by Joan Smith
“What is keeping him?” Mrs. Lovatt demanded, shuffling the cards. In her eagerness for the game, she was like a deb waiting for her first date.
“Here he is now,” Fairfield said.
I looked to the door, and felt a wave of relief. He looked all right, insofar as his habiliments went. He was not wearing evening clothes, but a good blue jacket and pantaloons that I had not seen before. His jacket fit him superbly. His raven hair was brushed to a gloss, and his cravat carefully arranged. I noticed that while he might have begged Papa’s boots, he possessed a pair of well-polished Hessians. Actually, they were larger than Papa’s boots. I wondered what master had given him this pair of too large castoffs. It seemed a pity that such a well-set-up man should have to wear hand-me-downs, but Snoad’s impassive face showed nothing of his feelings.
“You look very nice, Snoad,” my aunt exclaimed in surprise,
Snoad bowed punctiliously. “It is very kind of you to have me down, Mrs. Lovatt. Shall we begin?” He glanced at me as he took his seat. I detected a little smile at the corner of his lips. And worse, a little gold pigeon fob hanging at the end of his watch chain. If Auntie should spy it, she would probably accuse Snoad of theft, and I would have to admit having given it to him.
I knew, although she had not said so, that my aunt’s idea was to partner Snoad herself, and let me have the honor of partnering Fairfield. The vacant chair was across from me, however, and it was there that Snoad sat. She had waited long enough. Without further ado, she began to deal. The last card turned up diamonds. “Diamonds are trump,” she said, and picked up her hand.
“An excellent hand!” Fairfield exclaimed, rummaging through his cards. “Three trump cards!” The angle at which he held them made it perfectly possible for everyone at the table to see what he held.
Any revealing of a single card was anathema to my aunt. Cards were not so much a game to her as a war. “Best hold up your cards, Lord Fairfield. We do not want to give the competition any advantage,” she said sharply.
He obediently tightened his grip on the cardboards. The game began. “I was just telling the ladies, Kerwood, that you used to play at Branksome Hall with the duchess.”
“Yes, when her table was short,” he said briefly. There had descended on his face the same tense look that I was accustomed to seeing on Auntie’s during a game. It was obvious that he had no interest in chatter.
“I like a good game of whist,” Fairfield continued. “Mind you, I prefer faro.”
“Faro!” Mrs. Lovatt sneered. “There is no skill in that! It is merely guessing which card will turn up.”
“And betting on it,” Fairfield added. Obviously the wager was the thing with him.
“You have played a spade on my diamond, Lord Fairfield,” Mrs. Lovatt said a little later. “You cannot be out of trumps so soon, since you informed us you have three.”
“By Jove! You’re right.” He redeemed his spade and tossed a king on Auntie’s ace.
She stared at him as if he were mad. If he had three diamonds, he ought not to have played this high one on her ace. She bit her lips, but said nothing. Fairfield did more than enough talking for us all.
The game proceeded, with Fairfield reneging, revoking, and trumping his partner’s tricks at every turn of the hand. My eyes kept turning hypnotically to the little dangling gold pigeon. I wished Snoad would tuck it into his pocket. Snoad said very little, but I saw the laughter brimming behind his polite facade every time Fairfield made a faux pas. Meanwhile, Snoad and I won the first rubber.
“Perhaps if we concentrated a little on the game, instead of discussing how much you lost at faro, Lord Fairfield, we might manage to make a few tricks next time,” my aunt said through thin lips. She was nearly as annoyed at his ignoring me as at his awful playing. I could forgive him the former. He did not know his duty was to flirt with me. “What hour is it getting to be?”
Snoad reached for his watch. “Only nine-thirty,” I said, before he pulled it out. I believe he heard the panic in my tone, for while he had his hand at his vest, he tucked the pigeon into his pocket, and I could relax.
“A glass of wine will brighten us all up,” Fairfield said, and went to fetch the bottle himself.
