Spyfall

by Carter, Elizabeth Ellen

  Lillian began to pour herself another large drink, despite Nate leaving his there untouched. He headed for the door.

  “How about the fact her name isn’t Linwood?”

  The revelation surprised Nate less than it might, despite the fact he and Susannah had yet to talk in detail about her life before St. Sennen.

  “So what if she chooses to go by her maiden name?” he shot back, belatedly realizing it was a mistake to engage in any way with Lillian Doyle.

  She leaned back on the cushions and stretched her arm along the bolster and offered a slow, malevolent smile.

  A gross mistake.

  “Darling Nate… Linwood is not her maiden name either.”

  Nate turned to open the door and refused look back at her again. “I don’t particularly care, Lillian.”

  “You should. You should ask yourself why a woman who appears to be the very model of propriety has gone to so much effort to hide her past,” Lillian called after him. “It certainly makes one wonder if there was not more to the late Mr. Moorcroft than either of us know…”

  *

  Slam!

  The front door to The Queen’s Head was shoved violently closed.

  Susannah started as the tower of glasses before her rattled but caught only a glimpse of Nate as he stormed past and stomped his way upstairs.

  Behind her, the kitchen door opened and Peggy peered out.

  “What on earth is going on?” she asked. “It sounded like a herd of cattle going up the stairs.”

  “Nate went to see Lillian Doyle today. I suppose the interview didn’t go well.”

  “Are you going up to talk to him?”

  She felt her brow pucker into a frown.

  “Why?”

  Peggy looked at her as if she were some kind of half-wit.

  “He’s just gotten back from the home of that Jezebel in a temper. Trust me, he’ll want to talk to a sympathetic face.”

  “Whenever Jack got in one of his tempers…” She suppressed a shudder.

  “Do you honestly believe that Nate Payne is anything like Jack Moorcroft?”

  She was forced to shake her head.

  No, Nate wasn’t anything like Jack. Not even his display of anger a few moments ago filled her with the roiling dread that accompanied her husband’s arrival home in a temper.

  Peggy pulled a bottle of brandy down from the shelf next to Susannah.

  “You promised you were going to tell the pirate about Jack. Take this up and gauge his mood. If he growls, leave him with the bottle. If not, have a drink with him. Go on Duch, perhaps he’ll tell you about his Mrs. Doyle. Let me put it this way, he couldn’t get in a worse temper.”

  Susannah accepted the bottle and took two clean glasses from her stack. She headed for the stairs, where she hesitated at the foot.

  “Go on,” Peggy urged, peering around the corner of the bar and waving her on her way.

  Susannah wrinkled her nose and started up but, before she could take more than a couple of steps, she heard the sound of feet coming down the stairs two at a time.

  Nate cleared the landing before he spotted her and came to a stop. He searched her face a moment before spotting the liquor and glasses in her hand. Surprise ebbed to wry amusement.

  “You thought I needed to drown my sorrows?”

  “I thought… maybe… um… yes?”

  She examined his face thoroughly, looking for a hint to gauge his mood. Perhaps she had made a complete cake of herself. She held her breath waiting for him to say something, anything.

  “We need to talk,” he said suddenly, as though he had come to a conclusion. “We can decide whether we need to have a drink afterwards.”

  Susannah worked hard to keep up the same swift pace as Nate, making conversation impossible as they walked over the Arthyn Hill headland down to the beach. It was early afternoon and the sun was still high in the sky. To the south, thick grey clouds gathered.

  As they drew closer to the caves they had visited just a few days before, their pace slowed and the urgency to speak became greater.

  What if she was wrong to believe that to talk of Jack and her marriage would conjure back up the darkness? What if saying the words could break the spell of her nightmare years?

  “There’s something you should know about me,” she began, walking beside him but not looking at him. “My name is not Susannah Linwood. My legal name – my married name – is Susannah Moorcroft.”

  He remained silent. She risked a glance sideways and saw the corner of his mouth twitch, but didn’t know the cause of it.

  She returned her gaze straight ahead. It would be easier to tell him the truth if she did not have to look at him.

  “My husband, Jack, was a criminal receiving stolen goods. But I didn’t realize how involved he was until after his death when I was going through his papers.” A shell in the sand caught her eye, one perfect half of a bivalve. She stopped to pick it up, pleased to have something to occupy her fingers other than turning her wedding band round and round.

  “I didn’t know Mr. Gilliam turned a blind eye to smuggling until you arrived,” she continued, “but I couldn’t be involved, no matter how benign it might seem. Everything I owned was suspect, bought with the proceeds of crime. I wanted a fresh start – to get away from everyone and everything that my husband’s memory tainted.”

  “Including his name,” said Nate.

  “Especially his name.”

  “And Linwood was your maiden name?”

  “No, it was the name of the cottage where I grew up. It had so many happy memories, I chose it in the hopes it would bring happiness for me here.”

  Now that she had started, the words came easier. The storm clouds stayed out on the horizon and the creeping dread of her fears disappeared in the beautiful summer’s day.

