Spyfall

by Carter, Elizabeth Ellen

  Until then, she was not so concerned about reopening the other floor until the other was regularly occupied. It would happen in its time.

  What pleased her the most were the growing number of regulars who came out to dine and have a drink. And not just because she enjoyed their custom. She was beginning to enjoy their company, too.

  How good it was to learn to trust again. It was like seeing the sun emerge from behind storm clouds and seeing the rainbow filled with promise.

  Were those ripe strawberries in a patch ahead? She grinned. They were!

  She approached and sat cross-legged in the middle of the patch. There was an abundance of them! Tomorrow, she would make preserves.

  From the money left over from the day-to-day expenses, she had saved enough to pay for the renewal of the liquor license and, bit by bit, was saving enough to pay for more improvements.

  Like the materials for the chicken shed. As she picked strawberries, she listened to the sound of the coop taking shape.

  Across the way, Nate was at work hammering things into place. What a bit of luck his arrival was after all – and his willingness to work for his room and board. With the money she would have had to pay someone else to build it, she could now consider hiring a girl from St. Sennen to help Peggy in the kitchen.

  She was beginning to like Nate Payne as well.

  More than that, she was getting used to having him around. He volunteered to do the heavy chores even when they cost him – like two days ago when the new barrels of ale arrived.

  She saw the set of his jaw when he volunteered to go down into the cellar to remove the old kegs and store the new. It was always cool down there but when he emerged, he was sweating, and she was convinced not all of it was due to his labor but to his still weakened state from his imprisonment.

  She leaned forward, searching for more ripe red fruit. From beneath her hat, she looked back toward the inn where she could see the man at work.

  He was stripped to the waist.

  She ought to blush at that and look away. The only bare-chested man she had seen was her husband, whose body had been pale and soft. Yet even so, he had been so much stronger than she.

  There was nothing pale and soft about Nathaniel Payne. Certainly, his ribs showed and his arms were thin from starvation; his back was discolored with bruises from beatings. But his bruises would fade and a return to regular meals would fill him out. And still, in spite of his mistreatment, he was strong and muscled.

  Yet he had shown himself gentle; a gentleman despite his plain speech and no-nonsense manner. He was also virile and male. The few times their hands had touched, she felt… aware.

  Surely it couldn’t be desire beyond the basest sort. Besides, how wicked was she for letting her imagination go in such a direction? By the same token, how much loyalty did she owe Jack in death when he showed her none in life?

  She shook her head and rose to her feet. Further in the meadow, she thought she spied the light purple heads of mallow in flower. She went to investigate.

  It was not time to be distracted by handsome men. Besides, Nate and the Sprite would be moving on soon. She already knew a couple of the regulars had approached him about work. He would have his own place and own life to lead.

  Better she should concentrate on what she could control – her business – rather than the mysterious workings of human nature.

  Her rambling took her further up the rise to Trethowan where she could see the road that led to the headland and to Trethowan House, home to Martin Doyle and his wife, Lillian. She had seen the couple only twice since moving to St. Sennen – the last was at the Christmas dance held in the church hall.

  Doyle had remembered Susannah and introduced her to his wife. She appeared to be a few years younger than her husband. If Susannah had to hazard an age, she would have thought Lillian Doyle was closer to forty, than thirty.

  The woman was an aristocrat, born and bred; everything from her lustrous black hair dressed with pearl-topped gold pins, her fine features and clothes, exuded wealth and power.

  Susannah owned little of her own that was fine, apart from a pair of pale amethyst earrings surrounded by seed pearls. They had belonged to her mother. Everything Jack had bought her was sold, either by him when he wanted fast money or by her after his death. How could she possibly keep things when she did not know whether or not they had been stolen?

  She had worn her mother’s earrings on the night of the Christmas dance with a pale rose silk gown trimmed only lightly with lace. It was cut befitting a young matron.

