Memoirs of a Hoyden

by Joan Smith

  “I wish you would reconsider, Nel,” Ronald im­plored.

  “I’ve thought and argued and begged Papa, but he says I must marry Alfred, before he changes his mind and has Miss Stokely. I have no choice. Surely you can see that.”

  “Let me speak to your father, Nel,” I said. “When he learns how desperate you are, I believe he’ll recon­sider.”

  “Marion’s very good at persuading people to do what they don’t want to do,” Ronald told her.

  She cast an assessing look at me and took her deci­sion. “Very well, I’ll wait till tomorrow, but I won’t marry Alfred Harcourt.”

  “That’s a wise decision,” I said, and smiled in relief. “Now go back to your bed, Miss Longville, and try not to worry. I promise you one thing: If your papa insists on your marrying Mr. Harcourt, you can come to stay with me in London till he changes his mind.”

  She looked her thanks—to Ronald! Really, the girl had no social graces. I didn’t in the least relish having her around my neck, but on the other hand, I do not go along with parents forcing their children into unwanted matches. I would always be ready to take a stand on that matter. “Would you like Ronald to go and tell Mr. Kemp what happened? Is he waiting somewhere nearby for you?” I asked.

  “Oh no. I was going to go to his house,” the idiot replied. I began to think I had done Mr. Kemp a favor as well in ridding him of this peagoose.

  Ronald took her to the door and watched while she slipped into her room. “That was very kind of you, Marion, offering Nel a refuge,” he said.

  “I hope to God it doesn’t come to that, but if it does, I won’t renege on the offer. I don’t suppose you’ve had much opportunity to keep watch on the window?”

  “No, but nothing happened while I was watching. I say, Marion, is that a lump on your forehead? What happened—did you fall off the vine?”

  “No, Sir Herbert knocked me out,” I said, and re­counted my adventure. “Get dressed at once, Ronald. I hope we haven’t lost track of Kestrel. He’s convinced that scoundrel of a Sir Herbert is innocent, just because they’re in the sheep-raising business together. I’m con­vinced it was Longville who knocked me out. Who else could it be?”

  “Of course it was. A man who’d force his daughter into a bad marriage obviously has no scruples. But never mind Kestrel, it’s Sir Herbert we must watch.”

  “Kestrel said he had some other ideas as well. Long­ville might have some of his servants in on it with him. I daresay that’s what he meant. While you dress, I’ll creep along the hall and see if I catch Herbert leaving his room. Not that I think for one minute he is in it.”

  I didn’t know which room was Sir Herbert’s, but it would be one of those with a closed door. Nel’s was closed, my own, and a few others along the hallway. I tiptoed past them, and from one I heard the unmistak­able sounds of a man snoring. Ronald and Kestrel were the only other two gentlemen in the house, and I knew neither of them were sawing logs. I felt a sinking sen­sation that Sir Herbert had already completed his night’s dirty work while I was otherwise occupied. Such was his villainy that he could place his head on a pillow and sleep like an honest man, after betraying his country to Napoleon, and his daughter to Alfred Harcourt. Hang­ing was too good for him.

  When Ronald came out, I told him about the snoring. He was more interested in Nel. He looked lovingly at her closed doorway. There were no snores from that direction. “I hope she meant it when she said she’d wait till morning,” he worried.

  “What on earth do you see in that child?” I asked, for it was clear as a pikestaff Ronald had a tendre for her.

  “Why, she’s so pretty!” he answered.

  “A provincial squab, pretty? A watering pot with neither sense nor judgement nor pride, to be running to a man in the middle of the night, begging him to run away with her? You’ve lost the use of your wits, Mr. Kidd.”

  “But she’s so helpless, Marion. Not like you, able to handle anything. A man feels the urge to help a lady like that.”

  I remembered Kestrel’s kindness to me downstairs when I had been attacked. A lady in distress had mo­mentarily softened the heart of even that wretched man. If a lady had any taste for marriage, she would be wise to feign incompetence, or hire some cruel stepfather to force her into an unwanted marriage.

  “Do you happen to know Kestrel’s Christian name?” I asked.

