Letters For A Spy

by Alice Chetwynd Ley

  ‘Miss Ellis? You had Margaret followed?’ asked Elizabeth in amazement.

  He nodded, looking slightly shamefaced. ‘I had to, you know. Although every instinct told me that you must be innocent in this affair—’

  ‘You could not be perfectly sure until you had overheard what Potts had to say about the way in which I came to be in possession of the papers,’ she said, taking him up quickly.

  ‘Can you forgive me, Elizabeth?’ He looked at her imploringly. ‘The first lesson in this business is that one may not trust anybody at all. There can be no exceptions — it’s a matter of life and death.’

  ‘Yes, of course I understand that. It seems eminently reasonable.’

  He rose from his chair, and, taking her hand before she could guess his intention, carried it to his lips.

  ‘You were always reasonable, my love — a most unfeminine virtue to add to ail your other delightfully feminine ones,’ he said, raising his head to look down into her eyes.

  She blushed, and drew her hand away. ‘It is not the time for pretty speeches, Robert. What are you going to do now? You say you have sent for help — will it arrive in time to prevent those two dreadful men from coming to my house?’

  ‘No. That’s the last thing I want.’ His manner became brisk again. ‘If anything should frighten them off from coming here, not only will they slip through my fingers, but I shall most likely lose all chance of recovering the documents. They must be allowed to keep their rendezvous here in the Manor, and we must apprehend them there and then, in the secret room, while they still have the packet on them.’

  ‘But — but that will be dangerous!’ protested Elizabeth. ‘Suppose the military don’t arrive in time, there will only be the two of you to tackle a pair of desperate men! You said yourself that they would stop at nothing!’

  ‘Do you care what happens to me?’ he asked, catching her hands in his and pulling her up from her chair, his dark eyes intently fixed upon her face. ‘Do you really care, Elizabeth?’ She turned her head away and tried to withdraw her hands from his clasp. ‘Of course I do,’ she said hurriedly. ‘I cannot bear to think of anyone getting hurt — no humane person could — surely?’

  ‘To the devil with such proper sentiments!’ he exclaimed impatiently. ‘Am I of no more importance to you than the rest of humanity, Elizabeth? You thought differently once, and by heaven I shall make you do so again, before I’ve done!’

  He dropped her hands and seized her impetuously in his arms. She came willingly enough, but he checked suddenly, letting her go and turning away.

  ‘I’m a brute — forgive me, my darling. For a moment, I forgot that you are alone here, to all intents and purposes. It’s neither the time nor the place for a declaration — it must wait — I would not force my self upon you. And yet, don’t think that I shall let you go so easily this time, Elizabeth. I thought we should never meet again, but now that we have—’

  He broke off, seeing her embarrassment, which in truth was acute. He could not know that it was caused not by outraged modesty, as he supposed, but by the sudden realisation that she had not wished him to release her from his embrace, and the hope that she could manage to conceal her feelings for him.

  ‘Enough of that,’ he finished, squaring his shoulders. ‘I must give you time. And now I’ll leave you.’

  That brought her to herself quickly. ‘But — but what am I to do?’ she gasped. ‘You can’t expect that I shall stay here, with two dangerous men about to enter the house!’

  ‘If I could think of anywhere to take you for refuge believe me I would do it. But there is nowhere close at hand for you to go. I can see no reason why you should not be perfectly safe either in this room, or in your bedchamber, if you prefer it. These men will enter the house by the secret staircase and go nowhere else but to the hidden room above. They will not come into the main part of the house at all — there can be no reason for them to do so. Moreover, in a very short while I myself shall be in the house, concealed in the attic adjoining the priest’s hole, waiting to pounce on the pair as soon as Martin arrives. And until then, I shall be watching outside the house until my confederate returns to take over from me.’ He broke off, studying her anxious face. ‘What about this maid of yours? Is she to be trusted, do you think? Would you like me to summon her to keep you company?’

  Elizabeth hesitated. ‘I don’t know — no, I don’t think I want her. She fusses round me too much. I suppose I am being foolish,’ she added, reluctantly. ‘How I wish I hadn’t persuaded Margaret to go away today! However, I must try to be brave — I’m sure any one of my heroines would be!’

  ‘That’s my own sweet love,’ he said, taking her hands in his. ‘Will you stay here or upstairs? In either case, one of us will be quite close at hand to you.’

  ‘I’ll stay here,’ she answered, forcing a wan smile ‘You —you’ll take care, Robert? I’m so afraid for you— ’

  ‘Never fear, love,’ he carried her hand to his lips. ‘I have everything now to induce me to take care of myself.’

  He turned away to retrieve his lantern, which he had earlier placed on the floor.

  ‘Fasten the window after me, dearest,’ he said, as he opened it and dropped lightly out on to the ground beneath.

  Chapter 18

  THE BEST LAID SCHEMES

  After Claudette Faubourg had returned to her room, she suddenly realised that the noise she had heard could not, after all, have been caused by the cat. She was not herself a cat lover, but the housekeeper was; and Claudette distinctly remembered Mrs. Wilmot complaining just before she retired for the night that her precious Timmy had not returned from his usual nocturnal expedition.

