The Intrepid Miss Haydon

by Alice Chetwynd Ley

  Peering cautiously round the crack in his door, Sir Richard saw that the man was neither Grenville nor the spy, and guessed that it must be Thomson, the valet. Evidently he had been sent to collect the bag, for he did not linger, but at once took it up and went out of the room.

  This indicated that the others were about to move. He must be off, too, if he were to arrive ahead of them. He emerged from his hiding place and crossed to the door, ready to open it when he had given Thomson sufficient time to move away.

  To his dismay, he heard voices outside. He was ready to dive for cover again when he realised that they were going past the door, not about to enter. A moment later, a few creaks warned him that someone was using the back staircase. Taking a risk of being seen, he silently turned the doorknob and opened the door a fraction so that he could peer round it.

  Three figures were descending the stairs, their backs towards him. Their way was lit by the candle carried in the valet’s hand. Sir Richard swore softly as he closed the door. They were evidently leaving by the back door; which was his intended exit, and, indeed, the only one to which he could be sure of finding his way from here. There was nothing else for it but to allow a short interval for them to get away, and then to follow with all speed. He would need to watch out for Thomson, as it was certain that the valet would remain in the house. Doubtless his function now was to lock the rear door after his master had left.

  He fumed at the delay, but too much was at stake to risk a confrontation yet. He would wait five minutes and then follow.

  This he did. He managed to negotiate the first flight of stairs without too much difficulty in the dark, but was obliged to throw caution to the winds and use his lantern to locate the second. He had just found it and was about to descend, when Thomson, bearing his candle, appeared at the foot.

  Sir Richard drew out his pistol.

  “Not a sound,” he commanded, “if you value your life! Stand still.”

  The valet obeyed, the candle wavering in his trembling hand.

  Sir Richard rapidly descended, the pistol pointing unerringly at his victim, until they stood face to face. The valet’s was now an unhealthy pallor.

  “Have your master and the other man gone?” he asked. Then, as the valet nodded: “You’re certain they’ve left the house? Speak, man!”

  Thomson moistened his lips. “Yes — I — I — shut the door after them but — but a few minutes since—”

  “I’m sorry about this,” said Sir Richard, as if apologising for a social solecism, “but it does seem the best way if you’re not to make yourself a nuisance.”

  He suddenly pocketed his pistol and lashed out at Thomson’s chin with all the strength of a punishing right.

  The valet went down like a log, the candlestick falling from his hand and extinguishing itself.

  Sir Richard stepped round him, dashed to the rear door, and let himself out.

  He began to run.

  Corinna was recalled to a sense of her surroundings by the boy with the mule cart jerking impatiently at her arm.

  “Miss, miss, come away, do! Jack said not to stay, an’ I must get back to the farm, miss, an’ I’ve to tak’ ye to Friston first, so I reckon we’d best get started — come along, miss, won’t ye?”

  She yielded at last to these entreaties, giving one last, lingering look down the cliff before turning to move towards the cart. The boy put out his arms to help her climb up, then paused suddenly, his ears alert.

  “Someone’s a comin’, miss,” he informed her in a whisper. “Du’nno who it be, but reckon I won’t stay to see. Up wi’ ye, then!”

  She heard for herself the steady tramp of approaching feet and felt a sudden surge of panic. Could this be the mysterious passenger arriving earlier than expected? Like her companion, she had no desire to discover. Quickly she scrambled up into the cart and almost fell back on to the floor as the lad urged his mule forward.

  “Halt! Who goes there?”

  The challenge rang out sharply before they had covered more than a few yards. The boy ignored it, frenziedly whipping his beast to greater effort.

  Two figures emerged from the gloom. Suddenly a pistol shot rang out, whistling past the boy’s ear. Even as he pulled up the cart in panic, one of the figures ran forward to snatch him from his perch and fling him savagely to the ground. He lay there with the breath driven from his body, too terrified to move a limb.

