An Unwilling Spy

by Janis Linford

  Peregrine gave Eugene and his cask a curious glance then leaned over the side towards her. ‘Here, give me your hands.’

  ‘We’re tied together.’ She spluttered as another wave swamped them. Peregrine ordered a man to lean out and cut their ropes. Two men hauled them aboard and Richard cried out in pain as his arm hit the edge. Peregrine gave her his coat, his face darkening as he took in their exhaustion and the bandage on Richard’s arm.

  ‘Return to the Gallien immediately,’ he roared to his men.

  The rowboat turned and she caught sight of Daniel’s shocked face. He’d obviously heard Peregrine’s call and seen their rescue — and the coat around her shoulders.

  Daniel stared at her then spat into the sea. ‘You bloody traitor!’ Then he barked out an order. The Fencarrow men spun their boat on the rise of a swelling wave and rowed fast towards the harbor.

  She clutched her stomach and almost wept. Daniel must have thought she was in the pay of the revenue officers — and that she’d played a part entrapping them in their smuggling activities.

  Tears choked her throat until she could barely swallow. She knew how it looked but the unfairness of the situation hollowed her. She would never betray him and her fellow villagers like that. Would she ever have a chance to explain or would Daniel carry this traitorous version of her back to the village and her family?

  As the Fencarrow boat disappeared so did her loyalty. Daniel’s disgust only amplified the gulf between them and the lingering sense of obligation to him finally and irretrievably broke. She could never love someone who didn’t trust her and there wasn’t any point in pretending she cared.

  Under Peregrine’s directive, the officers ignored Daniel’s crew and made for the lugger. Ironically her rescue meant the Fencarrow smugglers hadn’t had time to strip the Sagiterre. They probably wouldn’t thank her but at least they’d be spared from prosecution.

  A short time later they were sitting in a cabin Peregrine had made available to them.

  ‘Spare clothes,’ Peregrine said, coming in with a motley assortment of pants and shirts and cloths to towel them dry.

  ‘Thank you, sir,’ Richard said. ‘What’s happening with the men from the Sagiterre?’ The bandage around his wound had come loose and one end hung soggy under his arm.

  ‘I’ve ordered our rowboat out again to pick up as many survivors as we can find. The waves are hampering our efforts but I’m hopeful we’ll save a few.’

  A few? She clutched her painful stomach and inched in a tight breath. There had been so many men on that brig and they had treated her well.

  Peregrine’s eyes narrowed on Richard’s bandage then he came over and held his hand to her sweaty face. ‘You’re burning up. What’s wrong with you?’

  ‘A piece of wood … stabbed me.’

  Peregrine passed a hand over his face. Eugene, in the middle of drying his hair, turned pale.

  ‘As soon as we get to Portsmouth,’ Peregrine said sharply, ‘I’m getting the doctor to you all. Now get out of those wet clothes and rest.’

  He strode out of the cabin, trying to mask his concern, and Richard moved to her side. ‘You didn’t tell me you were hurt. Let me see.’

  She would have pushed him away but her arms didn’t seem connected to her body. Pulling Richard and Eugene through the water had fatigued her to the point of exhaustion. ‘I’m fine,’ she whispered.

  ‘You’re not. Let me take a look.’

  ‘Richard.’

  His eyes flared at the sound of his real name and then he gently pried her hands away. At his sharp, indrawn breath she knew he’d seen the hole in her dress. Blood oozed out of the wound, staining the fabric red.

  ‘For the love of Mary, how did you swim with that?’

  ‘I had to … save you and Eugene.’ Her eyes closed on a deep, exhausted sigh. Every part of her body ached. ‘You are … everything … to me.’

  Hours later she woke in the bottom bunk to find her abdomen bandaged. Her legs and arms were stiff and she could barely turn her head.

  Richard slumped in a chair on the opposite side of the room, newly dressed in some of the spare clothes Peregrine had brought in. He hardly looked any better. His dark hair fell across his forehead and rings of exhaustion pulled at the skin under his eyes.

  Forcing her head to move, she saw Eugene asleep on the other bunk, completely covered in quilts.

  ‘Richard?’ she whispered.

