My Lord the Spy

by Audrey Harrison

  “Too intelligent for your own good sometimes,” Charles said, a little petulantly. “Don’t worry, the excise men won’t come bothering you. I’ll make sure you won’t be transported for smuggling.”

  “I’m more worried about you being transported!” Clara said stiffly. “I take it you aren’t accompanying us to the Stamford’s party this evening?”

  Charles pulled a face. “I’d forgotten about that; do you really want me there?”

  “They want you there, more’s the point,” Clara said. “An unmarried spinster is only truly welcome on the arm of her rich, unmarried brother.”

  “Maybe so, but those parties are so stiflingly boring,” Charles groaned.

  “Unlike the parties that offer private room entertainment?” Clara asked, her voice falsely sweet.

  Milly looked at Clara sharply, and Charles narrowed his eyes at his sister. “What are you suggesting, Clara?” Charles asked, his tone stern, but he flushed a little, betraying his discomfort.

  “I’m not stupid, Charles! Please don’t treat me as an idiot. Do you not think I know what goes on in the parties you and your so-called friend attend?” Clara asked, all friendliness and ease completely vanished.

  “You damn well shouldn’t!” Charles snapped.

  “Charles!” Milly exclaimed at the language Charles had used. He looked apologetic, but the argument was not over between the siblings.

  “And neither should you! You have a reputation to uphold!” Clara snapped.

  “What, so I can fall down dead at a young age through boredom as father did? I’m determined about one thing: I am not going to lead the dreary existence our parents did whether it meets your approval or not!” Charles snarled.

  Clara paled, “Charles!” she uttered, tears filling her eyes.

  Charles knew he had gone too far; his parents had led quiet lives, and they had been happy. He was fully aware of that, but recently he had felt as if he had nothing in common with his sister. A breach had developed between them, and he had no idea how to return things to the way they had been. He pushed away from the table, slightly ashamed of what he had said, but not prepared to admit it.

  “I’ve had enough of this nonsense,” he snapped. “I won’t be accompanying you tonight or any other if you keep going on like a fishwife!”

  Charles slammed the door behind him while the occupants of the dining room remained silent. Clara put her head in her hands. “That went well didn’t it?” she asked bitterly.

  “He will never react well when you censure everything he does. None of us respond well to criticism,” Milly said gently.

  “But he can’t see where all this is headed,” Clara groaned, hating that yet another conversation had descended into an argument. “It can only end in tears, probably ours the way things are going.”

  “You are going to have to let him realise the consequences of his actions; it is the only way he will learn and change.”

  “And what if he learns too late, Milly? What if that man gets him involved in something he can’t handle?” Clara moaned.

  *

  Across town another conversation was occurring that would not necessarily have consoled Clara if she had known about it. Edmund sat comfortably in the study of the Earl of Grinstead in a large ox-blood red leather chair, his legs stretched out, boots crossed at the ankles. The room was quite dark, the walls filled with bookshelves and the drapes a deep red colour. The décor was very masculine; some would even say intimidating with no feminine touches to soften the harshness; it was the room in the house that was a true reflection of its owner. Edmund and Henry had been friends of sorts for many years but were far closer now that they were both involved with the country’s security.

  Edmund lit the offered cigarillo and leaned back in the plush leather seat inhaling appreciatively. He exhaled the smoke before continuing the conversation. “Has it been confirmed whether Shambles is just involved in smuggling?” he asked.

  “Nothing confirmed as yet; he’s proving to be one who covers his tracks very well, which of course, makes me even more suspicious,” Henry Howarth, the Earl of Grinstead replied.

  “Yes, you never were one to be high on trust,” Edmund responded with a flicker of amusement.

  “Everybody has something to hide,” Henry responded with a small smile. He was a handsome man: tall dark, with rugged good looks and a wicked sense of humour. He was the opposite of Edmund, sociable, engaging and entertaining, complementing the more introverted, serious Edmund, who regularly refused to do as society expected. The pair made the perfect match, covering all aspects of their society in order to gain the most information. “His choice of friend is interesting though.”

