Spyfall

by Carter, Elizabeth Ellen

  He caught her momentary surprise in a small lift of her shoulders. She bowed her head a moment before raising it. Not once did she stop kneading the dough. What exactly had Lillian said to her?

  The longer it went without an answer, the worse he felt.

  After half a minute, Nate got to his feet.

  “If you’re going to refuse me, at least have the courage to say so.”

  And it was only then he saw the line of silent, silver tears running down her cheeks.

  He swallowed against the worst names he could call himself. He was the cause of those tears. Never did he feel so low.

  “It’s a kind offer made of pity, of chivalry, and I thank you for your regard for my reputation,” she whispered.

  “Oh, for God’s sake…” he began, hating himself because he knew she was right.

  “I cannot accept on those terms, for your sake as well as mine.”

  The rejection stung as much as his own self-loathing.

  He turned and walked out of the kitchen, unable to stop himself slamming the door behind him. He stalked back to the Sprite.

  By God, he was angry, and just as well that he was, otherwise he’d find the better part of himself who would turn back and wipe away the tears of the woman for whom he would give his life, the one he knew with shocking clarity that he loved without reservation.

  Except she didn’t love him in return.

  Chapter Fifteen

  The morning bells of Truro chimed five o’clock and Nate found himself outside Charteris House. The door was locked, so he pounded on it with the heel of his fist.

  He knew what a stranger must see – a man unshaved and somewhat disheveled making a racket. Nate knew he had enough of the madman in him.

  The front door was soon opened cautiously by a little man wearing a dressing robe. He stood not much over five feet by Nate’s reckoning. The man adjusted his thick glasses and peered up at him as he barged through the door.

  “You’d better come in, Mr. Payne,” the little man said as Nate pushed past him. The man’s voice hinted at boredom rather than sarcasm or annoyance. “We don’t want to attract unnecessary attention, do we?”

  Nate wasn’t sure what he was expecting as he entered the shop, but he was pretty sure a chandlery was not it.

  Opposite the door was a wall full of clocks, all keeping metronomic tempo, all dials bearing the same time: three minutes past five. The little man, too, didn’t miss a beat. He walked round the counter and fiddled with something behind a large map hung between two rods on the wall. Suddenly, a panel moved away from the wall, revealing a narrow staircase up to the next floor.

  “You’d better come upstairs while I send a messenger out. I imagine it is Lieutenant Hardacre and Sir Daniel Ridgeway you’ve come to see. This way, Mr. Payne.”

  “You know my name.”

  “I know everyone’s name,” he said as they reached the top of the stairs.

  Here, it looked like an architect’s or cartographer’s office. The room was large enough to house four drafting tables and it was filled with light from the large windows even at this early hour. In the corner, opposite the stairs, was an oak desk and a side table with an ornate silver tea service that was decidedly out of place.

  “Wait here, will you?”

  The man, who had yet to introduce himself, disappeared into one of the adjoining rooms. Nate heard voices then the sound of a pair of feet bounding down another set of stairs.

  The bespectacled little man returned.

  “Well, it will be at least a couple of hours before we can expect visitors. I suggest you freshen up so you don’t look like a vagabond. Then we shall have some breakfast.”

  “Excuse me, but who the hell are you?”

  “All in good time, Mr. Payne. Sir Daniel will be the one to tell you what you need to know.”

  Nate followed the man down the corridor. He opened a door to a room. It was small but comfortably furnished with a single bed, a mirror, and a washstand.

  “I’ll be back in fifteen minutes with hot water and shaving accoutrements. And tea.”

  Nate sat on the edge of the bed, weighted by exhaustion. He scrubbed his bristled face. Adam would think he was a lunatic. Hell, he was a lunatic.

  He’d worked himself up into a lather over the day and night it took to sail to Truro. Susannah’s face flashed before him now and his shoulders slumped. There was little he could do on that score no matter how overwound he got about it. Still, it frustrated him. He offered her everything and it still wasn’t enough to convince her of his commitment.

