Love, Lies and Spies

by Cindy Anstey

  “Yes…? Indeed…?”

  “Indeed, yes. I would very much like to meet your father.” He squeezed her arm gently and, finally, looked down to meet her eyes. “And spend more time with you. However, I am under an obligation that might take some time to be resolved. I cannot come to call until then.”

  “Does this obligation have to do with the Pyebalds?”

  “I’m afraid so.”

  As they stepped together over a particularly deep rut in the path, Juliana was put in mind of the day that they had first met. On this very cliff. Spencer had never explained his presence. Juliana hesitated, pulling Spencer to a halt with her. She half turned, verifying that Carrie and Bobbington were enjoying their own conversation—not interested and unable to participate in theirs.

  “You have been watching the Pyebalds ever since I met you, I believe.”

  “Yes.” Spencer nodded slowly.

  Glancing out over the water, Juliana stared east—in the direction of France. “Smuggling or something more serious?”

  “Both.”

  “I should be surprised, but I am not. A more devious family, I have never encountered. There is no honor in them. Are you assisting the War Office?”

  Spencer nodded again.

  “So, Bobbington was never interested in Vivian.”

  This time he laughed. “No.”

  Juliana swallowed with some difficulty, and her heart beat faster. But it was the rhythm of fear, not excitement. Could it be that Spencer’s interest in her was insincere as well? “And our pretense—to feign an attraction. Was that for king and country, too?”

  Much to her distress, Spencer smiled—as if her query were in jest.

  “Mr. Northam? Please … I…”

  “That was the purpose, Miss Telford, originally, of course. But, as we both know, the pretense has long since subsided.”

  Lifting her hand to her bodice, Juliana giggled. At a time like this, one would hope to retain some dignity, but no … her immense relief had pushed out a giggle. Most unbecoming. But Spencer did not seem to notice, for he was staring … at her hand?

  “Why do you do that?” he asked. “As if you are reaching for an object of some sort.”

  It took Juliana a moment to understand his question. “Habit, I suppose, and a new one at that. I had my mother’s locket for only five months or so and yet … well, I wore it every day and felt a connection with her because of it. I lost it. Here, in fact. The day I went over the cliff.”

  “A locket? With a fleur-de-lis?”

  “Yes.” Juliana was taken aback. “Have you seen it?”

  “Indeed. I found it some weeks ago.” Reaching into the pocket of his waistcoat, Spencer pulled the etched silver locket out and draped it across her palm. “I have carried it ever since. You’ll have to have the clasp fixed, but other than that, it is no worse for wear.”

  “I can’t believe it. I thought it was gone for good. This is marvelous.” She turned toward Carrie, holding it aloft, but her cousin merely squinted in her direction. Juliana would show her later.

  Spencer grinned. “Pray tell me, why does it sport a fleur-de-lis?”

  “Mama was French, you know,” she said, holding the locket tight against her bodice again.

  “I didn’t. In fact, I thought it might have been dropped by someone with nefarious intents.”

  His tone was light and teasing, but a sudden foreboding drained Juliana’s euphoria.

  “Mr. Northam?”

  Spencer’s lovely, lopsided smile disappeared. “Yes.”

  “Is your obligation dangerous?”

  “No, of course not,” he answered much too quickly.

  * * *

  THE NEXT FEW DAYS PROVED TO BE DIFFICULT FOR Juliana as her Spencer-time was not at all adequate. Disappearing for an hour … or two required a significant amount of subterfuge. Fortunately, Carrie devised a multitude of reasons for Juliana’s absences, ranging from the plausible—lost in a good book—to the more unlikely—sleeping until the day was half gone. Apparently, there were bug-hunting excursions as well. Juliana tried not to cringe at that excuse.

  She would sneak off early in the morning to sit with Spencer as he and Bobbington whiled away the foggy mornings. Propriety would force her home before too long … with only the occasional jaunt back to the cliff with perhaps a cushion or two for comfort, a sheaf of papers to note various fascinating insects—if Spencer was so inclined—or a light snack around teatime.

