Dangerous Dalliance

by Joan Smith

  “I did! We must go back, Bunny. I have to give Snoad that message.”

  “We could sneak in and have a servant give it to him. Leave a note in your room addressed to Snoad. Put your shoes on while you’re there. And a dress,” he added. “Thing for us to do, I believe, light out for America. Won’t be easy, with this war on. Better than hanging. Catch a fishing trawler to get out of the country, transfer somewhere in midocean.”

  “We haven’t done anything wrong. We were duped!”

  “Who’ll believe that? We’ll look a dashed pair of fools.”

  “That is better than looking like traitors. I’m going back.”

  “I’ll drop you a line from America.”

  “You must come with me and corroborate my story. Flight will be taken as evidence of real guilt. And we have Caesar,” I added. “When we turn the message over, they will know our hearts are in the right place. We could have taken it and run–somewhere,” I said, at a loss as to what we might have done with it.

  “Could use the note for barter, I daresay. Our lives for the letter. Have to secure the letter somewhere first. Might torture us to make us talk. This spying game is a little dirtier than I thought. Don’t believe I’ll offer my services after all. Not that they’d want me now.”

  “Are you coming or not?” I demanded. His chatter was depressing me greatly. “I must give that message to Snoad. And Auntie will be worried sick that I’ve made a runaway match.”

  Bunny stood, undecided. “Daresay I must go with you. Not the thing, abandoning a lady in distress. As you said, we’re only dupes, not traitors.”

  On this speech we turned and retraced our steps to Gracefield. Despite my encouragement, my heart was as unwilling as Bunny’s. I was humiliated to present myself in such a ridiculous guise to Snoad. Not only a dupe, but a dupe with a dirty face, without a gown, and in her bare feet.

  Chapter Seventeen

  We went to the door that led to the kitchen. It was locked, but lights were on within. I tapped, and Mrs. Gibbons came. She had changed from nightgown to dress and apron, but had forgotten to remove her nightcap. It was of white flannel, tied beneath her chin like a baby’s bonnet.

  “Merciful heavens, Miss Hume! You’re back!” she said, and pulled me inside. Bunny trailed in behind me. “I knew it would be you,” she said, examining him with relief before returning her sharp eyes in my direction. “Mr. Depew indeed! Whoever heard of a Mr. Depew? As if you would marry a stranger.” She gave Bunny a tentative smile. “But Mr. Smythe is your first cousin, my dear. You should have got a dispensation from the bishop. First cousins are forbidden kindred for marriage.”

  In the light of the kitchen, she discerned my bare feet, and noticed that no gown showed at the front of my pelisse. “Good gracious! You could have waited till you found a bed at least! Look at you. You must have been—”

  “Don’t be absurd, Mrs. Gibbons,” I declared, in my most haughty tone. “I did not run away with Mr. Smythe. I was abducted, and he rescued me.” I had to give some excuse for my appearance.

  Her shock did not subside, but it assumed an air of satisfaction. Abduction, it seemed, was preferable to a runaway marriage. “I’ll call your auntie. She’s in hysterics, poor soul. That wretched Snoad has been filling her ears with tales of your running off with Depew. She was cheered to learn Lord Fairfield had gone after you.”

  So that was what he had told her. How did he mean to account for it when Castlereagh arrived and led me away in chains? Was he trying to protect me by claiming the lesser evil? Did some spark of love still remain, or was it only chivalry?

  “Was it Depew who kidnapped you?” Mrs. Gibbons asked.

  Caught off guard, I said, “Yes,” then quickly spoke on to divert further questions. “Let me slip up the back stairs and get dressed, before I see Auntie. And would you have some hot water sent up, please? I’m filthy.”

  Mrs. Gibbons nodded her agreement. She was sufficiently recovered to offer Bunny a cup of tea.

  “Don’t mind if I do,” I heard him say. “That gag has made my throat sore.” It was a nasty stunt to leave Bunny to fabricate the tale of my kidnapping. Imagination was never his long suit.

