Letters For A Spy

by Alice Chetwynd Ley

  Elizabeth remembered him at her parents’ funeral, a strange, bronzed figure wearing a beard in an age when fashion decreed that men should be clean-shaven. She recalled, too, how his glance had travelled shrewdly over the mourners, summing them up. He had not stayed long afterwards, but before he left, he had sought her out in private, and a strange brusque conversation ensued.

  ‘You’re not like the rest of ‘em,’ he had said, eyeing the slim figure in deep mourning and noticing the reddish tints in the soft brown hair. ‘More spirit — more like myself. I’d hazard a guess that you’ll sacrifice yourself to that whey-faced miss, though ‘

  ‘Do you refer to my dear sister Anne, sir?’ Elizabeth asked coldly, an angry expression suddenly giving firmness to a face softened by suffering.

  ‘No need to get in your high ropes,’ he had said, patting her cheek. ‘Ay, you love her dearly, I can see. You’re a female capable of loyal affection, and such a one as a man might be proud to take for wife — though for my own part, I’ll continue to steer clear of even the best of ‘em. I prefer freedom to captivity, any day. So you’re to live with your brother, Edward and that shrew of a wife of his, are you?’

  Elizabeth nodded.

  ‘Well, you’ll catch cold at that,’ he had continued with a laugh. ‘Oh, ay, you’ve a nice sense of gratitude and duty, I dare say, and know how to keep a still tongue in your cheek better than most of your sex. But there’s something of me there, child, and one day it’ll break loose and consign all your prim and proper relations to the devil. When that day comes there’s a home for you down at Crowle Manor, if some ardent knight hasn’t made off with you on his charger long before then. Remember what I say, child, and don’t be afraid to come to me.’

  With another pat and an airy nod, he had left her, and less than an hour later he had quitted the house of mourning.

  She had neither seen nor heard of him again until the news of his death came to them six months ago. When his affairs were settled, her relations had expressed great surprise that he should have bequeathed the house in Sussex to Elizabeth; but remembering their conversation of six years before Elizabeth herself was not so very surprised.

  They had all taken it for granted that she would sell Crowle Manor. Perhaps she had surprised herself as much as the others by deciding on a sudden impulse that she would keep the house, and live in it at any rate for a part of the year. She knew from what her uncle had told them that his household arrangements were highly satisfactory. His will requested that the same housekeeper who had been with him for fifteen years should be kept on, together with her husband. Edward Thorne had insisted that if Elizabeth really was serious about meaning to live in the place, the family should go down there and see whether they themselves thought the domestic arrangements suitable. She found herself resenting for the first time this brotherly supervision of her affairs, but reminded herself that after all it was prompted by affection. A few days’ stay convinced everyone that the house was run to perfection, although Anne took an instant dislike to it and stated emphatically that she could not imagine how Elizabeth could ever bring herself to live there. She tried earnestly to persuade her sister against the scheme.

  ‘You will not like it, dearest. It is so remote, and — and secretive, somehow, with that wooded hill behind it, closing it in. I declare, it gives me the shivers! Do not ask me to stay there with you, for I cannot! I hope you will think better of the notion and sell the house, so that we may all go on comfortably together at home as we have been doing. Philip thinks so, too, do you not, my love?’

  Her husband had replied suitably, but stressed the fact that Elizabeth must be allowed to decide for herself. Something in his tone told his perceptive sister-in-law that fond though he was of her, he might not be sorry to have his wife to himself for a longer period than those occasioned by Elizabeth’s periodic short visits to friends and relatives in other parts of the country. It was enough to make her stand firm against all Anne’s persuasions.

  Miss Ellis, once their governess but now retired from the profession, offered herself as a companion to whom even Anne could not raise the smallest objection. Margaret Ellis had a cousin in East Bourne whom she had long promised to visit, and East Bourne lay only a few miles to the east of Crowle. Miss Ellis could accompany Elizabeth on the journey, see her former pupil safely settled at Crowle Manor, and thereafter divide her time between her cousin, Mrs. Hobson, and Elizabeth. It was an arrangement that suited all parties.

  Margaret Ellis was a sensible woman and an agreeable companion, and Elizabeth had turned to her often since the death of her own mother. A steady friendship had grown up between them, despite the disparity in age. In a way, both of them had a sense now of setting out on an adventure; although this feeling was naturally stronger in Elizabeth, who was breaking away at last from a life which she had scarcely realised had grown tedious.

  Perhaps if they could have known the extent of the adventure which lay before them, both ladies would have stopped the coach at once and taken the first available vehicle back to London. The future being mercifully hidden, they sat relaxed in their places, chatting and falling silent by turns, while outside the shadows lengthened as the Mail coach sped steadily onwards through the countryside.