“Let us hope so!” my aunt said grimly.
The next rubber was equally disastrous for Auntie and Fairfield. While Fairfield fell in her esteem, Snoad rose higher. He had a keen eye for any advantage, and played to win. He made a few sensible comments, but did not prattle. Her tight-lipped “Well done, Snoad,” of the first rubber had become “Well played, Mr. Snoad,” by the second.
When the game was finished and the winnings handed to Snoad and myself, my aunt gave Snoad the ultimate compliment. “We must have another hand one evening,” she said, examining him minutely.
Snoad inclined his head and replied with a winning smile, “Let us arrange to be partners, ma’am, and we’ll take any pair you care to invite. You play a challenging game.”
“And under a severe handicap,” she was betrayed into saying, shooting a wicked look at her partner.
Snoad overcame his love of nobility to the extent of saying good night and leaving as soon as the game was over. “I usually check out the loft before retiring,” he said. “It has been a most enjoyable evening.”
I wanted a word alone with him, and used loft business as an excuse. “I shall send a boy up tomorrow,” I said, walking him toward the door.
When we were beyond earshot, he said, “Can I take it out now?”
“I didn’t tell my aunt I had given away Papa’s watch,” I said, feeling like a fool. “I was afraid it might upset her.”
“I thought as much. I treasure it the more, knowing it is our secret.” His smile was warm, when there was every reason that he might have been angry at such a troublesome gift. That, I felt, was the mark of a gentleman.
I knew a snack would be served before retiring, and was rather hoping Auntie would invite him to return. It would not take more than another game of cards before even that honor was extended to him, for he had certainly been on his best behavior. Other than our parting words, I might as well have been another gentleman, for any special interest he paid me. And my nose was a little out of joint.
The snack arrived as soon as Snoad left. I was keeping an eye on the clock, and knew that the assignation with Depew was drawing close.
As soon as the tea was poured and the sandwiches passed, Mrs. Lovatt said to Fairfield, “You have met Snoad before, I assume, as you called him Kerwood. I didn’t know that was his name.”
“That is what they called him at Branksome Hall. He was a great favorite there.”
“Why was that? Had the duchess no children of her own?”
“Half a dozen of them. Three sons. There is Maitland, the heir, and Willie, a son in the Peninsula, and a younger one, along with three daughters. They are married and scattered about here and there.”
This gave the duchess the age Snoad had claimed, and the dispersement of the daughters also matched his story. He had told the truth about that at least.
“Kerwood saved the heir’s life, it seems,” Fairfield continued. “Dove into the lake and saved him when his boat capsized. Nothing was too good for Kerwood after that. His father was their gamekeeper, but the duchess had Snoad educated at the vicarage, to pay him for saving her son’s life.”
“A pity he hasn’t done more with his education. He is very gentlemanly. He seems a bright lad, and personable. I know Harold, my brother, had a good opinion of him.”
I listened closely to all this, for, of course, I had my own interest in Snoad. I knew what use he was putting his cleverness and his personableness to–spying for the French!
Bunny has a way of showing up when there is food on the table. He arrived while we were eating, and gobbled up what was left of the sandwiches and cakes. His imperative glances at the clock kept me alert to the passing of time. My aunt asked him about the parish rates, and he assured her the increase had not passe
d.
At five to eleven I began stifling imaginary yawns. Fairfield, who was a gentleman, even if he was a bit of a fool, took the hint and suggested it was time to retire.
“You run along, too, Auntie,” I said. “I’ll see that Thumm locks up.”
She went upstairs with Fairfield, trying to be polite to make up for her short temper over the baize table. As soon as they were out of sight, Bunny and I ran out the east door to meet Depew by the blasted pine.
Chapter Eleven
It was a clear night, so clear we actually caught a glimpse of the moon’s face, floating in the black sky high above. In my excited state, I felt the moon was smiling. All my recent duties having to do with Papa’s death and funeral had been sad, and sometimes onerous, but here was a duty that gave only pleasure. What could be more delightful than to be meeting a spy by moonlight, to keep England safe and bring rogues to justice?