  “I had to use my legal name for the publican’s license, but when we moved to St. Sennen, I made Peggy vow to never tell anyone my name or my past. When we were here a few days ago, I gave her permission to tell Clem, and I told her I would tell you.

  “I hope… that is… if you think there is a chance for something more than friendship between us, then I thought you deserved to know.”

  They walked in silence for a few yards more. Nate put a hand on her waist to steer her away from the shore and up toward the caves until they were in the lee of the wind.

  *

  Nate was glad Susannah had fixed her attention to the beach ahead as she spoke. The last thing he wanted was for her to see his face and the relief he knew was written on it.

  Lillian’s words had bothered him more than he wanted to admit and, during his angry walk back to The Queen’s Head, he cursed the woman for planting a seed of doubt in his mind.

  He hadn’t appreciated how cynical he had become of women and the notion of love until he met Susannah. Because of her, he was changing and, hopefully, for the better.

  He was beginning to fall in love with Susannah, and the thought of any part of her was an artifice jabbed like a knife in the ribs. Even before she had told him, he knew she must have good reason for keeping her past to herself. Knowing she entrusted him with her secret was a gift.

  “I’m honored that you trust me,” he said.

  Susannah briefly dabbed her eyes, whether from the wind or from burgeoning tears, he didn’t guess.

  “It’s taken me such a long time to trust,” she said. “When Jack died, I was numb. I spent the first three months afraid I’d only dreamed it. Every male voice I heard, I thought was his returned.”

  Nate swallowed against the bile that rose in his throat.

  She rolled the seashell over and over in her hand and he was glad for the silence to give him time to fight the boiling fury in his veins.

  “I have another confession to make,” she whispered. “After those three months, I became glad he was dead.”

  He pulled her into his embrace, holding her close until her silent sobs subsided and his hammering heart slowed enough so th
e sound of it didn’t fill his ears, and the visceral violence that welled from within settled back under the control of his rational self.

  Susannah shifted in his arms. He looked down at her beautiful blue eyes staring back at him, sparkling with unshed tears.

  You’re safe with me.

  It seemed right to whisper the words in her ear. “You’re safe with me.”

  And it seemed right to put his lips to the lobe of her ear and listen as she took a shaky breath. The press of her body against his shot a bolt straight to his groin.

  “I’m safe with you,” she whispered back.

  He embraced her fiercely, his eyes screwed tight and his jaw clamped firmly shut to prevent a surge of emotion from breaking him completely. Then when it became too great to contain, he channeled it into kisses across her face, her hair, her cheeks. His hands roamed her back until they cradled the back of her head. His fingers wound their way through her hair, now loose from their pins.

  “Nate, please.” Her voice was breathless. She wanted him. He was sure he was not mistaken in her desire for him but, nevertheless, she pulled away. And, being the male he was, his attention was fixed on the rise and fall of her breasts as she sought to control her breathing.

  “This is too fast,” she said, panting as though, indeed, they’d each run a mile.

  He couldn’t deny he wanted to make love to her and, if she had been willing, he’d have taken her there on the sand. He squeezed his eyes tight to force the vision of it from his mind.

  “I know widows are supposed to have a reputation,” she added with forced humor, “but nothing I experienced with my husband makes me keen to repeat the experience.”

  The confession, lightly delivered as it was, sobered him. He was a cad.

  He breathed in deep and nodded. A gentle touch of her hand on his reminded him his eyes were closed. He opened them to find Susannah looking back at him.

  “Be patient with me, Nate, please.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  Susannah continued chopping vegetables while watching through the kitchen window as Nate split firewood for the stove.

  He removed his shirt in the heat of late afternoon sun and her body reacted, knowing how his muscles felt under her hands.

  “Enjoying the view?”

  Peggy’s question may be innocently phrased but Susannah knew her friend well enough to know it was laden with additional meaning.

  “It is very pleasant,” she said, unable to hide a knowing smile.

  “Aye, and I see that it is, you saucy minx. Will there be chimes of wedding bells in the near future?”

  Susannah set the knife down before she dropped it and chopped off a finger.

  “What? Of course not!”

  The question was startling. What on earth did Peggy think? That a little flirtation with an attractive man was more than what it was?

  Jack had accused her of being frigid, which was his excuse to seek his release elsewhere. A mistress or a prostitute, she didn’t know who exactly. All Susannah knew was that he would come to her bed wearing a shirt that smelled of smoke and a cloyingly sweet perfume.

  I know widows are supposed to have a reputation. But nothing I experienced with my husband makes me keen to repeat the experience.

  She’d meant every word she’d said on the beach, but Nate’s kisses had helped her uncover a desire she didn’t know she owned.

  But, in truth, she could be nothing more than a diversion to him. A man like Nate was too full of passion and adventure to stay in one place for too long. Eventually, he would sail away on the Sprite to whatever quest awaited him with Adam Hardacre.

  “Well, it would be a shame to let a good man like that get away, that’s all I’ll say on the matter,” Peggy sniffed.

  Susannah glanced back at her friend with a wry smile.

  “I hardly think that is up to me. I’m content with life as it is. I promised after we moved away from Lydd, I would be grateful for today and little else. Nothing more has changed. Let’s see you well married to Clem first before we start thinking about me.”