  Did she truly believe he offered marriage out of pity? Had her villainous lout of a husband poisoned the very notion of marriage? Or was the inn worth more to her than him?

  Or perhaps it was just him.

  Time away from her was the only thing he could think to do and Adam Hardacre promised one hell of a distraction from romance.

  Nate clung to it desperately.

  The door to the room opened. He started, surprised to have slumped into a half-doze on the edge of the bed.

  “Wakey, wakey, my good man.”

  Nate’s sour temper was sparked again and he snarled at the odd balding man who simply chuckled as he set down the tray on the washstand and closed the door behind him.

  The aroma of brewing tea finally pulled Nate from his stupor.

  It was time to put thoughts of Susannah aside. He needed more than just a distraction, he needed to push himself and deal with his dread of going back to France as he now must. The thought of that, and its reminder of his fear of dark, enclosed spaces was never far from his mind while he’d been sailing, a strong undercurrent to his present bad mood.

  Nonetheless, compared to Susannah’s demons, dealing with France and what Hardacre wanted to do there seemed a much easier quest.

  Two hours later, Nate entered the cartography room feeling rested and refreshed. Three men were waiting. There was the strange man from this morning, Adam Hardacre, and another man, older but tall and broad-shouldered, golden-reddish hair partly gone to silver.

  Adam undertook the formalities.

  “Sir Daniel, I’d like to introduce you to Nathaniel Payne, Nate to his friends. Nate, meet Sir Daniel Ridgeway.”

  Nate nodded in deference to the man’s title. Then his eyes slid across to the other man whose name he did not know.

  “Would you mind introducing me to the dwarf while we’re at it?” he asked.

  Adam laughed over the small man’s indignant interjection.

  “Bassett didn’t introduce himself?” asked Ridgeway. “He is our master forger and chief procurer, so we forgive him his peculiarities.”

  Bassett gave Nate a smug grin, folding his arms to boot.

  “As you’ve probably gathered,” Sir Daniel noted, “we don’t usually entertain unexpected guests, so may I ask what brings you to Charteris House today?”

  Nate turned to Adam Hardacre. “I’ve had time to consider your proposal. Count me in. France included.”

  Hardacre’s expression became one of surprise. “You seemed quite adamant to the contrary just a short while ago. What happened to change your mind? Susannah Linwood?”

  “Does it really matter? I’m ready and the Sprite is ready, that’s all you need to know.”

  Sir Daniel was the first to move, heading to his desk.

  “Do you realize this is not a pleasure jaunt? If this all goes balls-up, you’ll be back in a French prison once again. If you’re lucky.”

  Nate ignored the attempt to dissuade him.

  “I have nothing to come back to here, so it’s a risk I’m willing to take.”

  He saw Adam’s look of further surprise in his peripheral vision, but kept all of his attention on the peer of the realm in front of him.

  “Well, Adam here has already vouched for you, so there’s only one thing to do,” said Ridgeway. He thrust out a hand. “Nathaniel Payne, welcome to The King’s Rogues.”

  Nate returned the handshake w
ith equal vigor.

  Sir Daniel pulled out a slim gold pocket watch and glanced at it. “I’ll leave you in Adam and Bassett’s hands for the next few days. When we reconvene, I want a full plan.”

  And, like that, the man departed.

  Hardacre now took Nate’s hand and shook it, clasped in both his own. “At this point, I don’t particularly care what rush of blood caused you to change your mind, but I’m glad you did. I just hope it didn’t cost you too much.”

  Nate pushed any reservations he had to the back of his mind. If there was a plan, he could force down the fear of returning to France. He would worry about his relationship with Susannah, what there was of it, later.

  “So what’s the plan?”

  Hardacre glanced to Bassett. The man lost his impish humor and was suddenly all business.