  Spencer had explained that now that Lord Winfrith was in the vicinity, his needs were met—but Juliana saw no evidence of it: no blanket to prevent the seeping damp, no pastries to fill grumbling bellies, and no novel to provide entertainment … well, perhaps the book was not wise. It mattered not, she had brought it back.

  Father’s company proved to be a great distraction, as Juliana could not spend every waking hour with Spencer—and Bobbington—on St. Ives Head, as much as she would have been pleased to do so. Fortunately, a bevy of lady beetles was discovered behind the potting shed. Father and Juliana spent their afternoons in quiet mutual contemplation, as had been their habit at Hartwell. At last Juliana could think of something other than Spencer.

  “Somerset is known to be a beautiful part of the country, Father.” Juliana nodded to herself as she sketched a busy beetle stalking an aphid.

  “Hmmm. So you have said.”

  “And Fells, the lovely village of Fells—I have heard that they have Coccinellidae aplenty.”

  “Really? Have you been there?”

  “No, Father, of course not.” Juliana lifted her head, turning toward St. Ives Head. She could see nothing, naturally; the cliffs were too far away. She tried not to worry, but recollection of Spencer’s ruined coat prevented any complacency on her part. Smugglers and traitors were not the nicest of people and could lash out when cornered. Her greatest fear was that next time someone aimed for Spencer, he or she would not miss.

  With a deep sigh, Juliana returned to her sketch. “Bath is in Somerset, you know.” She looked up when there was no reply and met her father’s questioning gaze.

  “Is that relevant, Juliana?”

  Lifting her cheeks, Juliana tried to smile. “No, I suppose not.” She dropped her eyes back to her paper, surprised to see that she had not been sketching the lady beetle at all but a mouth with a lopsided smile.

  “I think I will go with you on your beetle hunt tomorrow morning. Perhaps we will have more success if we go together.”

  Juliana’s stomach plummeted; she didn’t want to lose those precious moments spent with Spencer. “No need, Father. It’s far too early. I’m sure I will find us another place to study on my own.”

  “I’ll come with you.”

  “No, no, there is no need.”

  “I’m coming with you.”

  Juliana tried not to grit her teeth, but the effort forced a sigh from her.

  “Is all well?” dearest, most frustrating Father asked.

  “Absolutely.” Flipping her paper over, Juliana began her sketch anew. “Cheddar comes from Somerset, you know.”

  “I didn’t.”

  Juliana sighed again and tried not to think of Spencer.

  * * *

  JULIANA ROSE EARLIER THAN HAD BEEN HER CUSTOM for the past four days. The sky was full of promise, but the sun had not yet peeked over the horizon, which was obscured by a band of heavy fog. As the sun climbed higher, the thick mist would dissipate, but for now it clung to the coast, offering Juliana the prospect of a dreary walk to St. Ives Head.

  Much too early to expect any kind of breakfast, Juliana was surprised to find Chester waiting by the front door. “I’m going to walk in the garden,” she told him as she yawned, using her usual excuse.

  The footman reached for the door handle as he spoke in a hushed tone. “Of course, Miss. Though I must warn you—”

  “Well met, Juliana. I wondered if the hour was too early, but I see not.”

  Juliana closed her eyes and took a deep brea
th—the sound could have been mistaken for a groan. Then, with eyes open and bright, she turned.

  “Father, what a lovely surprise.”

  “Surprise? No, my dear girl, we had an appointment.” His smile was boyish and at any other time would have been contagious. “We are off on an adventure.”

  “Right.” Juliana stepped across the threshold, smoothing her skirts with a little more force than necessary and nodding her thanks to Chester. Glaring and staring through the haze, she started to cross the front lawn. There was a bed of roses near the main entrance that could be counted on to have a lively colony of aphids—and, therefore, a gorging lady beetle or two.

  “No, Juliana, I had it in mind that we should look in a wilder setting. That might have been your problem, looking in all the same places. I would like to discern the differences with the woodland variety. To understand what it is that they eat.”

  And then without a by-your-leave, he left.

