The man turned out to be none other than the Baron Grenville, the foreign secretary.
After he said farewell to Eleanora, I walked with him to his carriage. The conviction that before me stood my release from the mundane life of a farmer caused me to ask Baron Grenville if there was anything I could do to assist in the war against France. He questioned me as to my background, and was thoroughly impressed when he heard of my past positions in the military and service to Eric. He said that I could enlist, but, if I were to come to London, he had something that he thought would suit me better.
I left the next day.
Baron Grenville and others in the House of Lords were certain that the war would one day come to England, and they wanted to be prepared. Seven men were chosen for a secret mission, and I was one of them. We were each sent to different locations in England, port cities and towns, where we would watch the arrivals and send reports to our contacts when we noticed anything suspicious.
It was my earnest desire not to let opportunity pass me by, and I thrived at my missions, capturing a dozen French spies within my first six months of service. Only striking at night, when people least expected an attack, I soon acquired a name. The Phantom.
Baron Grenville and his cronies had a different name for me. The Phantom Knight.
Between missions, I would return home to the farm and to Eleanora. I knew that she was not best pleased with my new position, but she never censured me, never complained. She took upon herself the role of mistress of the farm, and she excelled, far better than I ever had. The crops were the best to be found, and we sold them within seven days of harvest.
It was during those times at the farm that I began training my children. From the moment that they could walk, I had them practicing with a bow, throwing knives, and shooting pistols. Eleanora did not want Elisabeth to be a part of my training, but I convinced her that to train a woman in such things was a gift. No one else would allow women to learn such things. And my daughter thrived in the training. Eleanora began accompanying us, and allowing me to train her with a small sword, as well as throwing knives. She did not care for the loud sounds that pistols made, but she did take up the bow with skill.
My son liked knives, and so I began teaching him how to carve wood into anything that pleased him. Seeing my children play with the animals that my father had made brought a smile to my face. My father would have loved Elisabeth and John.
When a new mission would come, I would leave for as long as it took to complete my mission with success.
For five years, I served England as a spy. In that time I received two stab wounds, a broken hand, two dislocated shoulders, all of my fingers out of joint, and a scar along my side from a sword slash. Eleanora saw all of my scars, treated several of them, and still she never treated me to anything but her compassion and love. My wife was a magnificent woman, and she deserved more than I had been able to provide for her, but I had plans. As she thrived with the working of the farm, I thrived in my service for the crown. Baron Grenville had vowed to assist me to gain a position should I accomplish one more task.
For the past few years there had been much information passed to the French about the size of our military, the number of ships in our navy, and where the highest ranking officials were to be found. They had narrowed down to an exact county where they believed the traitor to be hiding. So it was that Baron Grenville sent me to oust the traitor and end his communication with France by whatever means necessary.
Arriving in Weymouth, I began my search for any French speaking men. A tavern was the place to find information if one had deep pockets, as the saying went. It took four nights spent in a tavern called Hope Tavern before my time and coins were well spent. I was becoming tired of the smoke, the boisterous laughter, the ribald jokes. The place was clean, with its wooden tables and benches, iron candelabras, and long bar filling one wall. The kitchen could make a delicious meal, for tavern food, and the family who owned the place were kind enough. The men who frequented the place had the coins to pay for their drink, and to lose during a friendly game of cards. There was little fighting, for the mammoth barkeep had a reputation for throwing out any who stirred the pot.
Upon my fourth night, a party of sailors had come in an hour past, and had been keeping the family who ran the tavern occupied. Seated at a table in the darkest corner of the tap room, I was able to watch each person who entered without being disturbed. It was as two of the party of sailors took their departure that I saw him. How he entered unseen by me I did not know, nor did I give it much thought. The description that I had been given fit this man. That he had been watching me caused a bit of unease to slide through me, but I shoved it away. As he rose and came toward me, carrying his tankard, the unease resurfaced with a force that could knock doubt into me.
When he sat, without asking my permission, I knew that my doubts were not without ground. He stared at me as if he knew who I was. He was a small man of no remarkable features. Which was why he had gone unnoticed for so long. His black hair and beard were well kept, but his clothing had patches when tears came instead of being replaced, which meant that he was not a man of means. Most spies were not, and that was why we chose such a dangerous occupation. Or we craved danger.
Staring at the little man, I knew that before me sat the one who would gain me a position of which Eleanora could be proud. The truth of it was in my gut.
“I hear tat ye want to have speak wit me,” he said in a slaughter of the English language.
Leaning my arm on the table, I pressed against the table’s edge as I spoke softly. “You have been causing much trouble for my home.”
The little man across from me smiled, showing a row of perfectly sharp teeth. “But tis not yer home. Is it, Fantom?”
“It is Phantom Knight,” I retorted, causing another smile on his lips.
He nodded and then looked toward the bar. Raising his arm in the air, he snapped his fingers. When he gained the attention of the barkeep, he raised his tankard and then two fingers. The barkeep gave him a curt nod, and then the Frenchman turned his amused attention back to me.