  He lifted his head but didn’t get up. Clearly, he was exhausted too.

  ‘You’re awake,’ he said. ‘How are you feeling?’

  ‘Bruised and tired. I feel as if I could sleep for a week.’

  ‘You did well.’

  ‘As did you and Eugene. How is he?’ she asked, her gaze traveling to the boy who’d defied all odds.

  Richard shifted his gaze. ‘Exhausted but in a day or two he’ll be fine. The young seem to bounce back without too much trouble.’

  ‘I’m so proud of him … and you,’ she said softly.

  Richard’s eyes seemed to glisten in the soft candlelight. ‘I didn’t think we’d make it.’ His voice came low, almost a whisper.

  ‘I had my doubts too. Especially when Daniel turned away from us.’

  ‘Tell me about him,’ Richard said quietly.

  She didn’t want to think about Daniel. He’d been a part of her past but now she didn’t feel anything — other than a deep sadness that she’d ever thought him worthy of her love.

  ‘Adeline?’ Richard still waited, his eyes burning with an emotion she couldn’t name. ‘Who is Daniel?’

  Her mouth twisted. ‘He’s a — was a childhood friend.’ She told Richard how she and Daniel had grown up together, how he’d assumed they would marry and how she’d never really believed in their future together.

  ‘I wanted to travel to faraway lands. To smell rich spices and see different towns and people. But Daniel didn’t want me to learn about the world or do anything outside the village. I felt trapped by his expectations and thought I’d live out my days as a fisherman’s wife.’

  ‘Is that why you accepted Peregrine’s offer to spy for England?’

  She snorted then winced as pain spasmed through her stomach. ‘He didn’t give me much of a choice. It was either that or transportation. But once I committed to being a spy, I looked forward to having adventures that would never have come my way had I stayed at home.’

  Richard stretched out his legs on a sigh that seemed to come from deep within him. ‘Spying is a dangerous game to play. It’s not the sort of adventure I would have recommended.’

  ‘I know that now but —’ She gazed at him tenderly. ‘It brought us together. And I’ve never thanked you for all you’ve done for me and Eugene.’

  His mouth twisted. ‘I should be the one thanking you. You saved us and that swim is not one I’ll ever forget.’

  Richard looked at her for a long moment then got up and came over to take her hand. ‘I am ashamed to say that at first I feared you would be a liability. Your gun skills were practically non-existent and your knowledge of espionage limited in the time we had to learn. But you proved equal to everything that came along and in ways that showed quick-thinking and perception. Like tying us together. That was incredible. Eugene and I would have been swept away. He’s so little and I can barely use this arm.’

  Her heart swelled under his praise. It meant a lot to have him think well of her.

  ‘Are you in pain?’ she asked, glancing at his bandage. Someone must have helped him because it was a new one.

  ‘Aching like a horse kicked me.’ He gave her a tired grin. ‘But I’m sure it will heal. I’ve had worse over the years.’

  The scars on his knuckles were a testament to that and not for the first time she wondered how he had survived so long. Thank heavens he had though. She could not have imagined the mission without him.

  The Gallien picked up Captain Lambert and eight other survivors. Of the other men on board the Sagiterre, there was no fur
ther sign. Heartbroken, she prayed for their souls and gave thanks for their own salvation.

  The lugger rode out the storm then made for Portsmouth, arriving a day later. Peregrine found them rooms in a wayside inn but by then fever tore at her body. Peregrine arranged for a doctor to call every day and only towards the end of the week, did she surface from the tongues of fire that had consumed her.

  The doctor stood over her, holding a bowl of water. ‘You’re finally awake. That’s good.’

  She blinked and tried to focus on him. ‘How am I?’

  ‘Very lucky.’ He put down the bowl, his face serious. ‘Your gash went deep but I have cleaned and stitched it. It will leave a scar but it is in a private place that no-one but your future husband will see.’

  A scar. Things could be worse. She could be dead. ‘And you think it will heal well?’

  ‘Now the fever has abated, I do. In another week or so, I will remove the sutures but in the meantime, you need plenty of rest.’

  ‘Thank you for your care, doctor.’