We ran straight to the blasted pine. Depew was not in sight at first, but when he recognized our voices, he appeared, wraithlike, from behind another tree. “Were you seen leaving?” he demanded in a low tone.
While Bunny assured him we were not Johnnie Raws, I examined our mentor in hopes that he might provide some romance, to put the cap on this daring enterprise. Alas, he was no more handsome than on first acquaintance. Unless he could transform himself by actually saving my life in some heroic manner, there seemed little hope of turning him into a hero.
Depew inquired how we had spent the evening, and what we had discovered. I told him what had passed—the fruitless search of Fairfield’s room, the coded verse found in the loft. I also mentioned those areas where I sensed some shortcoming in his own methods. He accepted my criticism mildly.
“We are only mortal men, Miss Hume,” he admitted. “We err, like everyone else. Perhaps my greatest error was in not fully trusting you.” I gave him a sharp look. “But your enthusiasm for the job has convinced me to take you fully into my confidence. I have a special job for you.”
My heart raced. Bunny caught my eye, and though we tried to look unmoved, I knew he wanted to shout, and so did I. “What job is that?” Bunny inquired.
“London is desperate to recover the code book. We gave your father one, for coding the messages he sent for us.”
“Surely Snoad has found the book. He was writing that coded poem,” I said.
“That is not the code. Snoad must have a ladybird he corresponds with. It is not a rhymed code. I believe it consists of discrete letters and numbers.”
“Are you sure my father had it? Perhaps they sent the messages to him already coded.”
“No, he had to be able to both read the messages from abroad, and send the proper answer to suit the occasion. The alternatives would be given to him in advance. If the French are advancing, then x. If retreating, then y.”
“But Snoad has been searching. He must have the book by now,” I warned him.
“It is my hope that your father took great pains in its concealment. It is small, a little black leather-covered book only two inches by three, with no title on the cover. Only twelve of them are in existence. Your father was told to keep it concealed in a safe place, and to show it to no one.”
“That’s what Snoad’s been looking for in Papa’s study!” I exclaimed. “He does know about it, and he broke the outer door open himself, so we would think it was an intruder from outside.”
“You just might be right about that break-in. I’ll tell you one thing. I had your house under surveillance the whole time, and no one got in from outside. Since you tell me he also took your father’s pistol, you must exercise extreme caution in your dealings with him.”
“I think you ought to arrest him and search him and his belongings, Mr. Depew.”
“Martin!” he reminded me. “I would prefer not to. Snoad is only a minor link in the chain of spies who infest England. With luck, and a little rope, he might lead us to other members.”
“But if he has the code book, he might be sending false messages, and do irreparable harm.”
“I have reason to believe he does not have it.”
“What reason?” I asked, full of interest.
He scowled in displeasure at my persistence, but finally replied, “Because he is still looking. Last night I saw from outside a light moving about downstairs.”
“Did you hear anything, Bunny? Mr. Smythe is sleeping in Papa’s study,” I explained to Depew.
“Not a sound,” Bunny said.
“These men are professionals. They could walk over eggs without cracking one. I assume he would not have been performing a systematic search of the house if he had found it. We must lure him out, and hope he leads us to his henchmen.”
“He doesn’t go out much,” Bunny said with a tsk of dismay.
“He asked this very day if he might have an assistant,” I said in a hollow voice. “Very likely what he wanted was someone to watch the loft, so he could go out more.”
“Arrange for him to have an assistant as soon as possible,” Depew ordered,
“Funny he didn’t use it as an excuse to bring in a man of his own,” Bunny said.
Depew scowled. I was beginning to understand that he did not like having his actions questioned. “He could hardly bring in a servant with a French accent,” he said sharply.