  Chapter 2

  INCIDENT ON THE ROAD

  It had been dark for some time when they reached East Grinstead, where they halted for a quarter of an hour, one of the longest stops permitted to the Mail. Elizabeth and Miss Ellis descended from the coach to stretch their cramped limbs, but the third passenger remained in her place and appeared to be dozing.

  In spite of the lateness of the hour, the landlord of the inn came out to press refreshments on them, and they were glad to accept a cup of coffee; but it arrived so scalding hot that they could not finish it before being obliged to resume their seats. It revived them, however, sufficiently to start them talking again when they were back in the coach. Out of consideration for the lady in the opposite seat, they tried to keep their voices lowered.

  ‘We shan’t reach Lewes until six o’clock,’ remarked Elizabeth. ‘It will scarcely be worth going to bed then. Shall we climb up to the castle, and watch the town waking?’

  Miss Ellis shuddered. ‘No such thing! I shall need a few hours on my bed before I can face any exercise, you may depend. I suggest we lie down for a while, then take a late breakfast, and look round the town later in the day. We will retire early the following night, so that we have a good night’s rest to fortify us for the remainder of our journey to Crowle — that is, if you mean to go on to Crowle on Wednesday morning.’

  ‘Oh, Margaret! I fear you’ve no romance in your soul!’ exclaimed Elizabeth, laughing.

  ‘Whatever should I do with it if I had? Romance is all very well for a female of your years, but at my time of life, it would be a sore trial.’

  ‘Sometimes I think it’s a sore trial at any time of life,’ returned Elizabeth, with a little sigh.

  Miss Ellis shot a keen glance at her, but the lamps of the coach did little to relieve the gloom of the interior, so that it was impossible to see her expression.

  ‘Very likely, my dear.’

  ‘However that may be,’ continued Elizabeth, in a lighter tone, ‘I’m sure you’re right, as usual. It will be more sensible to do as you suggest, and go straight to bed when we arrive. And I shall leave for Crowle Manor early on Wednesday — we’ll finish our journey by post chaise, if there’s one to be had.’

  ‘Oh, there’s sure to be. There are two other good inns in the town, always supposing the “White Hart” cannot supply our needs, which I think very unlikely. I have never stayed there myself, but I’ve heard good accounts of the inn. I collect that we may rely on finding the beds clean and aired, and the food wholesome.’

  ‘Talking of food reminds me that I am feeling hungry. I think we shall require a light meal of some kind before we retire, when we do arrive in Lewes.’

  A slight movement from the other side of the coac
h told Elizabeth that the lady on the opposite side was awake now, even if she had been sleeping formerly, which was not certain. Margaret noticed it, too, and whispered that perhaps their chattering had disturbed her. Any compunction they felt turned out to be unnecessary, for five minutes later the coach reached a tollgate, and the guard roused the gatekeeper with a blast on the yard of tin which could well have wakened a whole village. At the next stage, the horsekeepers were also asleep, instead of standing in the road waiting with a fresh team all ready for harnessing to the coach as was the rule. Another fierce blast on the horn brought them tumbling out of the hay loft, rubbing the sleep from their eyes. To the accompaniment of a sound scolding from the irate guard, they led out fresh horses and fumblingly made the necessary change, yawning loudly as they took the old team back to the stables. Elizabeth, who was sitting on the offside of the coach, let down the window and leaned out to watch the operation by the wan glow of the lights which hung on either side of their vehicle.

  After this diversion, she found herself succumbing to the soporific influence of the swaying motion of the coach and the regular clopping of hoofs in the otherwise silent night. Conversation flagged; she leaned her head back, closing her eyes.

  It seemed a long time later that she came to with a jerk that almost threw her out of her seat. She clutched hurriedly at the strap for support, and saw that the others were in the same predicament. The carpet-bag belonging to the lady in the opposite corner fell from its place beside her on to Miss Ellis’s legs. At the same moment A Tour of Sussex also slid from the seat to the floor.

  ‘What in the name of heaven has happened?’

  It was the third passenger who spoke, her tone agitated.

  ‘The driver pulled up suddenly for some reason,’ answered Margaret in her usual calm way. ‘Perhaps someone — or an animal, possibly — ran into the road. I don’t think there’s any cause for alarm.’ She stopped and lifted the carpet-bag, holding it out to its owner. ‘I trust you had nothing breakable in your baggage, Ma’am.’

  ‘Oh, no — thank you,’ replied the other, taking the bag and replacing it beside her. ‘We don’t seem to be going on, though, do we? And I can hear voices — several others beside those of the coachman and guard, I fancy. I’ll take a look outside.’

  She lowered the window and leaned out, but presently drew her head in again — ‘It’s of no use,’ she said in a disappointed tone. ‘They seem to be on that side, whoever they are.’ She nodded her head in the direction of Elizabeth’s window.