  He ran a hand over his face, his eyes troubled. ‘Don’t thank me too soon, young lady. Your wound is in a delicate place.’ He hesitated and then his voice became softer. ‘And I’m afraid, there’s a chance you may not be able to have children. Only time will tell.’

  The room seemed to stand still and the sounds of the inn faded into the background. She might not have a child?

  Her mouth hung open as short, sharp breaths beat at her chest. She’d always wanted children and being with Eugene had made the desire stronger. No, she couldn’t accept it —

  But when she looked at the doctor’s face, there was only compassion and truth there.

  A wracking sob shook her shoulders and she covered her face with her hands.

  ‘I’m so sorry,’ the doctor said quietly.

  She did not see him leave as grief exploded within her.

  An hour later, she wiped her eyes and stared around the empty room. For the first time in weeks, Richard did not share her space and she missed him. His lazy smile — the way he tilted his head and considered her ideas — the way his warm attractive scent soothed her.

  With Eugene they had been a family. In name only but it had seemed so right. So perfect. And now their time together was slipping away and she would never know that closeness again. Nor the closeness of her own child.

  Tentative footsteps sounded outside her door and Eugene poked his head into the room. He looked cheerful and none the worse for his ordeal.

  ‘Are you feeling better?’ he asked. His French seemed out of place in the inn.

  ‘Yes,’ she said, dredging up a wavering smile. ‘What have you been doing?’

  ‘Talking to Peregrine. His French isn’t as good as yours but he’s already taught me a few words of English.’

  ‘What can you say?’

  ‘Soap. Water.’

  She laughed then wished she hadn’t as her sutures pulled. ‘You do look a little cleaner.’

  Eugene grimaced. ‘Finch said if I didn’t wash, he’d strip me and do it himself.’

  ‘Perfectly understandable.’ Her eyes roamed over him, delighting in his happy face. He looked such a different boy to the one they’d found in the hay shed.

  ‘I’ve drawn you sleeping.’ He held up his sketchbook. ‘See, your mouth is open.’

  Trust him to notice that. ‘So your book survived?’ She hadn’t given the prayer book a thought.

  ‘It’s only got a little water damage on the cover.’

  ‘That’s wonderful and what about the snuffbox?’

  ‘I’ll show you.’ He threw his sketchbook on the end of her bed and dashed out the door, nearly colliding with Peregrine.

  ‘Sorry,’ Eugene called, scampering down the stairs.

  Peregrine came into the room, shaking his head. ‘You mustn’t let him badger you.’

  ‘He’s a delight and welcome any time.’ She never wanted to turn him away like her mother had done with her.

  Peregrine huffed but she could tell he found Eugene delightful too.

  ‘How are you feeling?’ He glanced at the blanket covering her abdomen.

  ‘Better,’ she said slowly, ‘although I’m still very sore.’

  ‘You will be for a while. The doctor says you must continue to rest. I’ve arranged for all of you to remain here until the doctor says you can leave.’

  She smiled at him. ‘It’s lovely to know I don’t need to move just yet.’

  Peregrine nodded and sat in a chair next to the bed. ‘Finch has filled me in on what happened. You might think me tough but I respect agents who make it home. Not many do. Yet you survived and saved one of our top spies. You’re to be highly commended.’

  She couldn’t believe it. Peregrine actually thought she’d done well. ‘It’s a pity though that I didn’t find out anything useful.’

  ‘As to that —’

  ‘Here it is.’ Eugene burst into the room holding up the little box.

  ‘Eugene,’ came a voice on the landing, ‘don’t wake her.’ Richard pulled into the doorway and stopped in surprise. ‘You’re awake.’ A soft welcome shone in his eyes and her heart turned over.

  To hide her feelings she held out her hand to Eugene. Switching smoothly into French, she said, ‘Can I see it?’

  He passed the snuffbox across then lounged on the end of the bed. Remarkably, the little box seemed to have survived its journey. The checkered wood squares weren’t damaged at all.

  ‘What’s that?’ Peregrine asked. His atrocious French accent made her smile.

  ‘A snuffbox that belonged to Skylark,’ Eugene piped up.

  Peregrine’s eyes sharpened and he turned to Richard. ‘You didn’t mention this.’