  “I’ve no idea. Why do you want to know that?”

  “Just curious.”

  * * *

  Chapter 8

  We slipped quietly downstairs into the dark hallway. Ronald wanted to see where I’d been attacked. I took him to the room, we closed the door, lit a candle, and looked around for clues.

  “Obviously this is where Sir Herbert received the message from the spy,” I ex­plained. “The door leading outside was left off the latch. I believe the letter had already been passed over to him, and he delivered it to whomever he reports to after knocking me out, then went up to bed.”

  “Then you’re saying the whole thing is a fait accom­pli,” Ronald pointed out. “You didn’t see the man with the letter enter by the French doors, or come out again while you were lurking there?”

  “No, not while I was watching.”

  “Why would Sir Herbert have hung about in the dark room after he got what he was after? It would be more logical for him to turn it over to his contact at once.” Ronald has a way of using jargon that would make you think he’d been an expert forever at whatever new mat­ter we’re involved in. That “contact,” which Kestrel had used only once, came out as smooth as cream.

  “The other possibility is that he hadn’t received it yet,” I pointed out. “He thought I was the spy, and when he realized I wasn’t, he knocked me out.”

  “And went upstairs to sleep without receiving the letter?” Ronald asked, with a face that said he expected better of me.

  “If he wasn’t waiting for the letter, then why was he here?”

  “There’s no proof he was here. You don’t know it was Sir Herbert.”

  “As Kestrel explained, the leak begins at the F.O.,” I said, and peered to see if Ronald recognized the ini­tials. He nodded his comprehension. “There are no other F.O. employees living near here. This is where the spies were bringing the letter, according to Kes­trel.”

  Ronald lifted a doubtful brow. “I thought Kestrel be­lieved Sir Herbert innocent.”

  “He doesn’t like to admit otherwise, but he acknowl­edges there’s no one else it could be. At least that’s what he said.”

  “Yes, what Kestrel said. And according to you, Kes­trel only came to your assistance after you’d been knocked senseless. Who’s to say he isn’t the one who hit you? What I’m getting at is that Kestrel lives nearby, and he works at the F.O. We only know what he chooses to tell us, Marion, and at times it sounded like a bag of moonshine. We both noticed he didn’t put up any fight when he was robbed. It almost seemed he wanted to give over that letter.’’

  “He explained all that. He did want to give it over, so he could follow the spies and find the ringleader. If you’re implying that he is the leak, Ronald, you’re sadly off the mark. Why would he bother chasing after those spies if all he wanted was to give secrets to Boney?”

  “Perhaps because you questioned him about his pe­culiar behavior—the way he left his pistol in the curri­cle, and drove the coach instead of being ready to defend himself. He needed some explanation when you chided him, and that’s when he came up with the story of try­ing to catch the ringleader. I found that tale of the cut wheel pin in London pretty fishy myself. I believe he had it done so he could transfer to the coach. The tim­ing of it was very convenient.”

  “Why would he want to transfer to the coach?”

  “So he’d have witnesses that he was robbed, and didn’t just hand over the orders. That way they’ll be­lieve him innocent in London, and give him other doc­uments to deliver. When you insisted on helping him— do you remember how he fought it?”
<
br />   “The only reason we’re here is because he thought I had money,” I nodded.

  “He had to go through with the farce of letting on he was following spies because we stuck to him like burrs all day. We never caught a sight of any spies.”

  “No, but we found Cooke’s Bible, and the merchant’s trinkets. And the farmer who let us jump his fence saw them. He said there were three men headed this way.”

  “We know there were three men,” Ronald persisted. “Naturally they were coming this way—toward the coast at least. I expect they went to Dover or Romney Marsh, where the smugglers are as thick as crickets, and Kes­trel’s led us off here on a merry chase while the docu­ments go off scot-free to Boney. He was just distracting us, Marion. If you weren’t so busy rolling your eyes at him, you’d have seen it long ago.”