  Corinna, cowering down in the cart, uttered a piercing scream as the same man pounced upon her. By the light of the lantern, she saw with alarm that he was the assailant of yesterday.

  He dragged her roughly from the cart and pulled back the hood of her cloak to see her face.

  “Diable!” he exclaimed. “It’s your doxy, Grenville!”

  The second man rushed towards them, and, trembling, Corinna recognised Fabian Grenville. He pulled her from the Frenchman’s grasp.

  “For God’s sake, what are you doing here, ma’am, alone and at this hour?”

  She stared wordlessly into his pale, strained face. Shaken though she was, she realised she could attempt no explanation without betraying Madeleine.

  “Hell and the devil, what’s to do?” he burst out, as she remained silent. “We’d best put her back in the cart and let the lad take her out of this!”

  The spy stepped back a few paces.

  “Stand aside, Grenville!” he ordered. “She’s meddled enough — we’ll see an end of the bitch!”

  Terrified, Corinna saw that he held a pistol levelled straight at her heart. All at once, she found her voice and screamed at full pitch.

  “No!” shouted Grenville. “For God’s sake, no!”

  He stepped in front of her.

  At the same moment, another figure came hurtling out of the shadows, pistol in hand.

  “Halt in the name of the law!”

  Half fainting now, Corinna knew it was Richard’s voice.

  Several things happened together, too swiftly for her to follow in her dazed state.

  The spy fired. Grenville, hit, collapsed at her feet. She heard the bark of a second shot, saw the spy spin round towards his opponent, then drop in his tracks, the pistol falling from his hand.

  A rush of feet coming up the cliff, and then Jacques Fougeray dashed forward to the cart, a knife glinting in his hand.

  “Take a look at ’em, Fougeray,” said Sir Richard coolly. “Be with you in a moment.”

  He went quickly to Corinna, who was staring down petrified at the inert form of Grenville. He placed a strong arm about her, looking anxiously into her face.

  “Are you hurt, my dearest? Have you any injury? Tell me, for pity’s sake, my love!”

  To his immense relief, she managed to shake her head.

  “N-no,” she said, clinging to him. “I’m unharmed — but Mr Grenville—”

  She stared in horror again at that motionless form, and shuddered. Sir Richard’s arm tightened about her and she clung to him, shaking from head to foot.

  Fougeray, who had gone first to the spy and found that life was extinct, now came to stoop over the other casualty.

  “That one’s finished,” he said briefly. “I’ve left it to you to search him.” After a moment, he straightened up. “This man, too — shot clean through the heart.”

  Corinna uttered a low moan, and Sir Richard felt her body sagging against him. He lifted her in his arms and placed her gently in the cart. Then he removed his coat to make a pillow for her head.

  “Swooned, has she?” asked Fougeray. “Just as well, perhaps. I dare say she’ll recover after a good night’s rest. Is there anything more I can do to assist, my friend? It did not go quite as planned, but the end’s the same.”

  Sir Richard turned from his anxious contemplation of the prostrate Corinna.

  “No, nothing more — the rest is for me to settle. You go now, Fougeray, and my thanks.”

  “What about you, my lad?” asked Fougeray, as the farm boy, having plucked up his courage after his assailant
had been shot, crept back to the cart. “You’re all right, eh?”

  The boy nodded.

  “I’ll square accounts with him,” said Sir Richard. “I could wish for a more comfortable vehicle in which to convey Miss Haydon home, but it will serve.” He held out his hand. “Go now, Fougeray — safe voyage for you both, and a fair future. My regards to mademoiselle.”

  The Frenchman clasped his hand warmly.

  “My good wishes for you, too, mon ami. Adieu — or it may perhaps be au revoir — who knows?”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  A fortnight later Corinna and Lydia were sitting with their Mama and two younger sisters in the drawing room of their home at Tunbridge Wells. No scene could have been more peacefully domestic, and for once Corinna had no complaint to make about this. She felt, indeed, that she had thoroughly satisfied her appetite for change and adventure, and would now ask for nothing more than a quiet life.