  I scampered up the servants’ stairs, into the hallway. The carpet was kind to my bruised feet. It felt like walking on a cloud, after the roughness of stones and earth. I noticed that my wrists were chafed and bleeding where the stone had scraped them. They would sting like the devil when I washed up. I hurried along the empty hallway to my room and threw open the door, without a thought in my mind but washing and dressing. One step at a time.

  Imagine my astonishment to find Mr. Snoad there, holding my dressing gown, and staring at it as if it might speak. His eyes, wide with disbelief, flew to mine. He didn’t speak for a moment, nor could I think of how to begin my explanations. We just stared at each other, while the clock ticked in the yawning silence. I felt those coffee-dark eyes were plumbing the very depths of my soul. I would never forget their bleak, accusing gaze.

  Then he dropped my dressing gown on the floor and closed the door. “So you’re back,” he said in a harsh voice.

  Tears stung my eyes. “I didn’t know,” I said. My hands went out to him in an involuntary gesture. In the same involuntary way, he reached for them. Before we touched, he recovered himself and withdrew a step from me, as one withdraws from a snake or venomous creature.

  I watched in misery as his lips thinned to a cruel line, and his spine stiffened to intransigence. “I’m not easily conned a second time, Miss Hume. Not even by you. You knew. You knew everything. Why else did you search my room? Why else did you try to poison the birds? How did he convince you?”

  “You mean Depew?”

  “Of course I mean Depew!” he growled. His next words came out in an angry rush. “I have been racking my brain for some slight shred of excuse for what you have done. While I thought you were dead, I could forgive you. Blame it on your youth, your sorrow and anger at your father’s death. I called it a childish, ill-conceived attempt at revenge for that accident. But you are no child, Miss Hume. And your father is not the only man who has given his life for his country. The other grieving wives and daughters did not turn traitor. Just tell me one thing. Was it for love or money that you traded your soul to Satan?”

  “Enough!” I shouted. My spine, too, was stiff. I, too, had my anger to vent, and now it was my turn. Snoad’s eyes widened in surprise at my new attitude. “If my attempts to help were childish and ill conceived, they were at least not ignoble. I did agree to help Depew, because I thought he was helping England. He wore the prince’s buttons. He said, and Mr. Smythe corroborated, that Depew was with the Horse Guards.”

  Snoad listened, but with an air of suspicion that he did not even try to conceal. “So he was—six months ago, when he came under suspicion. He was a junior clerk, who was caught rifling files he had no right to see. Nothing was proven, but he was turned out. Since then, he’s been watched. We put abroad the idea that Fairfield was in financial trouble. Depew approached Fairfield as a possible ally. Fairfield was assigned the job of keeping an eye on him.”

  “Why was everything kept a secret from me? I had a right to know. You have been using my house.”

  “With Mr. Hume’s permission.”

  “What was I to think, when my father’s simple trip to a meeting in London resulted in his assassination in Brighton?”

  “Secrecy was necessary. We did not wish to draw attention to what was going on at Gracefield. There are many spies here on the coast. When you vowed revenge for your father’s death, we felt you were too—volatile—to trust with the truth. Hotheads have no place in this service.”

  “You did not trust me because I was a woman,” I said bluntly, for I felt that was the real reason. “You could trust a simpleton like Fairfield, but you could not trust me.”

  His suspicion assumed an air of apology. “Your actions from the moment you returned from Brighton hardly encouraged trust. Your first suggestion
was to get rid of the loft. Why the rush, if you didn’t know what it was being used for? Then your friend Depew broke into the house.”

  “It would not have been necessary for him to break in if he were my friend,” I pointed out.

  “You had not returned yet. I assumed he was in a hurry to have a look at your father’s papers. And if you wished to keep your association with him a secret from me, as you obviously did, then you could hardly introduce him into the house as a friend.”

  “He did not want you or anyone to know he was here. He called himself Mr. Martin.”

  “I observed that all your meetings were carried on with some attempt at secrecy. I thought no worse of you than that you were Depew’s dupe, playing at being a spy. Of course, Depew was followed and watched, and his movements reported to Fairfield. Until you arranged that ambush at Atherton, I was willing to blink at your little game. When you connived at my assassination—” His tirade came to a halt, and he stared angrily. “How could you, knowing how I felt about you?”