  ‘Taken up with some female in the village again, I suppose,’ the housekeeper had remarked, with a sniff. ‘Oh, well, it’s human nature as well as cat nature, I dare say, but it’s to be hoped my precious don’t get into any fights, for he’s a real beauty, and I can’t abear the thought of him coming back all battered, poor little thing!’

  And if he had since come back, reflected Claudette, he certainly could not have found a way in, with every window shut and all the doors bolted. From what she knew of the animal, he would be far more likely to set up a yowling under the housekeeper’s window, too, rather than seek an entrance for himself.

  So it was not the cat. Then who was it? An expected or an unexpected visitor? It was extremely unlikely to be the former, all things considered. She had better make sure.

  In spite of the fact that she had been sent off to bed over an hour ago, she was still fully dressed.

  She set her candle down, and tiptoed to the door, straining her ears for the sound of any movement from outside. None came, and after a while she cautiously opened the door and peered out.

  She was just in time to catch sight of a glimmer of light that was moving down the attic staircase.

  She stayed where she was, watching its progress. At the foot of the stairs, it halted for a moment, changing position as someone evidently raised it higher to see ahead. She caught a brief glimpse of a dark shape behind it, and then it once more returned to its former position and vanished from sight, presumably as its bearer turned along the passage towards the main staircase.

  Someone was prowling round the house.

  She waited to see if the prowler would return, but nothing happened. He must have gone downstairs. She wondered if Miss Thorne was still in the parlour, or if she had come upstairs to bed. Perhaps it would be as well to find out. She started to turn back into her room to pick up the candle, then changed her mind. She could find her way round the house without a light, and it would be safer to do so. She left the candle burning, closed the door quietly, and carefully went down to Miss Thorne’s bedchamber on the next floor.

  A fire had been left in the grate, for the evening was chilly. It was not quite burnt out; the red embers relieved the gloom sufficiently for her to see her way about. She moved over to the bed, which was undisturbed. Miss Thorne was downstairs,
then, no doubt still hard at work on her writing. Perhaps the prowler would walk in on her; if so there would be a scream presently to break the silence of the house. She thought of the Wilmots, safely tucked up in bed, and her lips twisted in contempt. They had locked themselves in and declared that nothing would fetch them out until daylight appeared. Craven fools! They were ready enough to take the pickings, so long as they did not become too deeply involved. But if anything went wrong, there would be no more pickings, for them or for anyone else. All the same, she knew it would be useless to try to rouse them and ask for Wilmot’s help. Although properly speaking this was man’s work, she must tackle it herself. She left Elizabeth’s room and, treading cautiously, made her way slowly down the main staircase.

  A lamp was still burning in the hall, so she halted before she reached the foot of the stairs, leaning over the balustrade to see if anyone was about. Suddenly the door of the back parlour opened, and a man emerged. She drew her head back quickly, crouching on the stairs and peering through the openings in the balustrade. If he came this way, she was cornered and must brazen things out as best she could. After all, she was Miss Thorne’s maid, and could be on an errand for her mistress. But who was he? Was he the prowler whom she had been following? If so, why had not Miss Thorne screamed for help when he had entered the parlour?

  The man did not come any farther, but looked about him keenly, then went back into the room and closed the door. Claudette let out a long-drawn breath. She was not quite sure what to do next, but she felt certain that she ought to try and find out who this man was who had entered the room where Miss Thorne was sitting. Miss Thorne could not have called for help, or Claudette would have been bound to hear her. That must mean either that she had fainted or been overpowered by the man, or else that she had not been at all alarmed because she already knew him.

  Claudette Faubourg’s face was a grim one at best, but it became more grim as this thought crossed her mind. She had been employed by several ladies in high society, and knew something of ‘goings-on’, as she termed them; but Miss Elizabeth Thorne had not struck her as the kind of female to meet a man clandestinely. One could never tell, of course; sometimes it was those who seemed most demure who were capable of the most scandalous behaviour. But she could think of no reason for Miss Thorne to meet a lover in secret down here in Crowle, where there was no one to know or care about her personal affairs. The only person who might have been supposed to take an interest was Miss Ellis, and she had left the house that afternoon. Why, then, this secrecy?

  She must find out. Any unexpected arrival on the scene at this particular time was a potential hazard to what was afoot. If the man and Miss Thorne were known to each other, and were even now talking together in the parlour, then it might be possible to overhear something of their conversation through the keyhole of the door. Great care would be necessary; the man had come out of the room once to look around, and might do so again. Perhaps it would be safer to try and listen at the inner door of the ante-room; he was less likely to go that way to the passage. And if she were caught, she had always the excuse that she had come in search of her mistress, finding that Miss Thorne was not yet in her bedchamber.

  Having made up her mind, she crept cautiously down the rest of the stairs and tiptoed across the intervening space to the door of the ante-room. She went slowly, trying to remember which of the floorboards were liable to creak. Her pulse beat increased a fraction as she passed the parlour door, but she did not falter, for she had a cool head and was not unused to exploits of this kind.