  She and Lydia had come to Tunbridge Wells a few days after the violent events at Birling Gap. She shuddered still whenever she recalled that night; but mercifully the soothingly familiar routine of life amidst her family banished for the most part these unpleasant memories. It had been at Sir Richard’s suggestion that Lydia had taken her sister home. She had agreed wholeheartedly, especially as Mrs Haydon’s recent letters had complained that they were all missing Corinna.

  They had seen little of Sir Richard since he had brought Corinna back to Friston House on that fateful night. He had stayed only long enough to place her in Lydia’s care, saying that he had much still to do before he could think of sleep, so he would return to his own home for what remained of the night.

  He had called briefly on the following day, obviously still much occupied with the aftermath of yesterday’s violence, and inquired after Corinna’s health. He did not see her, for at Lydia’s insistence she was indulging in a protracted lie-in to recuperate after her ordeal. He stayed only long enough to satisfy himself that she had taken no lasting harm, and to recommend an early removal to Tunbridge Wells.

  The two sisters had put their heads together in order to present Mama with a carefully expurgated account of the death of Fabian Grenville. They had told her that he had foolishly been involved in some illicit dealings with the local smugglers, and one of them had shot him. Naturally, she was very much shocked, and in the first few days after hearing this dreadful news, she had persisted in exclaiming over it repeatedly in horrified accents.

  It was Lydia who succeeded in putting an end to this by saying roundly that the less Corinna heard of the matter, the better.

  “Oh, to be sure, of course! How very thoughtless of me, my love! Poor child, do you think she is dreadfully cut up? Of course, you and I both know quite well that she wasn’t truly in love with him, but I dare say she feels badly, all the same. We must think of some plan to divert her mind. Perhaps I could give an evening party with some dancing — not a ball, of course, but just an informal affair. The younger girls would love that, too, wouldn’t they? I could invite some of her admirers — it may be that she will turn to one or other of them, now that there is positively no hope of—” She broke off, slightly embarrassed at what she had been about to say. “Well, at any rate,” she concluded, “I will certainly avoid all mention of his name for the future! I’m grateful, my dear, that you did just give me a hint, for I fear I do tend to run on at times.”

  Lydia was tolerably certain that, although the shock of Grenville’s death had naturally somewhat subdued her sister’s spirits, she was not grieving for him as the only man she could ever love. For some time now — in fact, ever since Corinna’s return from France — Lydia had noticed a change of attitude. On several occasions lately she had tried to invite her sister’s confidence, so far without success.

  The two of them were shopping in the Pantiles parade one morning, a pleasant colonnaded walk lined with trees, when they saw a familiar figure strolling towards them. Corinna, losing her clutch on a bandbox she was carrying, started impetuously forward.

  “Richard, oh, Richard!” she exclaimed, extending both her arms, an eager expression on her face.

  He took her hands in his, smiling down at her with his blue eyes alight.

  “You’ve dropped your parcel,” he said, releasing her after a moment and stooping to retrieve the bandbox. “How d’you do, Lydia? Have you had news of John yet?”

  Lydia took his outstretched hand, noticing with surprise as she did so that Corinna was actually blushing.

  “Oh, yes, a letter came yesterday, forwarded from home. I have it with me, in my reticule, and I’ll read it to you — that is, parts of it,” she amended, blushing herself.

  “Then I suggest we sit down on that bench,” he went on, indicating a vacant seat outside one of the shops. “Did you bring the carriage, or did you walk across the common?”

  “We brought the carriage, of course. I am not near so addicted to walking as Corinna, recollect! It’s to take us up in half an hour, so there’s time enough for you to hear John’s letter.”

  They seated themselves in the shade of the colonnade, and Lydia gave her husband’s news. Stripped of its more personal content, the letter was not a lengthy one. John’s ship was at present taking part in the blockade of the French Channel ports, but might sail for the Mediterranean eventually. He was not only in the best of health, but obviously glad to be in action again; although some of the sentences which Lydia refrained from reading may have ameliorated this impression.