  Peggy harrumphed and went back to her cooking.

  *

  “I need you to remember.”

  Nate stared at his fresh pint rather than at Adam Hardacre, watching the thin layer of froth sink back into the dark liquid. The man seated opposite had been strung tighter than a violin ever since he returned from Truro two nights ago.

  “I’ve spent the past three months trying for forget.”

  But the truth of the matter was, he couldn’t forget. Fragments of memories surfaced – emaciated faces, festering wounds turning black and gangrenous from poor treatment.

  Damnation.

  Forced to look at them in his mind’s eye, it would a long time before he would sleep tonight.

  Adam knew all this and yet the man looked implacable. Nate shook his head and let out a put-upon sigh.

  “I was there for a month when they brought in sailors from the HMS Starbeck. Two hundred of them. Three months later, seventy-five were dead. Another fifty wished they were. The French had little enough for themselves so the prisoners were down to quarter-rations.”

  “When was this?”

  “November. I can’t give you an exact date. Each day felt very much like another in that place. Although I do remember one day there was a bit of agitation amongst the officers. We figured some important people were expected and it turns out we were right.

  “Three men came into the barracks but they were in civilian dress, not uniforms. They were very specific about who they were looking for.”

  “How do you know?”

  “We were made to line up by our bunks for an inspection.”

  “Did you recognize these men?”

  “No, but they were recognized by at least one prisoner. He started to say the man’s name when one of the French guards pistol-whipped him. After that, everyone held their tongues. If anyone else knew them, they kept it to themselves. The visitors pulled three of them, petty officers I suppose, and took them away. I never saw them again.”

  “Can you remember the name the man said?”

  “No. It began with the letter ‘B’ but that was as much as he could get out before he was cold cocked.”

  “Describe him. The man he recognized.”

  “About our height, brown hair, a younger man, aged mid to late twenties. And I’m pretty certain he was English.”

  “What makes you say that?”

  “His French was very good but formal, mannered. He didn’t speak the language of the working Frenchman. And he just looked English.”

  “What happened after that?”

  “I never saw them again – nor the three men they took with them.”

  “Could you identify him again if you saw him?”

  “I would.”

  Nate had watched Adam’s face carefully during their exchange. He knew exactly who ‘B’ was and God help whoever it was because Adam Hardacre looked like a man who was ready to kill the bastard where he stood.

  Then the pieces fell into place.

  Harold Bickmore. The traitor. The former friend…

  He took another gulp of his beer. He felt he was standing on the edge of a cliff, one step beyond and he would plunge headlong into Hardacre’s intrigue. He didn’t want to do it. There was a very nice life – a safe life – emerging for him right here in St. Sennen.

  But his goddamned curiosity got the better of him. One question was enough to nudge him over the edge.

  “So, I take it finding Bickmore is more than professional?” said Nate.

  A light of surprise flared in the other man’s eyes before he picked up his own glass and saluted him.

  “Until my dying day. Have you ever thought you knew someone? Someone you could trust with your life?”

  Lillian Doyle’s face passed before him. Nate nodded but didn’t volunteer his experience.

  “I would have put my life in Harold’s hands willingly – in fact I did, man
y a-time at sea when he was my commanding officer,” said Hardacre. “At first, I didn’t see his betrayal. I refused to see it, even when the evidence was right before my eyes.”

  Adam lowered his voice. “Even when he had my wife hostage, he had such a way that a few well-chosen words would have me believing the opposite to be true,” he said.

  “It was only afterwards, when I followed the line of inquiry for myself that I could see the depths of his deception. So yes, it’s personal and, yes, I have no doubt his intent was to hold my wife to ensure my cooperation.”

  “Cooperation for what, exactly?”

  “That’s what I want to find out, because it was one hell of a set up,” said Adam, pitching his voice low. “Sir Daniel Ridgeway is convinced that Harold believes I have the key to something, some information, but I’ll be damned if I know what it is.”

  Hardacre pitched his voice even lower. The only sign of his agitation was a rough hand through his fair hair, the tattoo on his hand standing out against it.

  “That’s why I’m pushing so hard for information about your time in France. I know you’re not willing and I know the questions I ask may not make sense, but none of this does when there are pieces missing.”

  A group of men barreled through the front door of The Queen’s Head. Nate watched as they made their way to the bar where they were served by Susannah.

  “You need to come to Truro with me.”

  Nate wasn’t sure he heard properly. He turned back to Adam.

  “We could do with good men like you,” Adam continued.

  “Thanks, but I already have a job.”

  Judging by the tic in the man’s jaw, Nate’s answer wasn’t well received.

  “Look, I’m happy for you and your band to hire my boat, but that’s all. I played my bit. I’m no spy and I’m not sure there’s enough gold in England to get me to go back over to France again.”

  Adam’s eyes lowered to the table a moment. When he raised his head once more, his face was a mask.

  “Agreed – a boat and a skipper,” he said. “And if France is out of the question, then what about Ireland? You don’t have any objection to that do you?”

  Nate sat back in his chair, drained the last of his pint and set the glass down with a thud.