  I felt as bad as if I were indeed guilty of these awful crimes. “I had no idea he meant to shoot you. He said you would be meeting your colleagues. He wanted to round up the whole crew.”

  Snoad rubbed his hand over his forehead and drew a deep sigh. “If this is true—”

  “Of course it’s true!” I shouted.

  That was the moment his doubts left him. I could see it mirrored on his face as the truth penetrated. Suspicion flickered as some few details occurred to him, but apparently he found reassurance. The shadow of a smile moved his lips. And at that pregnant moment the servants came to the door with a basin of hot water.

  It would scandalize them to find me half-dressed, with a man in my room. Snoad looked at me. I don’t think he had even realized till then that I wore no gown under my pelisse. I pointed to the clothes-press, and without a word spoken, Snoad fled into it as I went to open the door.

  Mrs. Gibbons had sent up a large boiler of water, which necessitated a footman to carry it. Her nice sense of delicacy required Mary, a female servant, to accompany him on this intimate errand. They arranged the bath while I held my pelisse tightly around me, and tried, quite unsuccessfully, not to draw attention to my bare feet.

  “Are you all right, Miss Hume?” Mary asked before leaving. I thought she showed great restraint to limit herself to this mild question.

  “I’m fine. Thank you.”

  They left, and Snoad came out of the clothes-press. Such was his sangfroid that he was not even blushing. He was slightly ill at ease, or uncertain how to deal with the new situation, but mostly he was curious about my appearance. His eyes moved questioningly from my tousled head, down my wrinkled pelisse, to my dirty feet. I was acutely aware of what an unappetizing picture I presented, and spoke sharply.

  “Do you believe me?” I asked, fixing him with a steely eye.

  “It could have happened that way,” he admitted. When his eyes veered off to the left, I thought he was merely being kind by not staring at me.

  “It did happen that way. How could you think I would connive at murder? Or betray my country? My family have lived here, in this very house, for over two hundred years. I love every tree and bush, every pebble on the beach. I was proud of my father’s death. I was willing to risk my own life to complete his work, and this is the thanks I get. I was only poisoning the pigeons so you could not send false messages to Bonaparte. And the only reason I searched your room was because Depew told me to try to find the code book you were using.”

  “Of course. If Depew convinced you he was working for England, it must follow that I was on the other side. You accuse me of misjudging you, but you are guilty of the same error.” Again, he peered over my shoulder. A frown drew his brows together.

  “What are you looking at?” I followed his gaze, and saw he was staring at my dresser. Through the crack left for Caesar to breathe, a pair of eyes and a beak protruded from the top drawer. Caesar recognized Snoad, and became quite excited.

  “Is that—is that a pigeon in your dresser?” he asked.

  “Oh! Caesar! I hope he is not asphyxiated.”

  “Caesar!” he exclaimed. “When did he get in?”

  He flew to the dresser and retrieved the bird, who had remained amazingly calm throughout the entire ordeal. Perhaps he had been sleeping after his long flight. His hood feathers were slightly disarranged from his incarceration, but they righted themselves once he was free. Snoad reached in his trousers pocket and drew out a handful of grain. He placed it and the bird on the corner of the dresser and let Caesar peck at it while he removed the message. It came off easily, as he knew the trick of unfastening it.

  “When did he get in?” Snoad repeated. He slid the capsule containing the message into his pocket.

  “He came while you and Fairfield left me tied up in the loft.”

  Snoad looked up at me through his lashes. An angry smile quirked at his lips. “That was a vile stunt, Heather, letting me think I had killed you.”

  “Much you would care! Will you please take your bird out of here? I want to have my bath.”

  He picked Caesar up and held him under one arm, as if he were a book, or a ball. “I’m leaving. I have to send a reply to this message. And afterwards—what shall we tell Mrs. Lovatt?”

  “The truth. Now go.”

  He seemed much inclined to stay. I shooed him out and closed the door. I had convinced Snoad. Now it was up to him to convince Lord Castlereagh that I was not fodder for the gallows. Before I saw anyone else, I must remove the soil of this night’s misadventures.

  The reflection in the mirror showed me a woman who looked as if she had been crawling through mud. My face and pelisse were streaked with grime, and my hair all tumbled loose. One had to wonder why this wreck of humanity was smiling.