  Sir Richard listened, questioned, and commented, then said that he had himself already written to his brother, but so far received no reply.

  “Oh, but there’s a message for you!” cried Lydia. “As there is for all my family, too. He says — ‘Give my best to old Richard, and I hope to see him spliced by my first leave.’ There! But he doesn’t say to whom,” she added with a mischievous grin.

  “Hm,” commented Sir Richard dismissively. “And now perhaps you will want to hear my news.”

  He was taken aback by the startled look which Corinna turned suddenly upon him.

  “It is merely,” he said, in mild surprise, “an account of what followed upon the scenes of violence in which you were unfortunately involved, Corinna. But if you’d prefer me to be silent” — he studied her face intently — “pray say so at once.”

  “No, no,” she insisted. “I thought perhaps you were about to speak of — but no matter for that! Lyddy and I are curious to know what happened afterwards, and it’s better you should tell us while we’re alone, for we’ve kept most of it from Mama. Except, of course,” she added, in a weaker tone, “the one fact which had to be told.”

  “Grenville’s death?” he asked gently.

  She nodded.

  “Very wise, if I may say so. Have you seen any of the notices in the newspapers? They were likewise discreet. For security reasons, the powers that be kept the full facts from the journalists, so there was no widespread scandal.”

  “What happened to the local smugglers?” asked Corinna. “Have they been apprehended?”

  He shook his head. “There was no way of tracing them for certain. The one man taken into custody was Thomson, the valet, as there was evidence enough that he was involved. The smuggling fraternity in our neighbourhood are wisely lying very low. Dragoons have been riding by night through the village and the surrounding area, and a Revenue cutter is keeping watch off Birling Gap. There’ll be no more ferrying of spies in those parts, and all smuggling will stop for many a long day.”

  “But did Madeleine and her cousin get safe away? You haven’t heard that they were caught?”

  Her voice trembled.

  “I am confident that they succeeded in escaping,” he reassured her. “I was so closely concerned with the authorities in this affair that I should most certainly have been informed had they been captured. But I’ve heard nothing, and it’s a fortnight since. Rest assured, my dear girl, that your little friend is now safely in France.”

  She brea
thed a deep sigh. “Please God it may be so!”

  “But how did Grenville first become involved in that dreadful business?” demanded Lydia, who had so far been listening silently while she stowed her precious letter away in her reticule. “And when did you first suspect him, Richard, for one sees now that you did?”

  “It happened quite by chance. While we were in Paris, I visited Perrin’s gaming rooms one evening, chiefly to keep an eye on young Laurie. Grenville was there, and I happened to overhear a conversation in the cloakroom between him and another man, a Frenchman whom he seemed not to know at all. The Frenchman evidently knew a deal about Grenville, however — that he was short of money and that he owned a house on the coast of Sussex. He hinted that there were easier ways of getting into funds than” — he hesitated, then continued — “than those which Grenville had been unsuccessfully pursuing lately, and told him that Napoleon paid well. That was all I heard, but it was enough to give me food for thought. My friend at the embassy had told me that Boney’s agents used the gaming houses for their intrigues, but at that time I could not quite see why they should be interested in Grenville.”

  “Oh!” exclaimed Corinna. “But later, of course, when we were back in England, and — he — had settled in the house, and appeared to have plenty of money at his disposal—”

  “Exactly so. Especially when reports came to me from your little French friend of mysterious late-night visitors, and Laurence discovered a connection with the smugglers. I began to put two and two together, and a vastly unpleasant sum it made.”

  “You don’t know — I never told anyone this, except Madeleine — but he tried to pretend to me that he was giving shelter to English agents. You see, I went to the summerhouse at Eastdean Place to leave a message for Madeleine, and that dreadful man was there — the spy, I mean. He attacked me, and then Mr Grenville came and sent him off. That was when he told me this — this untruth. At the time, I didn’t know what to believe.”

  “Did that occur before I brought you news of the French spy?” asked Sir Richard.