  Juliana raced after her father, trying to coax him in the other direction—away from the woodland path that led to St. Ives Head, but he would not be swayed. He rounded the manor in jig time and veered away from the formal beds closest to the house. He trudged toward the informal garden, and Juliana relaxed until she realized that he was going to tramp right through the meadow.

  “It’s too dark to enter the woods yet, Father.”

  “Don’t be afraid, Juliana. There is nothing to worry about. See the sun is up enough now—there, there, see. I can make out the path just fine.”

  Disturbingly, his words were true. Not only was the light increasing with each passing minute, but the path was also clearly defined. And it was a path of her own making; it had not even existed before she had begun her daily—twice daily … thrice daily treks to the cliff. Juliana was sick—her father was walking into trouble and she had provided the means.

  “Father, Father, please. Stop.” Juliana could not let her father continue; she had to tell him. He was putting not only himself but also Spencer, Bobbington, and their mission in jeopardy. “Father, please. Stop and listen to me. We can go no farther.” It was not a literal statement, for they were advancing even as she spoke. Juliana’s only glimmer of success was that he had slowed. Then, he turned, frowning.

  “What is going on? Juliana, are you mixed up in something … something havey-cavey?”

  Juliana laughed, softly—with little exhalation, as she was very conscious of their nearing proximity to the end of the thicket. “No, Father. You need not fear that I would do something untoward. It is just that we—well, we need to be quieter. We don’t want to attract attention or make too much noise.”

  “I don’t think you need to be overly concerned, my dear. I can barely hear you over the racket as it is.”

  And with that comment, Juliana understood that her anxiety for her father had rendered her deaf to the sounds surging through the shrubbery. There were screams and shouts and … the sound of a pistol firing.

  “Oh no.” Grabbing her skirts with both hands, Juliana lifted them well above her ankles and ran. Horrible visions involving blood and dying breaths leaped into her mind. Her eyes blurred with tears, and her lungs complained about the lack of air. She ran, tripped, picked herself up, and ran again.

  When she burst out of the thicket, a chaotic scene met her panic. There were many players, far more than she had expected. A portly gentleman held a struggling Lady Pyebald—who was shouting some very unladylike words. A short man, dressed in brown, stared at the grappling pair as he lowered a smoking pistol. Vivian, scuffling with Bobbington, continued to scream senseless drivel in the midst of the mayhem, and Spencer—wonderful, whole, undamaged Spencer—stood near the cliff’s edge staring out to sea through an eyeglass. The corners of his mouth were curved up.

  All was right with the world.

  And even as that thought passed through her mind, the world convulsed.

  Vivian broke from Bobbington’s grasp and rushed toward Spencer, arms outstretched. In an instant, Spencer was gone. Vivian had pushed him off the cliff.

  CHAPTER

  18

  In which a young gentleman lying on a ledge will eventually accept a young lady’s help

  A SHRIEK RENT THE AIR—SO LOUD AND SO FULL of anguish that it cut through every other sound, leaving an eerie silence in its wake. All eyes turned toward the edge of the abyss. Expressions of horror crossed the men’s faces, and Juliana felt on the verge of collapse. Forcing her way across the clearing, on trembling and yet stiff legs, Juliana approached the cliff. She had to see, she had to …

  With a gasp, Juliana allowed the tears to stream down her face, and then she laughed. It was a pathetic display of relief, but it was the best that she could muster in the circumstances. Bobbington, unaware of what Juliana had seen, reached out for her.

  “Miss Telford, come away. Please, come away.”

  “Well, I like her just where she is,” Spencer said, pushing himself up onto his elbows. He looked down at his muddied trousers with disgust. “I must say, this business is playing havoc with my wardrobe.” He looked up at Juliana with mischief in his eyes, ignoring the shouts and whoops echoing across the clearing. “I am rather glad that I didn’t stand over there.” He pointed to that tiny, fateful ledge that Juliana had clung to on their first meeting. “This ledge, well, being four feet wide and only two feet down will make it easier to climb back up onto terra firma. Rather embarrassing.”

  “Oh, I don’t know, sir. Your situation looks more dangerous than embarrassing to me. Would you like some assistance?”