  “Not really, the boy has an estate on the coast. I would imagine most estates along the coastline have some form of illegal activity going on at the moment. If Shambles is smuggling, befriending someone with access to the sea is a sensible move,” Edmund said nonchalantly, as yet not making a connection between the pair as anything of great value.

  “Yes, smuggling that we are supposed to be preventing,” Henry said drily.

  “Pick your battles if you don’t want to drive yourself mad with unachievable odds,” Edmund advised. “If they are only dabbling in a bit of smuggling, they are not worth the bother. We, especially, should be careful with what we choose to chase. The consequences for being revealed as smuggler chasers are not worth it. I would rather risk my good name for something far more beneficial to the country’s safety, if it’s all the same to you!”

  “I’m sure Shambles is into something deeper. I feel it in my bones,” Henry insisted.

  “I think you’ll find that’s gout and can be put down to age and a dissipated lifestyle,” Edmund said. He laughed when he saw the expression on his friend’s face and held up his hands in defeat. “Fine! I will continue to try to find out what Shambles is doing.”

  “You need to get closer to the boy he’s befriended,” Henry suggested.

  “And won’t that be slightly suspicious?” Edmund mocked. “Since when have I run with boys still wet behind the ears?” It was true. At twenty-eight years old Edmund was very much a man’s man, leading the life of a confirmed rake to the full. If now some of it was an act, it was still believed because of his behaviour when he was younger.

  “He has a sister…,” Henry said, leaving the sentence hanging.

  A pair of intelligent yet unsure eyes immediately sprang up in Edmund’s mind. “And when did we start preying on innocents?” he demanded, all humour gone. He might be a rake, but he had some morals.

  “If it’s for King and country,” Henry shrugged.

  “Good God, if the people you fool really knew how cold you are, no one would come within a mile of you!” Edmund said with a shake of the head. “At least I don’t pretend to be something I’m not.”

  “I’m not saying debauch the chit,” Henry said with a grin of appreciation at Edmund’s words. “Just spend some time with her, and as a consequence, the brother. This could be the opening to Shambles that we need.”

  For the first time in his life Edmund felt uncomfortable about using someone in such a fashion. He mentally shook himself. Henry was right: this was the perfect opportunity to have a legitimate reason to be closer to a crook who had evaded them for months.

  He would never have admitted it, but the thought of reacquainting himself with the sister of the young man was not unappealing. Her response to his kisses had been quite intoxicating; it was unusual for one so jaded to be affected by a mere chit of a girl. He had kissed a lot of women, but remembered none until meeting her. Using her to get closer to her brother was not a decision he took lightly, but Henry was correct; it might help them. “I’ll try it, but I still say it isn’t fair to the sister.”

  “Sometimes life isn’t fair,” Henry responded with an unconcerned shrug.

  *

  Charles approached Joshua Shambles in the tavern that his friend favoured, ordering two tankards of ale and two bowl
s of food. Charles was dressed smartly as usual and drew stares from a few of the gathered patrons.

  The establishment he had entered was on the edges of society, not bawdy enough to prevent the odd respectable person from partaking of its pleasures but lowly enough that questions were not asked about what went on within its walls. Wooden benches lined the edges of all the rooms, the smaller rooms being of benefit to any conversations needing to take place privately. Tables and chairs filled the middle space in each room, giving the area versatility when musicians performed. The ale was cheap but of reasonable quality; gambling and women of a certain reputation were not allowed until evenings, the landlord trying to create an air of gentility during the day. Meat pies and stew with large chunks of reasonable quality bread was served all day every day, cheap and warm ̶ another attraction for customers.

  Joshua glared as his friend approached. “What happened to you last night?”

  Charles sat down with a rueful smile. “Not really sure. I thought I was being kidnapped; the minute I walked through the door into the hallway, I was bundled out of a side door and taken home. If I didn’t know better, I’d think Clara had arranged it. A shame really. I would like to meet the lady again that I spent the evening with; I was almost ready to drop after a few hours with her. She was wonderful!”