  “Let us not get into a dissertation on rolling eyes, Mr. Kidd. I never saw such a disgusting display in my life as your smiling and simpering at that half wit of a girl. If I hadn’t chanced along, you would personally have escorted her into the hands of Mr. Kemp, to fritter away her fortune. I was not rolling my eyes at Kestrel— though now that you mention it, he was trying to flirt with me when I was lying on the sofa.”

  “Was he, by Jove?”

  “Yes, and that’s why he did it! He didn’t want me to start thinking of other things, such as his unexplained presence in the room. Though really, I did hear a scuffle in the hall.” I really had seen a shadow of concern in his eyes, too, as he leaned over me.

  “You were half-senseless. You could have imagined it.”

  “If the spies are home free with the documents, why does Kestrel bother hanging around here?” I pondered this a moment and found my own explanation. “Unless having told us there were spies on the way, he must act as though it were true. I mentioned going to Castlereagh to offer our services, you know, and Kestrel wouldn’t want us telling any tales that jeopardized his reputation. He was quick to discourage me. He’s trying to convince us that his story was true. We’re wasting our time, Ronald. That letter is already on its way to France. I’m going to bed.”

  Just when I thought everything was settled, Ronald came up with a new idea. “Of course, it’s just possible that Kestrel was supposed to meet the spies here to­night, and plan new strategies,” he said. “I mean, a man like Kestrel—he isn’t just some minor cog in the machinery. He’s obviously the ringleader himself. As he’s remaining here, at Longville Manor, there must be some reason.”

  “The reason is that he’s trying to convince us he was telling the truth.”

  “Perhaps,” Ronald said doubtfully. “Or perhaps he’s arranging how the next set of orders from the F.O. can be stolen. He won’t want to go on using highwaymen forever. That would begin to look suspicious after a while. You run along up to bed if you’re tired, Marion. I believe I’ll just hang around down here for a while and see what happens.”

  He knew there wasn’t a chance in a million I would retire when he said that. I disliked the notion of Kestrel being guilty of treason, but that was mere sentiment. Just because a man has long eyelashes and a gentle touch on your hair is no reason to be blind to reality. All men’s chests are warm and protective at close range, even traitors’. Ronald could be right. The very fact that it was Ronald and not myself who saw the possibility showed me I had not been sticking to facts as closely as I should, and usually did. I, who prided myself on using my head!

  On one thing I was in complete agree­ment with my secretary. If Kestrel was guiltily involved at all, he was no one’s pawn. He would be the ring­leader. Why he should have involved himself on the wrong side wasn’t clear, but there is no accounting for treachery. He might have imagined he suffered some wrong at the hands of the government, or he might be doing it for money.

  As we stood, thinking, there was a little movement of the doorknob. We exchanged a frightened look, I blew out the candle and flew behind the sofa, and Ron­ald just stood like a moonling while the door opened and someone came in. I don’t know how he knew who was there, but Kestrel said, “Is that you, Mr. Kidd?”

  “Kestrel?”

  “Yes, what are you doing here?”

  “I was just—Marion told me about being attacked, and I came down to see if I could find any clues.”

  There was the scraping of a flint, and from behind the sofa I discerned a slight lessening of the shadows.

  “Did you find anything?” Kestrel asked. He sounded worried. The criminal does return to the scene of the crime, I’ve read.

  “No, I was just beginning to look. I daresay it was the spies who hit her,” Ronald said leadingly. “What do you think, Kestrel?”

  “I expect she walked into a door and was ashamed to say so.” My fingers curled into fists, and I had to force myself not to point out that I was nowhere near a door when I was hit. “Does she always go off half-cocked as she did on this occasion?”

  Ronald cleared his throat nervously, very much aware of my listening ears, and said, “She’s rather head­strong.”

  “The woman is a menace to society. I don’t know how you put up with her. Is there any truth at all to those tall tales she rattles off with such nonchalance?”

  “Every word is true—nearly.” I was smiling to my­self till Ronald added that demeaning “nearly.” “She omits my part in our experiences. Actually, I am the one who went out to argue with Prince Nasar in the desert. Marion did back me up very efficiently, how­ever. ‘‘

  “If a quarter of what she’s broadcasting so loudly to the world is true, there isn’t a polite saloon in London that will be open to her.” Hah! Tom Moore would be surprised to hear that! “Folks may go to hear her sto­ries, but if she has in mind making a match, she’s going about it the wrong way.”