  ‘Sorry, sir.’ He rubbed his forehead. He’d had a lot to do since they’d been at the inn and he was recovering from a wound himself. ‘It slipped my mind with everything that’s happened.’

  Peregrine glanced again at the box then raised his eyes to her face. ‘You’d better tell me all about it, in your own words.’

  So she began at the beginning, detailing every move, all the while marveling that they’d risked so much and come through together. At the end, Peregrine shook his head with a deep sigh. ‘I’m very sorry to hear about Skylark. He was one of our best men and I know you’ll miss him a great deal, Finch.’

  ‘I will, sir,’ Richard said, sadness shadowing his eyes. ‘But my sister more so I think.’

  Peregrine nodded and remained quiet for a few moments, clearly thinking through the logistics. ‘Your sister will need every consideration and I will personally call upon her to give her the news. Skylark’s mission payment will be made to her and I will see that she has every comfort.’

  ‘I’m sure she will appreciate that.’

  A reflective silence fell on them until Peregrine’s mind snapped back to the mission. ‘Can you remember what Skylark wrote on the statue?’

  ‘We can do better than that,’ she said. ‘Eugene, show Peregrine your drawing.’

  Eugene picked up his sketchbook and turned the pages to the flyleaf. Peregrine glanced at the robed saint in amazement. ‘You drew this?’

  ‘Yes, sir. It’s St. Hubertus. The writing’s on his back.’

  Eugene pointed to the back view of the shepherd where he’d meticulously transcribed the text.

  ‘This is remarkable,’ Peregrine exclaimed. ‘You really are skilled. Unfortunately, the code is not one I know.’ He glanced at her. ‘You didn’t find the key to it by any chance?’

  ‘No. Laroche said the code had been devised in their childhood. That’s how he knew Skylark had written it.’

  Peregrine’s mouth tightened in frustration. ‘Are you sure the snuffbox is his?’

  ‘Commandant Blancot said as much and I have no reason to doubt him.’ She pried open the lid and smelled again the cinnamon and orange snuff. ‘I’ve wondered why Skylark kept this. Blancot said he needed it for the pain but it can’t have provided much relief.
’

  ‘Perhaps he wanted something of home,’ Richard said.

  ‘Perhaps,’ she conceded. ‘I thought to return it to his family. Here, Eugene, you keep it safe for the moment.’

  Eugene reached out but the box slipped from his hand and bounced across the floor before it hit the hearth and cracked open. Snuff spilled out and the bottom of the box sprang open.

  Richard whistled under his breath. ‘I don’t believe it.’

  ‘I didn’t mean to break it,’ Eugene said, his face crumbling.

  Richard picked up the box and smiled. ‘I’m not cross, lad. I think you’ve just discovered something important.’ He passed the box to her. ‘Take a look.’

  Nestled against the lining was a wedge of paper, folded over and over again into a small square. It was impregnated with snuff and after she’d brushed it off, she held the paper up to the light of the window.

  ‘Well, this is strange,’ she said after she’d read it.

  ‘What?’ Peregrine demanded, almost out of his seat with impatience.

  ‘It’s a nursery rhyme. I used to sing as a child in Fencarrow.’

  ‘A nursery rhyme?’ Richard frowned at her.

  ‘Listen,’ she said.

  ‘Sing a Song of Sixpence

  A bag full of rye

  Four and twenty naughty boys

  Baked in a Pye.’

  Eugene’s face wore a look of horror. ‘I would hate to be in a pye.’

  Peregrine sat back in his chair with a chuckle. ‘It’s just a story but I believe Skylark has given us the key to the code.’

  ‘That’s a key?’ she asked, incredulous. ‘A children’s nursery rhyme?’

  ‘Mallard can run his eye over it— he’s our expert code analyzer — but I’m sure it is. Skylark wouldn’t have gone to this trouble for nothing. He wanted someone to decode that statue.’

  ‘But why write a code his half-brother knew?’ she asked. ‘That doesn’t make sense.’

  ‘My guess,’ Richard said, ‘is that Skylark never imagined the code falling into Laroche’s hands.’

  ‘No and he must have needed a new one quickly,’ Peregrine added. ‘One he knew well. His operation must have been compromised.’