  “Thanks to the information you brought back from Brittany, we’ve been able to make contact with our agents in France. We’ve also learned Harold Bickmore has made an attempt to contact them using old codes. And, not too long after, there was a raid on their rooming house. We have to get them out as soon as possible.”

  Nate found himself drawn to a large map of the Brittany coast that Bassett unfurled.

  “How many of them are we picking up?”

  “Two,” said Bassett. “But we have to find them first.”

  “You jest.”

  Bassett gave him a look of indulgent exasperation.

  “Mr. Payne, you’ll learn I never jest.”

  *

  September 1805

  St. Sennen

  “Now, the harvest markets.”

  Mrs. Johnston, the vicar’s wife, looked down at her notes and addressed the assembled group of half a dozen women.

  Susannah set down her cup of tea and opened the small journal beside her. She smiled at Miss Wood, the late rector’s spinster sister who ran the local Sunday school, as she reached out to help herself to one of Mrs. Baumann’s spiced ginger biscuits.

  On noticing her, Miss Wood gave a small wink and pushed the plate closer to her.

  “There has been a request to hold the apple bobbing as the first activity of the afternoon,” Mrs. Johnston continued. “And that will require extra apples. We went through three bushels of them last year…”

  Mrs. Johnston delegated tasks with the efficiency of a general, but not stinting on taking on work herself.

  Such a pity that Lillian Doyle didn’t make herself as useful.

  Susannah pushed the uncharitable thought down and wrote notes to take back to Peggy. Judging by Mrs. Johnston’s ambitious plans, they’d do a roaring trade on the apple sponge Mother Eve’s pudding.

  Discussion about the harvest markets continued until everyone agreed that all the logistics they could think of had been taken into account, and tasks allocated.

  Susannah relished the extra work. It was good to be busy. She could collapse into her bed every night and fall into a dreamless sleep. That’s what she wanted when she came to St. Sennen nearly a year ago and that’s what she wanted now that Nate was gone.

  At the sound of her name being called, Susannah drew her attention back to the meeting.

  “And finally,” Mrs. Johnston announced, “I think I speak on behalf of St. Sennen’s Ladies Guild to offer our congratulations on the upcoming marriage of your friend Peggy Smith to Clem Pascoe before the end of the year.”

  The ladies politely clapped in agreement.

  “I was sworn to secrecy until the first of the banns was read out at the pulpit last week,” the vicar’s wife confessed. “We were all wondering whether that dear man would walk down the aisle again.”

  Susannah accepted the good wishes and readied herself to leave the rectory for the walk back to The Queen’s Head. She declined the offer of a ride back to the inn. It was a pleasant late afternoon and, although it was late in the season, there was enough twilight to walk home if she didn’t tarry.

  She followed the road as it rose up out of the village and turned back to look at the view. The estuary and the sea beyond were silver. The hills were the deepest shade of green, almost black. But, by contrast, the whitewashed walls of some of the cottages glowed, reflecting the last of the sunlight.

  It had been three weeks since Nate stormed out of the kitchen – and out of her life. She had awoken the next morning to see the Sprite was gone. More startling was her own reaction. She was bereft, carved hollow. It was as though the past four months had been naught but illusion.

  But try as she might, Susannah couldn’t forget him. But how could she have done anything different? Words of love spoken in the heat of passion are too easily regretted.

  You’re a fool if you think he will stay. The past always catches up with one, don’t you agree?

  Lillian Doyle’s words were as true as they had been poisonous.

  If Susannah had accepted Nate’s proposal, would he have stayed? Would he come to regret his choice and chafe at a quiet life? She imagined he would. There was no denying he was one of Hardacre’s men now. He could not resist the pull of adventure the man promised.

  And she recognized now that she loved Nate more than she loved her own happiness. As much as it had cost her, she knew she had made the right choice that night.

  Unbidden, her imagination planned a happy reunion, where he would confess that he loved her, too, with his whole heart and without reservation. She would accept his proposal and they would be as happy as Peggy and Clem.

