?’

  ‘Yes. He looked at me in so very particular a way when he spoke of delivering parcels or letters — though I know it is a common thing for such people to undertake. But he made it sound as if ’ — she paused, trying to imprison in words what had only been a fleeting impression — ‘as if — he and I shared some secret, somehow. And then, what was even more odd, he mentioned Crowle. Now, why should he have done that?’

  ‘Coincidence,’ replied Margaret, with a shrug.

  ‘Perhaps so, yet there was a curious suggestion of intent — it seemed to me that he deliberately led his remarks up to a mention of Crowle.’

  ‘The trouble is,’ said Margaret, laughing, ‘that you are a novelist, my dear, and are always reading into things meanings which are not there.’

  Elizabeth smiled. ‘I dare say you are right,’ she answered, in an unconvinced tone. ‘But it is certainly strange he should mention it — after all, it’s such a small place, so remote from everywhere.’

  ‘These packmen know all the small villages in their own area,’ objected Miss Ellis. ‘He did mention another one as well — Eastdean, I think it was. I see nothing extraordinary in that.’

  ‘But it was his manner,’ her companion insisted. ‘It was so — so — conspiratorial, is the only word I can find for it. Oh, yes, I know I’m foolish’— as Margaret burst out laughing again — ‘but there was something odd in his manner to me, say what you will.’

  They walked on in silence for a few moments.

  ‘And there’s another odd thing,’ continued Elizabeth, ‘I meant to ask you about it at the time, but I was afraid of being overheard. It was when we were in the coach. That female, Mrs. Wood, showed most decided signs of interest when I mentioned that we were bound for Crowle Manor. Now what can there be about our visit to Crowle that causes such interest to two such different people as Mrs. Wood and the pedlar?’

  ‘The answer to that is so plain that you must see it yourself,’ replied Margaret, in a matter-of-fact tone. ‘There could be nothing except what exists in your own imagination.’

  ‘You believed I imagined that intruder in my room, too, don’t you?’ accused Elizabeth.

  ‘Well, yes, love, I do,’ Margaret acknowledged, apologetically. ‘You always had the strongest imagination as a child. Such delightful stories you used to make up, to entertain Anne! And then there were times when you suffered from nightmares, too,’ she added. ‘Your gift was always a mixed blessing to you.’

  ‘So you consider the whole chain of incidents is nothing remarkable, and that I have in fact been suffering from hallucinations?’

  ‘Not hallucinations — oh, dear, no!’ refuted Miss Ellis, hastily. ‘Only you must realise, my love, that real life is not at all like the pages of a novel by Mrs. Radcliffe — and I’m sure you do, for in spite of your imagination, you have always been the most sensible, level-headed girl in the way you have acted.’

  Elizabeth fell silent again until they paused before a milliner’s window which displayed several attractive bonnets.

  ‘Now, that would be the very thing to go with my new pelisse,’ remarked Miss Ellis, pensively.

  ‘What, your dark green one?’ asked Elizabeth. ‘Oh, no, Margaret, yellow
straw would not look at all well with it, I assure you! Do you not prefer that Grecian helmet? The ribbons are in the exact shade you require.’

  The lively discussion which ensued succeeded in driving all thoughts of the day’s unusual events out of Elizabeth’s mind for a time.

  ‘Well, I think I shall not buy anything until I have my pelisse with me,’ decided Miss Ellis, at last. ‘But I tell you what I may purchase, and that is a length of muslin for my cousin Ernestine, for I shall not like to visit her empty-handed.’ She broke off, looking up and down the street, then continued, ‘There is a linen draper’s farther down on the opposite side, my dear. Shall we cross over?’

  They had to wait a few moments to do this, in order to allow a carriage to pass. After it had gone, they crossed over and came to a halt before the linen draper’s window. Elizabeth at once started to examine the lengths of material displayed there; but after a while she gradually realised that her friend’s attention had wandered. Miss Ellis kept darting covert glances behind her, and once she smiled to herself, as if at some amusing thought.