  “Marion isn’t interested in marriage.”

  “All women are interested in marriage,” Kestrel said comprehensively. “Especially when they reach her years. How old is Miss Mathieson? Not much short of thirty, I should think?”

  I tried to direct the thought into Ronald’s head that he should shave half a decade from my thirty-two years, but the message didn’t reach him.

  “She’s well over thirty,” I heard my secretary say. Two years is hardly “well over”! “But she was never interested in marriage, even when she was the right age for it.” Oh, thank you, Ronald. That was a brilliant speech. “In fact, she first went traveling to avoid her relatives’ urgings that she settle down.” Well, at least he got that right!

  “Anyone special they had in mind for her?”

  I knew I shouldn’t have railed so hard against poor Mr. Lambert. “Some fish merchant,” Ronald replied. Kestrel emitted a snort of amusement. Mr. Lambert was not a fish merchant. He was a very prosperous owner of a fishing fleet. The objection was not to his calling but his personal appearance, which too closely resembled the cod his ships brought home from the coast of Newfoundland.

  “I should think those travels cost a pretty penny. Where did she get the blunt?” Kestrel enquired. What I longed to shout from behind the sofa was, where did Kestrel get the gall, inquiring so minutely into my back­ground? I wished Ronald would give him a good set-down.

  “Her family has money,” Ronald said vaguely.

  “Where does the family live?”

  “They don’t live anywhere.” He made me sound like a gypsy! “Her parents are dead now. Her papa was a captain in the army. She followed the drum with him, which is where she got a taste for travel.”

  “I wonder Beau Douro didn’t clean up the Peninsula long ago with Miss Mathieson to assist him.”

  Ronald laughed weakly, not knowing what answer would please me, but he knew he had overstepped the boundary in claiming he had confronted Nasar alone, while I “backed him up.” We faced Nasar together, and it is my slight oversight in not including his name in that section of the memoirs that he was repaying me for. If he was a step ahead of me, it was no more than that.

  Kestrel soon tired of discussing me. “Let’s
have a look around here for clues,” he said, and lifted the candle to begin scouring the room to see what he’d left behind.

  I hunched low behind the sofa, ready to move aside if he came that way. Ronald foresaw this possibility and lit a candle himself, ostentatiously looking behind the sofa and saying, “There’s nothing here. Have you found anything, Lord Kestrel?”

  “Nothing new. Just Miss Longville’s riding crop, which was here earlier.’’

  “That’s odd!” I could hear the interest in Ronald’s tone, and hoped the ninny wasn’t about to blurt out Nel’s little spree. He had too much respect for the girl to do so. “Anything else?” he asked.

  “No, there’s nothing here. I’m going down to the coast.”

  “What for?” Ronald asked suspiciously. It immedi­ately occurred to me that this was the first time Kestrel had ever volunteered a single word of his activities. Why was he suddenly taking Ronald into his confi­dence?

  “We still haven’t intercepted the spies,” Kestrel pointed out. “I thought they’d bring the letter here, but there’s been more than enough time for it, and it hasn’t turned up.”

  “Maybe Sir Herbert has got it already.”

  “No, he hasn’t had any privacy. He was just in his office for a while, and I kept a watch on the door all the time. Sir Herbert can’t be our man. But the spies were approaching Longville Manor. Someone here has already intercepted the letter. We must get it before it leaves the country. To reach France from here, it must go by sea. And that is why we’re going down to the coast.”

  “I” had suddenly become “we,” and as I crouched behind the sofa, I was struck with the awful idea that the only reason Kestrel wanted to get Ronald out of the house was to do away with him. My attachment to Ron­ald was of long standing. For a few years we had been together constantly, living through incredible dangers and excitements. He was as dear to me as a brother, and I couldn’t let him fall into such danger. Yet to rise up from my concealment and suddenly announce my presence seemed equally impossible. Would it not be better to let Kestrel think he had Ronald alone, and follow them, providing protection from behind?