  “While leaving me alone and unfunded in the card room,” Joshua said mulishly.

  “You lost? It’s a long bad run you are having,” Charles said good-naturedly.

  “You sound like my mother! When did you become so tedious?” Joshua grumbled. He was older than Charles and wore a permanent frown, which made his features even more forbidding. His long face and hawk-like nose made his eyes seem even smaller than they were, although their size did not prevent their noticing anything going on.

  Charles took a swig of the bitter alcohol that had been put before him. “Come on Joshua! Don’t be like that. You don’t begrudge me a night of passion do you?”

  Joshua seemed to rouse himself. “No, I don’t. I’m just jealous at the way the ladies swarm around you.”

  “It’s my youthful good looks,” Charles said with a laugh.

  “You were wearing a bloody mask!” Joshua said, but he smiled indulgently, which did not soften his features overmuch, and forced his ill mood to one side, for now at least.

  “So, what are the plans for today?” Charles asked, happy that his friend was once more in a good mood. Joshua sometimes daunted Charles, he was so worldly-wise and teased his young friend to the point of torment. For Charles it was almost like the adoration of an older brother or wishing for the approval of one. Charles would never be as sure of himself as Joshua was; through him he was getting an education that was pleasurable and exciting in many respects. To be in the company of women as he was last night was a heady mix for a young man of Charles’ experience. He was ready to follow Joshua wherever he led in the pursuit of enjoyment. If that meant funding Joshua, Charles did not have a problem with that; he was a generous-natured young man and had enough funds for them both to enjoy themselves.

  “As promised, you, my friend, are going to taste the finest brandy that you’ll ever drink. Only the best for my friend,” Joshua said leaning forward so that he was not overheard. “It won’t be cheap, but I’m convinced you will thank me for it. Once that’s sorted to both our satisfaction, I know of an address that is even better than Mrs Langtree’s, after a few card games of course; I must try and recoup my losses.”

  “Excellent!” Charles said, finishing his drink. “Lead on, my friend; lead on!”

  “There is just one thing…,” Joshua said, looking a little shamefaced. “The run of luck I had last night….”

  Charles ignored the fact that he had supplied Joshua with the blunt he had needed to play for the last week. “Don’t worry; I have plenty on me for the both of us.”

  “I don’t deserve you!” Joshua said, slapping his friend on his back, happy that once again he had free rein to Charles’ funds. “Come! Let’s go and taste brandy.”

  They took a hackney carriage to the dock area. The place was one where it was not safe to walk alone after dark and even in the daylight was not an area to enter into lightly, but Joshua seemed totally at ease, in fact, nodding to one or two men they passed. Charles was sensible enough to keep quiet and follow Joshua’s lead, thankful that his greatcoat, although made of fine quality material hid most of the outward signs of his wealth: his pocket watch chain, the gold buttons adorning his frock coat and the gemstones on his waistcoat buttons were covered by the outer garment as his gloves covered his ringed fingers.

  When they reached a small warehouse that looked unused, Joshua stopped and rapped on the door. The door was opened slightly by a man who looked at Joshua before nodding in greeting and stepping aside to let the two men enter.

  “Where’s Bernard?” Joshua asked. The burly bald-headed man pointed towards the back of the warehouse without uttering a sound. He remained at his station as Joshua walked in the direction pointed out.

  “He doesn’t say much,” Charles whispered with a grin. He would never let the man hear his words; the size and look of him terrified the unworldly Baron.

  “He can’t speak. He was stabbed in the throat and nearly died although no one is quite sure how he managed to survive; the attack would’ve killed anyone else. Since then he’s not been able to speak. It’s never stopped him getting into other fights though,” Joshua said.

  Charles felt uneasy at his friend’s words; tasting smuggled brandy was one thing; being associated with people who did not bat an eyelid when discussing fighting with knives was something completely different. He continued to follow Joshua with a little less enthusiasm than when he had first entered the building.