  But now it was time to make a clean break from her old life as she had determined to do twelve months ago. There was only one thing of those days that remained – the ledger; the final legacy from Jack. She had thought to use it for insurance in case any of his associates returned but, having seen no one for over two years, maybe it was time to finally cast off that weight.

  She would burn it into smoke and ashes; a fitting representation of hell if there ever was one. It was something she no longer needed. No one would find her now. No one could find her.

  She quickened her step. The light was disappearing faster than she had counted on. Instead of continuing along the road, she would take a shortcut along the path that ran by the creek.

  There was much to do before Peggy’s wedding. For nearly a year hers and Peggy’s partnership existed on a handshake. It was time to make their business agreement official.

  She smiled. It would be their wedding present.

  The late afternoon darkened into early evening, the sky dulling from blue to grey. The sound of the day birds finding their roosts mixed with the sound of the waking night animals. Behind her, there was a crack of a twig and the birds around her quietened a moment, leaving only the sound of croaking frogs.

  Then there was the rustling of grass that caused her to pause.

  A hare? A goat that had gotten loose? Or something larger still?

  The birds resumed their chorus and she continued.

  Crack!

  The sound was closer and louder.

  She turned around, looking for a figure in the gloom but saw no one. She quickened her steps, but the rustling continued, the sound of brushing against bushes beside the path, something pushing through. It was getting closer and would overtake her at this rate. She bent over to pick up a large stick to brandish as her pursuer emerged from the bushes.

  Woof!

  Prince barked once but his tail kept wagging furiously as he barreled toward her.

  “So much for a guard dog,” she told him. “You’re supposed to bark at strangers, not me!”

  The pointer moved to her side and sat down. He looked up at her, panting, until she patted his head.

  “Come on, let’s go. It’s time to help Peggy with the supper.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  “We did well tonight,” Peggy announced, throwing a tea towel over her shoulder. “The cooler weather is bringing them in, you know.”

  Susannah offered an uh-hmm in reply while she dried the glasses.

  “I’m working on a new menu,�
� the woman continued. “A rich beer pie and a pudding with the extra brandy that Lieutenant Hardacre gave us. We have some left over after we finished those brandied apricots. We don’t tell the folks the secret ingredients. That’s what will make it special.”

  Susannah simply nodded. Peggy offered a mild frown in return.

  “What’s up, Duch? I’d have thought after getting that letter from Sir Daniel Hobnob or whatever his name is, and the lieutenant, you’d be happy to know that the pirate is getting along all right in his new employment.”

  She shook her head. This was difficult enough without being distracted by thoughts of Nate.

  “It’s about you and Clem.”

  That kept her quiet. It was Peggy’s turn to frown.

  “A year ago, we arrived here in St. Sennen and this tumbledown inn,” she said. “Look at the place now.”

  And, indeed, Peggy looked about, casting her eyes around the bar and the dining room. “You’ve done a fine job.”

  Susannah shook her head.

  “No, it’s not me alone. It’s never been me alone these past two years. It’s been us. We’re partners, especially since we came here. We split the profits half and half. The Queen’s Head is as much yours as it is mine. Do you remember what I said when we first arrived?”

  Her friend stared at her a moment, as though Susannah had taken leave of her senses. “I thought you said that because you couldn’t afford to pay me proper wages.”

  “Well, yes, that was true in part. But I also knew I couldn’t make this place work without you. You’re the finest cook this side of Bath. And now that you’re getting married, one of the things I would like to do is make it official. A contract between the two of us.”

  “Blimey.”

  Peggy turned over one of the newly dried glasses and poured herself a small brandy. She lifted the bottle and raised her eyebrows. Susannah nodded. Peggy poured a measure into another glass.

  “I don’t understand,” she said. “What does me getting married have to do with anything?”

  Susannah smiled, picked up her glass, and shared a salute with her friend. “Well, it is customary for a wife to move into her husband’s home.”