  Mrs. Doyle wore a gown of deep blue which showed off her pale and unlined décolleté. When Doyle made the introductions, his wife had looked at her with mild disdain.

  “The Queen’s Head? I had no idea the place was still standing,” she said. “Such a disreputable place. I believe you have your work cut out for you, Mrs. Linwood.”

  “I am well up to the task, Mrs. Doyle, although I do not underestimate it.”

  Susannah watched the older woman’s face change to mild interest as she spoke. Susannah knew the reason why. Her speech was cultivated, educated, with none of the inflection of the local dialect.

  “You’re not from around here, are you?”

  “Mrs. Linwood is a lady. Did I not tell you, my dear?” Doyle interjected with sly humor. “How very remiss of me.”

  Susannah had been left in no doubt the oversight had been deliberate. Lillian Doyle knew it, too, judging by the brief expression of displeasure that flittered momentarily on her face then was gone.

  She ignored her husband and kept her attention on Susannah.

  “We’re going to London for the Season and we’ll be back in spring. I look forward to better making your acquaintance, Mrs. Linwood,” she said. “There is always room in our little society for people of quality.”

  When the quarter day in March that marked the beginning of spring came and went, then the date for tax collecting also passed without the Doyle’s return, Susannah ceased to think anything more of Mrs. Doyle’s invitation.

  She raised her face to the sun overhead. No, there were better ways to spend her day than joining Mrs. Doyle and her friend for tea and whist – such as helping Peggy prepare for the noon diners and for the supper meals.

  The sound of a coach – the crush of wheels on the gravel and the rhythmic trot of horses in harness – reached her before she saw it. Around the bend, the matched pair of black horses made their way steadily down to the crossroads. That meant it was heading toward the inn and not St. Sennen.

  Susannah removed her hat and put it in the basket to protect her haul of strawberries and mallows. She picked up her pace down the hill and across the field to The Queen’s Head. If she ran, she might just make it back before the coach came to a stop.

  *

  At a distance on Trethowan Hill, Nate watched Susannah break into a run. He looked about for its cause and could see nothing amiss, but felt the urgency of it clearly. Had she been stung by something?

  He dropped his mallet and set out at a jog and met her.

  “Go back,” she called when he was about thirty yards away. “A coach is coming. I’ll let Peggy know.”

  Nate raised a hand to indicate he’d heard her and turned back. He glanced up the road and saw the approaching vehicle – and inwardly groaned. He didn’t need to see the livery to know who it belonged to.

  Well, he supposed it couldn’t be put off forever. He would need to confront Martin Doyle, the man who owed him nearly two hundred pounds for the contraband goods that he and Clem had stowed in the smugglers’ caves on the beach below Arthyn Hill.

  The same man he suspected of arranging his arrest in France.

  Only one thing could be worse than seeing that snake. And that would be if Lillian accompanied him.

  He exchanged a glance with Susannah as she hurried around the back of the inn to go through the side entrance into the kitchen. Nate picked up the tools and dropped them in the trug before grabbing hi
s shirt to follow Susannah inside. There’d be no more work on the shed until this afternoon.

  He looked down at his sweat-stained breeches – hardly fitting for a business discussion. Nate started upstairs to his room when he heard the door open.

  “It’s an honor to see you, Mr. Doyle; Mrs. Doyle,” said Peggy in a mannered tone he’d never before heard. If he hadn’t known better, with those rounded vowels, she sounded like the housekeeper in a stately residence, rather than a cook at an inn. “Do take a seat. Mrs. Linwood will be out presently.”

  Nate hurriedly unlaced his boots and stripped out of his grey working breeches. He hung them and his shirt up to air. Then he poured water from the plain ewer into the bowl and picked up the sandalwood soap. He hurriedly washed before dressing once more in clean clothes.

  The latest haul was the last. If the revenuers had caught him, he’d have swung for sure. It was no longer worth it. Even the satisfaction of cuckolding Doyle was short-lived.