  Spencer’s expression became pensive. “I would hate for you to ruin that lovely gown of yours, Miss. Could you, perhaps, find a farmer or a fisherman who might render me that service?”

  Juliana made a show of looking around and then shook her head in mock despair. “I am afraid, sir, that there are no farmers or fishermen about—not even a shopkeep.”

  “Oh dear, that does put me in a bit of a sticky situation. I shall be considered completely beyond the pale if I am dashed upon the rocks.”

  “Best not do any dashing then. Merely a suggestion. You can, of course, do as you wish.”

  “Well, perhaps I will take you up on your very generous offer of assistance.” Spencer hopped to his feet.

  Laughing, she reached her hand down, almost tipping over when he grabbed her wrist. Once raised to the same level, Spencer paid no heed to anyone else and stood facing her at a very improper distance.

  “I am so sorry to have frightened you, my sweet Miss Telford.” He lifted a muddy hand to her cheek, brushing away her tears—likely leaving a dirty smudge in its wake.

  “It was not your doing. There was no doubt of Vivian’s intent—we were just very lucky.”

  “Yes, in many ways.” Spencer turned to look out to sea and pointed to a small boat shrinking in the distance. “That means success, and it also means we can now concentrate on other matters—more personal matters.”

  “Oh!” With a start, Juliana remembered her father, and she whirled around. She swallowed with some difficulty when she saw that Father had followed her to the cliff’s edge and now stood a mere ten feet away. She could not read his expression as it kept changing—surprise, puzzlement, concern?

  “Oh, Father. I’m…”

  “Juliana, I believe there to be a reasonable explanation for all this—” Father gestured in the direction of the foulmouthed Lady Pyebald, but he continued to stare at Spencer. “Shall we begin with an introduction?”

  Juliana felt a warm rush to her face, and she stepped away from Spencer to establish a respectable distance. “Yes, of course, Father. I would like to introduce you to Mr. Spencer Northam.”

  “Pleased to meet you, Mr. Northam,” her father said as if they were bowing to each other in a drawing room. He paused, considered, and volleyed his eyes back and forth between Juliana and Spencer. He seemed to be on the verge of saying something … and yet the minutes continued to pass without his doing so.

 
; Juliana felt the tension of the moment; it grew tighter and stretched to an unbearable point until she realized that the strain was hers and hers alone. Neither of the gentlemen was bristling. In fact, they looked quite relaxed, and if they were sizing each other up, they appeared to like what they saw.

  Finally, Father spoke. “Would I be correct in assuming that you have an estate in Somerset, Mr. Northam? Near the village of Fells.”

  Spencer laughed. “Indeed, sir. Lovely part of the country.”

  “As I have been told.” Father winked at Juliana. “I also have it on good authority that Fells has a fine colony of beetles that requires a lengthy study.”

  Spencer’s expression became serious—though a hint of humor threatened to reestablish his grin. “It might take years,” he sighed with great drama.

  Father jerked his head in agreement to some unexpressed question, and he smiled … somewhat sadly. “Come, my dear. This has been far too much excitement for me this morning. Feel an irresistible urge to stare at some roses and make notations.” He gestured for Juliana to join him but set off before she had done so.

  “I must go.” Juliana felt she had no choice. “Will you come to Grays Hill soon?”

  “As soon as I can.”

  With a nod, Juliana glanced again at the small boat disappearing over the horizon and then hastened to her father’s side.

  * * *

  EARLY THE NEXT MORNING, a knock at her bedroom door roused Juliana from a trancelike state. She had woken at her usual time only to realize that she no longer needed to rush out to see Spencer. He would not be waiting on St. Ives Head; he would soon be coming to Grays Hill. Soon being a relative term, as he would likely wait until early afternoon to call—though certainly before three.

  With a sigh, Juliana regretted the necessity of waiting Spencer-less all morning—and not for the first time wondered who it was that had thought up all the rules of propriety and etiquette, and why they had to be obeyed so absolutely. Really, it was outside of enough.

  In fact, she considered persuading Carrie to join her for a carriage ride … in the general direction of Lord Bobbington’s manor. You never know whom you might meet while …