  I removed my clothes and slid into the tub. The warm water closed over me, but my feet and wrists’ stung where the skin was broken. Soap was a torment to them. I made a hasty bath, and as I toweled myself dry, I chose my gown. I had not the least idea what Snoad had done with the black gown I had been wearing. What hung in my closet were colored gowns, and as I must breach the proprieties, I chose the most attractive of them. A pale rose with rutched skirt and pale green ribbons always elicited praise.

  A duke’s son had to be impressed by my toilette when I went belowstairs. Auntie would forgive everything when she learned Snoad’s true identity. And still I did not know his real name, but I was glad it was not Snoad. I did not want to go through life as Mrs. Snoad. Perhaps I would be Lady Kerwood, depending on Snoad’s position in the hierarchy of the Duke of Prescott’s sons.

  The sun rose while I had my bath. I had not had my head on a pillow all night, but I was not at all sleepy.

  Chapter Eighteen

  I was just putting the finishing touches on my coiffure when Auntie burst into my room. “Heather! Is it true?” she demanded. “Snoad is the Duke of Prescott’s son?”

  “Oh, he told you. Yes, it is true.”

  That was the feature of the whole affair that rode uppermost in her mind. Never mind that I had been embroiled in a wretched affair with a traitor, and nearly lost my life. Never mind that Gracefield was playing an integral part in winning the war. We had been entertaining an eligible peer unawares, and an angel could not have been more welcome.

  “I knew from the way he handled the cards that he was no commoner. Did I not say that he was very gentlemanly in his behavior? And to think, we have stuck him up in the attic these two years! I have told Mrs. Gibbons to have the Gold Suite turned out.”

  “Fairfield is in the Gold Suite. We cannot chuck him out.”

  “Bother! Then it must be the Green Room, but as soon as Fairfield leaves, we shall remove Snoad— Lord Maitland—into the Gold Suite. The eldest son, a marquess,” she added. “He will inherit the dukedom and half a dozen estates. I could not like to quiz him, but surely the Prescotts are top of the trees.”

  I was as thrilled as Aunt Lovatt, but not
quite so voluble. A maiden dare not crow until she had had an offer. “I would marry you if I were the king of England,” he had said. Surely that was a sort of offer?

  “My dear!” she exclaimed as she examined me for fitness to entertain a marquess. “You cannot wear a pink dress. We are in mourning, and Lord Castlereagh is coming. Fairfield has gone to fetch him. Something to do with a message to be sent to Spain. So very exciting. Do you think a green goose for dinner, or would braised hens be better for the fowl dish? No, Cook’s green goose is unexceptionable.”

  “My black gown is—torn,” I said. I did not know how much Snoad—I would go on thinking of him as Snoad—had told her, but I doubted she was privy to the entire affair.

  “I’ll lend you my black cashmere shawl. I daresay Lord Castlereagh will not even meet you. I have had Smythe’s truckle bed taken out of your father’s study. The gentlemen can have their meeting there. Lord Maitland assures me Lord Castlereagh will not be staying to dinner.” —Auntie had little trouble switching to the preferred name.— “Perhaps luncheon, he said. I must rush down to Mrs. Gibbons. Was there ever such a day! And to think I had despaired of getting you bounced off satisfactorily, when Fairfield turned out to be such a disappointment.” Fairfield was now permitted to be the simpleton he was.

  She turned and dashed to the door, then turned back. “It all has to do with the pigeons, you see,” she informed me. “Something about war messages sent abroad, but it is a great secret. Not a word to anyone, even the servants. Imagine, those stupid birds being such a blessing in disguise.” An echo of delighted laughter hung on the air after she left.

  I soon followed her downstairs. I felt self-conscious, and shy of meeting Snoad. I wondered how he would behave. I need not have worried. He wasn’t there. Bunny was. Mrs. Gibbons had endeavored to make him presentable. He told me that Snoad had ridden out to meet Lord Castlereagh.

  “I lent him my mount,” he explained. “Mean to say, since our lives depend on him. I thought it best to butter him up any way I could. Seemed very civil, considering.”