  ‘What is it, Margaret?’ asked Elizabeth at last, looking round at the people passing to and fro beside them on the pavement. ‘What is it you keep looking at, that seems to amuse you so much?’

  Miss Ellis nudged her quickly. ‘Do not look now, love, on any account, or he will be bound to think you are watching him!’

  ‘What do you mean? Who will think ‘

  ‘Your Mr. Farnham!’ whispered her friend. ‘I noticed just now, when we were waiting to cross, that he was behind us — and he has just this moment crossed over on to this side! I don’t think he will be wanting to purchase a length of muslin, do you? Oh, no’ — glancing round carefully from under the brim of her bonnet — ‘he has stopped at the bookshop two doors away, and is looking in the window. At least,’ she added, ‘he is pretending to look in the window, but in reality he is watching us — or rather, it must be you, my dear, for I can’t flatter myself that he would be at all interested in looking at me. Only fancy! He must have followed us from the inn.’

  ‘Nonsense!’ replied Elizabeth, quite sharply for her. ‘You must be mistaken.’

  ‘No, indeed I am not. I never forget a face even though I have only seen it for a moment, and his is a face one would remember — a firm chin, you know, and a strong nose. Not precisely handsome, but there is something — take a peep for yourself, if you think I am mistaken, but for heaven’s sake be careful, for it will not do to let him see we have noticed him.’

  Elizabeth managed a fleeting glance; it was enough to tell her that Margaret was not mistaken. It was indeed Robert Farnham loitering before the window of a bookshop less than ten yards away from where they were standing. Her cheeks grew warm again.

  ‘Do you mean to go into this shop?’ she asked hurriedly.

  ‘Why, yes, we may as well see what they have,’ replied Miss Ellis, looking into the window in an undecided way.

  Elizabeth seized her arm, almost dragging her into the shop, and for the next half-hour or so they were busy examining muslins of various colours and patterns. At last Miss Ellis selected one suited to her cousin’s age and style, and they waited while the draper cut off the amount required and made it up into a parcel. He offered to deliver this, but Elizabeth insisted that they should return with it to the White Hart themselves. She seemed to have lost all interest in prolonging the outing.

  On emerging from the shop, they both looked sharply about them; but to Elizabeth’s relief there seemed to be no sign of Mr. Farnham. After they had crossed the road, however, and were walking towards the inn, she glanced behind her and caught sight of him again, sauntering along the pavement in the same direction.

  They turned into the forecourt of the inn just a little way ahead of him, and had started to ascend the staircase as he entered the hall.

  Neither spoke until they were standing outside the door of Elizabeth’s room. Then Miss Ellis said in a whisper, ‘Upon my word, it looks very much as though he has been following us! What can he mean by it, I wonder? Do you suppose that he half-recognised you when you met earlier, and has been trying to make up his mind who you are, and where you have met before?’

  Elizabeth did not answer at once; she was hunting in her reticule for the key. As she bent to insert it in the lock she began to reply, but broke off on hearing a slight noise from the direction of the staircase. She glanced quickly that way, and saw Mr. Farnham standing outside the door of the next room, on the point of entering. He seemed not to notice them, for he did not glance in their direction.

  Elizabeth hastily pushed open her door, and whisked Margaret and herself inside. She began to untie her bonnet with fingers which trembled slightly.

  ‘Well!’ remarked Miss Ellis. ‘Say what you will, it certainly looks as though that gentleman has been deliberately dogging our footsteps! Do you think he may have had some chivalrous notion of protecting us from people such as that pedlar who tried to importune us on our way out?’

  ‘Now who is imagining things?’ asked Elizabeth, with an uncertain laugh. ‘If you ask my opinion, it is that he was taking a stroll round the town just as we were; and, as it is not a large metropolis one can’t wonder if our ways happened now and then to lie together.’