  She reached her objective without incident, and softly turned the knob on the other side without allowing it to give a betraying click. Then she sidled into the room, closing the door gently behind her. So far, so good. She paused a moment to give herself a breathing space before she trod quietly across the small room to the door which communicated with the parlour. Now she could hear the low murmur of voices from the room beyond.

  So these two were known to each other, as she had suspected; but was it merely a clandestine love affair, or something more sinister?

  She squinted through the keyhole though without very much hope of seeing what was going on, for she knew from past experience that people were rarely so obliging as to station themselves in direct line with the door. She soon gave up the attempt, and applied her ear to the keyhole, listening intently.

  At first, she found this scarcely more rewarding. It was easy enough to recognise Miss Thorne’s pleasant voice, and to hear the deeper tones of the man’s. To distinguish any words, however, was much more difficult, as they were both speaking in lowered voices. After a time, her ear became more accustomed, and she found herself able to pick out a phrase or two here and there in the conversation.

  What she heard was of sufficient interest to keep her at the keyhole. The man seemed to be doing most of the talking. She heard him say that he was a spy, and caught the mention of Jean Martin’s name. He appeared to be giving Miss Thorne an account of events in which she had unwittingly been involved in a small way. Here Claudette found little difficulty in supplementing what she managed to hear; she knew the facts well enough. But when he went on to speak of the secret room and of the plans he had made for the capture of Potts and Jean, she was tormented by the inadequacy of the information she was able to obtain. Only two of them — had she heard aright? One would be watching outside, the other hiding in the attic. She smiled grimly. Well, Jean was more than a match for any two other men, while Potts, too, was a formidable enough opponent.

  All the same, they must be warned what to expect. The man was going now — she had heard him say earlier that he must leave, but there was still some nonsense going on between him and the female. Evidently the two were lovers. Perhaps that fact might prove useful. Claudette’s mind ranged swiftly over possible courses of action. Could she slip out of the house unobserved to warn Potts? It seemed scarcely likely, as one of these men would be watching outside all the time, by what she had heard. Besides, she was not at all sure where Potts might be found at present, and a great deal of time could be wasted in running him to earth. One thing she did know for certain was that he would be coming here before long. It was usual for him to arrive an hour or so before Jean.

  She nodded sagely to herself. She would leave it to Potts. He would know what to do.

  She straightened up, arching her cramped back and massaging her neck. The room beyond had been silent since she had heard only a few minutes ago the faint sound of a window closing. Evidently the man had left by that exit, and Miss Thorne was now alone. It would be a good moment for her to go too. She turned on her heel, intending to tiptoe quietly from the room; but her recent stooping had momentarily upset her sense of balance, so that she stumbled against the door.

  She drew back quickly, putting her hands to her mouth in alarm.

  She was still in this attitude when the door was thrust open and Elizabeth Thorne faced her accusingly.

  ‘Claudette!’ she exclaimed. ‘What are you doing here?’

  ‘I — I was just coming to see if you were all right, madam. I thought I heard a noise as if someone was prowling round the house,’ replied Claudette, glibly.

  Elizabeth looked unconvinced. ‘If that is so, why are you standing here in the dark? If you were anxious about me, I should have thought it more natural to rush into the room at once.’

  Claudette thought quickly. ‘I was about to, madam, but then I thought I heard voices, and scarcely liked to intrude if you were talking to someone.’

  ‘Voices! How long have you been here, Claudette? Answer me at once — and truthfully, mind.’

  ‘Only a few minutes.’ Claudette bridled. ‘And as to answering truthfully, madam, I’m sure I’ve never been accused of lying before — me, who’s served in some of the best families in the land!’

  Elizabeth stared at her thoughtfully. ‘Yes,’ she said, slowly, ‘perhaps you are telling the truth. But all the same, I can’t afford to take the risk.

&nb
sp; She turned away without another word and started across the room towards the window.

  Claudette leapt forward and seized her arm. ‘What are you going to do?’

  ‘That’s no concern of yours,’ replied Elizabeth, coldly. ‘Let me go.’

  ‘So that you can let your lover know I’ve been listening to his little schemes? Oh, no, my fine lady!’

  Claudette clamped a strong arm about Elizabeth, and covered her mouth with relentless fingers. Elizabeth had not expected it, and found herself at a decided disadvantage in the short struggle which followed. Her adversary was no taller than she was, but was undoubtedly both stronger and heavier. She managed to wrench one arm free, and tore desperately at the hand which was fastened over her mouth, but without avail. She writhed and kicked but in spite of her struggles, Claudette was gradually pushing her down towards the floor.

  They were near to the writing-desk where Elizabeth’s manuscript lay as she had left it, with a large metal paperweight on top. Suddenly she remembered the paperweight. She stopped trying to move Claudette’s hand from her mouth, and instead made a violent lunge towards the desk, her fingers groping for the weapon.

  The quick-witted Claudette guessed her intention, and put every ounce of strength into dragging her away from the desk. They swayed and lost balance. Elizabeth fell, striking her head on the corner of the desk, and dragging Claudette down to the floor with her. The weight of the abigail would have driven the breath from Elizabeth’s body had she not already been senseless from the blow on her head.

  Chapter 19

  BAITING THE TRAP