When the Frenchman reached across the table, I pulled out my pistol. He laughed heartily.
“Ye do not shake hands, you English pretenders?” he asked.
“Not with French spies,” I retorted.
He pulled his hand back, sighing loudly.
The serving maid brought two tankards and plopped them down upon the table before us. The man across from me produced a coin and she snatched it from him before bustling away. He picked up his tankard and drank deep, and then wiped his mouth on the back of his sleeve.
The low lamplight made his eyes appear black, unnatural.
“Pierre Beaumont,” the little man said softly, though none others would hear him over the noise that the sailors were making.
Why would he tell me his name, unless he was lying? Which he was. Spies were not known for their honesty.
“We ‘ave been watching each oter, William Smith.”
As I stiffened, he leaned his own upper body against the edge of the table, his black pebble-shaped eyes staring straight at me, and all mirth gone from his face.
“As ye spend yer coins, I sit in tis corner and watch. Ye do not see me. I wear many masks.”
For four nights this table had been occupied, by a different man each night. The first had been an old drunk he slept until the barkeep roused him and told him to go. The second night had been an elegantly dressed man with gray hair who never once looked up from the papers before him. The third had been two men, and so I had not spent time inspecting them as I ought. My gut churned, for the little Frenchman had gained some of my ground. And I despised giving up any of my gained ground.
“What do you want of me?” I asked. “To keep your secret?”
The little man smiled. “I am not yer spy, William.” His head tilted to the side. “Or is it Willem?”
My entire body tensed with heat.
His
smile grew. “Willem Neilsen. Yes, we know who ye be.” His head straightened and leaned a little more toward me as he whispered. “Ye ‘ave an enemy, Willem, one who wants ye dead.”
Surely there had to be more than one. If not, I had not done my job well enough. Though I knew those men were not who he meant. Only one name came to mind, and that caused all of my blood to run cold. Changing our names had done nothing to protect us. Luther knew where we were to be found, but instead of coming after us himself he had … what?
“I see yer question. Te answer is yes. Tey know who ye are. Ye, and yer family, are all in danger.”
CHAPTER 12
My family was in danger. Luther had found us. I had to return home at once.
Rising, I was about to storm out of the tavern, but the little Frenchman grabbed my arm.
“Come,” he said, picking up his beaver hat and walking toward the door. I followed him without looking about me, and once we stepped into the night air, he did not halt. Turning right, he walked and I followed, until we reached the end of the street. Grabbing his shoulders, I threw him against a wall. Placing the barrel of my pistol against his temple and my arm against his neck, I told him just what I was thinking.
“You mean to lead me into a trap. Your accomplices are waiting for the foolish Englishman to follow you into their ambush. You have mistaken your man.”
“Not … yer … spy. Broter … is,” he rasped out.
His brother was the spy. I had come so close to fall so far from the truth. The man before me was not the French spy who would be my way out of poverty. His brother was.
“Take me to your brother.” Releasing him, he coughed as I pulled out a second pistol and loaded it.
He motioned me to follow him, and we walked down several dark streets before we reached one on the lower end of Weymouth, close to the harbor. It smelled of rotting fish and sea air.
Placing my handkerchief over my nose against the stench, I was suddenly grateful for the fresh air to be found on my family’s farm.
Pierre paused before a dark house that was more of a hovel. Waiting for him to approach the windowless house, he never did. His attention was captured by a house two places down the street, one that had a lantern standing in the open window. It was a quaint house, painted white, with two windows on the front. It was built against the houses on each side, and I never could understand how someone could live so confined. Even in my father’s small cottage we had the ability to roam the land. Here on this street that smelled terrible and had many questionable puddles upon the road, there was no place where one could escape the stench. There was no place that one could go to breathe.
“Is that your home?” I asked him.
He nodded, saying nothing, only staring.
“If you mean to deny me now, you are too late. I now know where you live.”
He shook his head before turning to look up at me. The top of his head only came to about my upper arm.
“All is not well. Te lantern,” he said, glancing back toward his home. I looked over his head to where a black iron lantern was sitting upon the windowsill.
“It is a sign.”
“Visitors?” I asked, growing excited with the thought that his brother could be entertaining more of his lot. If I could capture a group of spies, the position I could gain from Grenville would be all the greater.
“Enemy.”
My visions of grandeur vanished. If one of my fellow spies had found his brother before me, that would be a setback in my plans. It would take me another four years of spying to be noticed by the royal family. Or the capture of one spy leader.
My mind quickly mapped out a plan. I could not allow another to steal my position, my family’s way out of a life of poverty.
“Here is what we are going to do. You will return home and discover who it is inside your house. Speak loud, for I will be standing outside that window. If it is a threat, as you suspect, I will keep you from harm.”
“Not me,” he whispered hoarsely. “My family.”
That made things all the more difficult, but I could work around the family, as long as they did not get in my path.