“I have already agreed to providing an assistant. It will be difficult to get the code book,” I said, racking my brain to devise a scheme. “I’ll listen at doors. If I overhear Fairfield and Snoad talking, then–”
“No!” I could see Depew was surprised at how his voice rang on the still night air. He looked around, and continued in a lower tone. “I don’t want you to take any chances, Miss Hume. If they should overhear you, and pull you into the room ...” He nodded his head in a way that expressed certain death, possibly preceded by a fate worse than death.
“A man’s job. I’ll do it,” Bunny said, in that unwittingly arrogant way that men, even such tame fellows as Bunny, sometimes adopt toward ladies.
“There’s no point listening at keyholes,” Depew said. “They’ll not discuss it. A quiet and thorough search when they are out is your best hope. Meanwhile, I have arranged that London send no messages of any import here. What would make more sense is to get them out of the house as soon as possible. We must draw them off to someplace a mile or so removed from Gracefield. Have you any idea how that might be accomplished?”
“It would be no problem getting Fairfield out. I could go driving with him, and let Bunny look around, but Snoad is another matter.”
“I would rather you not have too much to do with Fairfield,” Depew said, in a kindly way. “He plays the fool well, but that is not to say he is one. He uses that role to divert suspicion from his activities.”
I found myself gaining a new respect for Fairfield, but this did not lessen my appreciation of Snoad’s wits. “Which of them would be in charge? Is Snoad under Fairfield’s supervision?”
“I wish I knew. Fairfield is a dark horse. A new man in the game.”
“The birds have to be driven to spots some miles from the house and let loose, to teach them to fly home, as I explained in my letter,” I said. “Papa often had Snoad do that. Perhaps that is why Snoad needs a helper.”
“This shows definite promise,” Depew said, smiling in approval. “You are the mistress of Gracefield, Miss Hume. Express your concern that the birds are not getting their training. Encourage Snoad to arrange a long flight. If you could get Fairfield to accompany him, and let me know where they are going ...”
“Will you come into Gracefield and help us look?” I asked.
“No, that will be your job. I’ll follow the men. The birds, I assume, can be released from any direction. It is logical that Snoad would use this opportunity to meet with his cohorts. You may be sure he has spies set about the area, bringing any news picked up from our troops in the neighborhood. I may round up the whole crew. Or should I say, we may round up the whole crew? You are performing an extreme
ly valuable service.” He bowed to Bunny and myself.
We murmured our delight at the opportunity.
“I wish I could promise you a tangible reward, but the fact is, until this beastly war is over, you will be unsung heroes, your fame known only to a few top men in London. But after the war ...”
Visions of titles danced before us. Dame Heather Hume might even become Lady Hume if we rounded up the entire crew.
We left, with promises to meet again by moonlight the next night. Bunny was to dash a message off to Mr. Martin at the inn the instant we could arrange for Snoad, and hopefully Lord Fairfield, to drive off together.
There was little more we could do that night, but we were too excited to just calmly go to bed. We walked down to the cliff that overlooks the sea, and stood gazing at the calm water. From below, a sound of footsteps rose on the still air. We crept closer, crouching to hide ourselves in case the intruder looked up.
It was one lone man, bundled up in a dark coat and muffler. He wore a cap pulled low over his eyes, of the sort the local fishermen wear. Gathering seafood from the shore has not the same odium as poaching. As the man carried a container of some sort, I thought he was looking for winkles or mussels, except that his eyes more often turned to Gracefield than to the beach.
As we stood watching, the man made a movement, and a light flashed from his dark lantern. He slid the covering back and forth three times in quick succession. The light flashed, up toward the loft.
“It’s a message to Snoad!” I breathed in Bunny’s ear.
“And Snoad’s answering!” Bunny whispered. Three answering flashes came from the bartizan.
“Maybe they’re going to meet!”
The intruder sat down to wait, which seemed as if I had guessed right. “Do you have your pistol?”