  He made his way quietly downstairs, deciding the best form of defense was a surprise attack. There by the bar was Martin Doyle, looking every inch the county magistrate. His roundish face made him look younger than his fifty-or-so years, his grey hair more distinguished than old.

  Today, he was dressed in a navy wool suit tailored to make the most of a figure still reasonably trim. His ensemble was finished with highly polished black boots and a black silk topper.

  Standing beside him was Lillian, fashionably – and no doubt expensively – attired in a gown also of dark blue, but of a lighter shade than her husband’s suit.

  “Good morning, Martin,” he said, descending the last three steps.

  The magistrate turned and stared at him as though he’d seen a ghost. The look of shock on the tuss’ face was unmistakable.

  That’s interesting, Nate thought. If Doyle was surprised to see him, perhaps it wasn’t him who had arranged the escape from prison…

  To the man’s credit, he recovered his composure quickly. Nate observed Lillian’s expression had not changed a jot.

  “Why, Nathaniel Payne, I thought we’d seen the last of you,” said Doyle.

  “Well, you know me; I keep showing up like a bad penny.”

  Doyle moved toward him stiffly, as though still uncertain whether he was flesh and blood or a haunting spirit.

  Nate wondered if a punch on the jaw might effectively establish his corporeal status.

  The magistrate wisely stayed well out of reach.

  No, best to suppress his violent impulse, reflected Nate. He stayed where he was, a few paces away from the stairs, but far enough into the dining room to see Peggy edge toward the door marked private which opened to Susannah’s quarters.

  “How long has it been?” said Doyle. “Six months?”

  “Ten. And we have business to discuss.”

  Doyle straightened, a smile snaked across his features, the same smug little prick he always was.

  “You can make an appointment like any other constituent, but now I have business to discuss with Mrs. Linwood.”

  Doyle turned to Peggy.

  “Will your mistress be much longer? You did tell her I was waiting, didn’t you?”

  Peggy dipped a curtsy but that was where all semblance of respect ended.

  “She is aware, Your Honor.”

  As though on cue, the private door opened. Susannah had changed into a blue dress, and her hair was severely pinned back. Nate owned to a private disappointment. He’d enjoyed seeing Susannah’s hair down. Now the reserved proprietress of The Queen’s Head had returned.

  “Forgive me for keeping you waiting, Mr. Doyle,” she greeted. “Your visit wasn’t expected and you caught me at work in the garden. I understand you wish to speak to me?”

  “I do require a moment of your time, Madam, especially to go over the books for the previous quarter’s taxes.”

  If Susannah was surprised at the request without notice, it never showed on her face. In fact, her face seemed made of marble – beautiful but expressionless and remote.

  “Yes, of course,” she said before opening the door a bit wider, giving Nate a glimpse into a room – he spotted a tapestry-covered settee with matching armchair and a hint of a desk – a private room that was off-limits to everyone but Susannah and Peggy – and now Martin Doyle.

  For some strange reason, it felt like a kick in the guts.

  *

  The wave of tension in the room had hit Susannah the moment she opened her parlor door onto the bar. Her eyes had fallen straight to Nate. He looked angry, no, more than that… ready for a fight. Mr. Doyle’s back was to her but, even so, she could see a line of tension across his shoulders.

  Surprisingly, the Magistrate’s wife maintained an expression of cool composure at odds with the air of hostility surrounding the two men.

  A glance sideways told her that Peggy, too, felt the tense atmosphere.

  Susannah was aware of a tingling in her toes and fingers, and her rapidly beating heart. Jack had made her feel like this whenever he came home. She never knew whether she would get affable Jack or savage Jack.

  Thank heavens for the mask of plain, neutral indifference she could conjure up at will.

  “Peggy, will you bring tea into the parlor and see to Mrs. Doyle’s comfort?” she asked.

  The magistrate did not even acknowledge her presence. He just pivoted on his heels, stalked right past her and into her quarters.