  Miss Ellis was above all a sensible woman, but now and then she allowed herself the indulgence of a small romantic notion. One such had entered her head as soon as Elizabeth had told her that Mr. Farnham was staying at the White Hart. She knew that six years ago these two had been deeply in love; she had witnessed the quiet, controlled agony of Elizabeth’s renunciation at that time. She could not quite subdue a hope that the present unexpected meeting would lead to a renewal of the gentleman’s addresses, and that she might at last see her beloved Elizabeth settled in a happy marriage. Marriage, after all, Miss Ellis acknowledged to herself with a sigh, is a more agreeable state than spinsterhood, particularly when one is only five and twenty. She judged it prudent to say no more on the subject of Mr. Farnham at present, however.

  ‘What shall we do now?’ she asked, removing her spencer and bonnet. ‘It is almost noon, and I think not too soon for a light luncheon. Shall we have it served here, or would you prefer to go down to the coffee room?’

  After a little hesitation, Elizabeth decided on going downstairs.

  ‘Do you think we might go out again for a little this afternoon, Margaret?’ she asked, when this point was settled. ‘Or are you too tired? I would very much like to see the ruins of Lewes castle; but if you don’t feel equal to it today, we can easily come here again some other time. We shall not be so very far away, after all.’

  ‘Too tired? Nonsense! I hope I am not such a poor creature that a short stroll round the shops in a town of this size can lay me down for the rest of the day! By all means let us go. The rain is quite finished, and it will do us good to be out of doors.’

  ‘Well, let us see what the guide book has to say about the castle,’ said Elizabeth, picking A Tour of Sussex up from the dressing-room and rapidly turning the pages. ‘Ah, here we are — Lewes castle, with an illustration of it done in 1780. It looks very Gothic, don’t you think, and quite fits any mood.

  “Built by William de Warenne, one of the most distinguished followers of William of Normandy” — there is a great deal more about the Warenne family. It occupies’ — flicking hastily over the pages — ‘three or four pages. We must read that some other time, I think. Oh, yes, here we are — farther on it says that this is the only castle with two artificial mounds, and that the Barbican is very fine. I think we must certainly see it.’ She broke off abruptly. ‘That’s strange.’

  Miss Ellis looked at her inquiringly, and saw that she had turned to the back of the book and was feeling in the pocket.

  ‘I thought you said, Margaret, that the map was missing from the back of this book. Well, you were wrong — it is here.’

  ‘Impossible, my dear,’ replied her friend, confidently. ‘I examined the book careful
ly before I brought it, and was most disappointed to see that there was no map.’

  ‘There’s something here, at any rate,’ insisted Elizabeth. ‘Let’s see what it is.’

  She drew her hand out of the pocket, disclosing a bulky sealed package.

  ‘Why, it’s a letter! Or rather, I should say, a packet. You must have put it in here, meaning perhaps to deliver it somewhere, and forgotten about it—’

  ‘I did no such thing!’ exclaimed Miss Ellis, sharply. ‘Here, let me look at it!’

  Elizabeth was about to pass the packet over, when her eye fell upon the inscription in firm copperplate on the face of it. She gave a start, and looked at it again to be sure that she had read it aright.

  It was directed to J. Martin, Esquire, of Crowle Manor.

  Chapter 7

  MRS. WOOD BUYS SOME RIBBON

  She stood motionless, staring at the packet. Miss Ellis stretched out an impatient hand.

  ‘What is it? May I not see?’

  Elizabeth passed the packet to her without a word, watching while she read the inscription.

  ‘But I don’t understand.’ Miss Ellis raised puzzled eyes to her friend’s face. ‘Do you know this connection of your late uncle’s?’

  ‘Not to my knowledge. I certainly never heard the name before in my life.’

  ‘Then what in the world is a letter directed to him doing in our possession at all?’

  ‘I wish I knew,’ answered Elizabeth, slowly. ‘I suppose there’s no possibility of any error, Margaret? It could not have been in the book when you brought it from home?’