  The two men came to a halt when they turned a corner and reached a second man. He was slightly less bulky than the first man they had seen but looked just as menacing. Joshua introduced Charles to Bernard. “Charles likes the finer things in life; I’ve promised that your brandy will beat anything he’s had so far.”

  “I would stake my life on it!” Bernard said pleasantly. He led the way behind rows and rows of crates until he reached two large stacks of brandy barrels. “Here we go, sir. Yes, indeedy, you’ll like this.”

  Charles was handed a glass of golden liquid. He took his time over the test, trying to appear more experienced than he actually was. His had no need to worry as when he tasted the liquid his reaction was genuine. “By Jove! That is fine brandy! It’s the smoothest I’ve ever drank.”

  “I knew it!” Bernard said good-naturedly. “Mine is the finest brandy anywhere on these shores. If only we could guarantee a steady supply.”

  “Oh?” Charles said, finishing the contents of the glass reluctantly.

  “It’s this damn war,” Joshua said. “But you could help Bernard to both your benefits.”

  “How?” Charles asked feeling wary, but hiding it as best he could. The conversation he had shared with Clara resounded in his ears; the brandy was obviously smuggled, and the reality was that he did not wish to be involved with the excise men. He might appear devil-may-care in his sister’s company, but he was not one to disregard society’s rules.

  “If Bernard here could have a secure place where he knew he could land his brandy, he would be willing to trade free barrels,” Joshua said, looking to Bernard for confirmation.

  “As many free barrels as a young man like you could handle,” Bernard said, his tone friendly.

  “You want me to get involved with smuggling?” Charles asked, his tone serious. He was beginning to wish he was far away from the docks. He had just wanted to buy some brandy, to feel a little danger, not to actually become involved in criminal activity.

  “No, sir! Not at all. All I need is somewhere to land the goods; you don’t need to be there. In fact, the less you know the better. That way if there’s any problem with the excise men, you know nothing,” Bernard responded, his tone still kindly although it was clear he was a h
ard man, perfectly at ease in his surroundings.

  “I don’t know, Joshua. I think I’d rather pay for the brandy and leave it at that,” Charles said uncertainly. He hated going against Joshua, but he was wary of becoming embroiled in something that was completely out of his depth.

  “Come on, Charles, this is perfect. Free brandy and helping out a friend,” Joshua cajoled.

  “I didn’t know you were involved as well,” Charles said. It was obvious that Joshua knew the men, but Charles felt even more uneasy at the thought that his friend was actually involved with smuggling. Receiving smuggled goods was bad enough, what Joshua was hinting at went far deeper than that, and the consequences if caught would be severe. Charles might be naïve and easy-going, but he was not stupid. Associating himself with a smuggler would not do the family reputation any good if it became known, and he had personal reasons for wanting the family name to stay unblemished, something that he had not confided to his new friend.

  “I have to make money somehow!” Joshua snapped. “Not everyone has a fortune handed over to them as you have!”

  Charles hated when Joshua brought up his inheritance. There was nothing that Charles could argue in his defence; at the end of the day he had been handed his fortune, but he helped Joshua as much as he could.

  “Oh come, Joshua, we’re all friends; there’s no need to be like that,” Bernard soothed. He had sensed that Joshua was losing Charles. The young man looked concerned, and Bernard stepped in, more experienced than Joshua in dealing with foolish, young men. “Your friend here wants to help you as much as he can. Don’t you, sir?”

  “Of course,” Charles said, watching Joshua carefully. His friend had a temper, and he did not want to feel the brunt of it when there was no way he could walk out of the warehouse without his support. He felt completely backed into a corner with only one way out. He did not like what he was going to have to agree to; an image of Clara was enough to increase his discomfort further; if she ever found out she would be so disappointed in him. He had the choice of pacifying his friend or risking the censure of his sister. At this moment, there was only one way he could act and, in this at least, he would have excellent brandy for his trouble.