  *

  Peggy, uncharacteristically, said nothing, but bobbed a curtsy instead as Susannah followed Doyle into the room and shut the door.

  This was damned odd, and a touch alarming thought Nate. Peggy was acting like a servant while Susannah behaved like an automaton.

  “I’ll give you a hand, Peggy,” he called out, but the woman gave him a blank stare rather than a customary saucy retort.

  As he moved past Lillian, Nate felt the woman grab his arm. “So many months away and not a word for me?” she asked.

  Once upon a time, that seductively low and husky voice would have him standing to attention, but no longer.

  “How about ‘let go of my arm’?”

  “You’re angry,” Lillian pouted.

  Nate snatched his arm away. “Angry doesn’t begin to describe it, Lillian. I spent months in a stinking French prison, and I know your husband had something to do with landing me there.”

  She looked him up and down provocatively. “It doesn’t seem to have done you much harm.”

  He clenched his fists, forcing them to his sides. The most vile of curses danced at the end of his tongue. Nate was afraid that if he uttered them, he’d do so at a volume to bring everyone running, and if he raised his hand, it would be to strike – and he’d never hit a woman before in his life.

  He turned his back to her and chewed on his rage, pulling whatever control he had back under his mastery.

  “Goodbye, Lillian,” he ground out in a voice that didn’t much sound like his. “And this time, I mean it for good.”

  Lillian may have said something else, but Nate was too consumed with his rage to hear it. He shoved his way through the dining room door that led to the kitchen.

  *

  Susannah closed the door behind her as though a few slabs of wood could bar the hostility from entering her quarters.

  Now she could see Mr. Doyle’s face. There was a firm set to his jaw that revealed the man had not recovered from the shock of seeing Nate.

  He made his way to her settee and sat down unbidden. She didn’t like that. Only half of her parlor was for business – the part with the desk. The settee and chairs by the fire were her private sanctuary.

  She’d had a sense right from the beginning of their acquaintance that he’d like something more than financial consideration in their relationship. She had made it clear that the only business there would be between them would be purely professional. She had no desire at all to encourage any familiarity with the magistrate.

  “I suggest you will be more
comfortable at the desk, Mr. Doyle,” she said. “I encourage you to take a look at the ledgers. I’ve laid it out for you—”

  “How long has that man been here?” Doyle asked, his voice a mix of low annoyance and anger.

  “Mr. Payne has been boarding with us for the past couple of weeks,” she answered.

  “That man is a known smuggler who ought to be rotting away in prison. I would be very careful of the company you keep here, Mrs. Linwood.”

  Susannah placed a shaking hand on the high back of a wingback chair between herself and the magistrate. The tingling in her toes was making its way up her legs to her knees which wobbled, threatening not to hold her weight.

  She forced all her courage into her voice. “I run a very respectable establishment. I tolerate nothing dishonest at The Queen’s Head.”

  Doyle looked at her levelly as he rose to his feet. Susannah didn’t have any trouble keeping eye contact with him. Every word of what she said was true.

  “Nathaniel Payne has a hide showing his face around here again,” Doyle muttered as he made his way around her desk, sitting at her chair and turning the books around so he could view them. He pulled a small pince-nez from his inside coat pocket.

  He looked at her over the rim.

  “I trust these books are a true and accurate account of the transactions here? Nothing… under the table?”

  Susannah felt a flush of anger and used it to dispel her fear. She lifted her head haughtily.

  “They’re true down to the last farthing. I’ll get you your tax money, Mr. Doyle.”

  She turned on her heel and stalked into her adjoining bedroom. She let the door close loudly to give voice to her resentment. Susannah retrieved her locked cashbox from beneath the floorboards, between two joists and pulled out a small cloth bag.

  In it was everything Doyle was entitled to. And no more.

  *

  Peggy bustled around the kitchen at speed. Nate staked a position by the wall and kept out of her way.

  “What’s going on, Peggy? Martin Doyle has never collected taxes personally in his life. What’s his interest in Susannah?”