When I agreed to do my best to keep his family from harm, he sucked in a fortifying breath and walked toward his house. Waiting until he went inside, I made my way toward the front of the house, keeping to the shadows until I was out of view from the windows. Moving forward, I leaned against the front of the house, beside the open window.
Whatever was being said, was being spoken in French. As I had never learned French, I did not know what they were saying, but I did understand tones, and whoever was inside Pierre’s house was not pleased.
From the sounds, there were three men besides Pierre inside the house. When a child whimpered near the window, I took a step away, for a shadow appeared beside the window. Leaning a little ways forward, I could make out the form of a woman rocking a child in her arms.
Women and children always made things more complicated with their screaming and incessant tears.
Something loud crashed and the woman screamed out something in French. That was all the push that I required. With a pistol in each hand, I charged into the house.
Pierre lay unmoving upon the floor with a man standing over him, pointing a pistol at his head. This new man looked up, startled as I threw open the door and moved into the house. He quickly changed the direction of which his pistol was pointing. Aiming mine, I was quicker on the trigger, and the ball from my pistol blasted a hole through his chest.
There were two more men inside that room, one tied to a chair, with a bloody cut upon his forehead, and a man standing over him with a knife.
Knife man whispered something in French. His expression told me what was coming. Leaping to the side, I bumped into the woman and child as the knife lodged in the wall beside the door.
The woman shrieked and struck at me with her fist as she tried to shove her little girl behind her.
Pushing myself off of her, I was assisted by someone grabbing the back of my coat. Stumbling backward, my head struck the chin of the man trying to pull me up. Shoving against the heels of my boots, I launched myself backward against the man at my back. The impact would not have done much beyond making him stumble if it were not for the quick acting man tied to the chair. He stuck out his legs and the man gripping my coat tripped over them, falling to his backside.
As I was righting myself, the man that I assumed was Pierre’s brother shouted.
Twisting around, knife man had his blade in hand, but he was not aiming the blade toward me. He was aiming for Pierre’s wife.
Without a second thought, I leapt forward, landing on top of the man seated on the floor as my hand shoved his knife hand to the side. My fist struck his chin, and then his cheek.
He tried to stab at me with the knife, grazing the back of my hand as he swung. Grabbing his hand, I wrested the knife away from him, and tossed it away. Shoving his flailing arm down to the floor, I threw my fist against his face again. He spat out something in French and tried to bite me. Hitting him with more force, his head swung to the side, and then the whites of his eyes showed as they rolled back. His body went limp beneath me.
Pushing myself to my feet, I looked about me at the occupants of the one room. The woman had put down the little girl and was kneeling beside Pierre, trying to revive him. The little girl, who looked to be around the age of my children, hid beneath the small table. She peeked up at me from between the legs of a chair, her blue eyes frank and appraising.
Turning my attention to the man tied to the chair, he stared up at me with defiance in his gaze.
Kneeling down, I picked up the knife and then stepped toward him. He could not keep the stiffening of his body from showing. As I walked around him, his head followed my progress until he could no longer turn. Using the knife, I cut the ropes that were binding his hands to the chair. As the ropes fell away, he rubbed at his wrists, eyeing me with disfavor.
A groan from Pierre had me
going to him and kneeling on his other side. As his eyes fluttered before he grimaced.
“Easy there,” I told him. As his eyes focused on me, his gaze widened. He quickly glanced to his wife. She tried to smile, but there were tears in her eyes.
He said something to her in French, and she nodded, but I could tell from her expression that she was not pleased. She rose and walked out of the house, ordering the little girl to go with her.
Once they were gone, I assisted Pierre to sit up. He touched the back of his head and winced. There was a large bump where he had been struck.
Helping him into a chair, he stared across at his brother.
The two conversed in French as I stood by and watched. The conversation was calm on Pierre’s end, but heated on his brother’s.
When Pierre turned his attention back to me, he tried to smile. “My broter renders his tanks.”
That was not at all what it looked like, but I said nothing about that. “Who were those men?”
The brother spat something.
“Arnaud says tey were here for ye,” Pierre told me. “He would not tell yer location so tey were to beat it out of him.”
“Then you have my thanks, Arnaud.”
The brother sneered at me as he hissed something.
“He did not do it fer ye. He did it fer me.”
When my brows rose, Pierre told me a bit of their history. He had come to England when he was a young man. He had apprenticed with the manager of a theater troupe, and had ended his time there in marrying that man’s daughter. A few years ago Pierre’s brother had arrived from France to live with them. Little did Pierre know that his brother was a spy. When Arnaud tried to pull Pierre into his way of life, Pierre refused, but watched his brother, knowing that one day his life would grow complicated. Arnaud had been ordered to discover my location, and the location of my family. He was then to murder me and take my wife to meet one of his leaders. What that man was to do with her, Pierre could not tell me, but I knew. He was to hand her over to Luther.
“Did you give them the location of my family? Does anyone know where to find them?”
phantom knights 04 - deceit in delaware Page 40