  Partly to oblige their uneasy companion and partly to satisfy her own curiosity, Elizabeth lowered her window and leaned out to see what was happening. A group of men stood in the road close beside the horses; among them she quickly identified the driver and guard of the coach, as the latter was holding the small portable lantern which he normally used for reading the labels on the mail bags. Some kind of argument seemed to be in progress; she listened intently for a while without being able to hear very much of what was said.

  Presently she turned her head to pass on to the others in the coach the little she had succeeded in overhearing.

  ‘There are two other men out there with our driver and guard,’ she whispered. ‘I can’t hear everything they say, but there’s something about making a search, I think.’

  ‘A search?’ The third passenger’s tone was unexpectedly sharp. ‘Of the coach, do you mean? Are you certain of that?’

  ‘No, but I’ll listen again,’ replied Elizabeth, leaning out of the window once more.’

  ‘Possibly these are Customs men,’ remarked Margaret. ‘I’ve been told that at times they do stop coaches looking for contraband.’

  ‘But surely that would only be coaches coming from the coast, and not those from London,’ objected the other. ‘These must be something else — it can’t be that. There is some other reason.’

  Her tone was brusque, and Margaret took exception to it. She might have made a crushing reply, but at that moment Elizabeth turned to appeal for silence so that she could better hear what was passing outside. Miss Ellis rose from her seat, turning her back on the third passenger and joining Elizabeth at the window, where she, too, strained her ears to try and follow the conversation.

  In a few moments it ceased, and the group of men broke up, the coachman remaining at the horses’ heads while the guard accompanied the others to the back of the coach, where the mail box was situated.

  ‘Is anything amiss, guard?’ asked Elizabeth, as they drew level with the window. ‘Shall we be long delayed?’

  ‘No longer than it takes to look into the mail box, ma’am,’ replied one of the other men, in a hearty official voice, ‘and to make sure as it’s no more than letters our friend here’s a-carrying.’

  ‘And I tell you,’ replied the guard, belligerently, ‘you’ll find no parcels o’ game nor fish in my mail box. I’m not such a danged fool as to lose a good job with regular pay and uniform found, for the sake o’ making a paltry sum on the side a-carrying illegal parcels.’

  ‘No doubt, no doubt,’ said the other jocularly — ‘Still, we’ll just open up and see for ourselves, if you don’t mind, Mr. Harris.’

  ‘Wasting my time, that’s what it is,’ snorted Mr. Harris. ‘And me on the King’s business, don’t forget.’

  ‘We’re all on the King’s business, my good man,’ was the retort as the three moved on. ‘And don’t you forget that?’

  ‘What is it all about?’ asked the third passenger sharply, as Margaret and Elizabeth resumed their seats. ‘Do they mean to search in here?’

  ‘No, they seem to suspect the guard of carrying illicit parcels. Perhaps he has been known to do so before, or possibly it may be a periodic routine inspection. If he is telling the truth — he swears he has nothing — we should not be long delayed,’ replied Elizabeth.

  ‘Oh!’ The stranger drew in a sharp breath. ‘Is that all? You are certain? There can be no mistake?’

  Her insistence was only just on the right side of civility. Elizabeth looked at her with a lively curiosity which remained unsatisfied, as it was impossible to read anyone’s expression in that dim light.

  ‘Oh, yes.’ Elizabeth’s reply was cold. ‘They spoke only of searching the mail box at the back of the coach.’

  ‘It’s tiresome. One does not expect delays when travelling by Mail,’ returned the stranger, in a peevish tone.

  ‘I fancy all is settled,’ said Margaret Ellis, a few moments later, as they heard the lid of the mail box shut with an emphatic slam. ‘Either our guard is vindicated, or else he has been found out. In either case, we should be on our way again soon.’

  Sure enough, in a few moments the coach started to move forward, slowly at first, and then with gathering speed. The stranger offered no further comment, but sat quietly in her corner. Elizabeth would have liked to discover what Margaret thought of their neigbour’s recent behaviour, but dared not discuss it for fear of being overheard. It seemed to her that the stranger’s abrupt questions had indicated some underlying uneasiness other than a natural concern at being delayed. Would it have been especially unwelcome to her if the coach had been searched by Customs men? Why? Had she something to hide? Was she perhaps carrying some contraband? The notion seemed outrageous — it was outrageous. Elizabeth told herself with a smile that she must curb her novelist’s tendency to see drama in every little incident that was at all unusual. After all, there was nothing abnormal in feeling a strong dislike of having one’s baggage searched. She would have disliked it herself, and so would Margaret.

  With these reflections, she fell into a light doze, and did not wake until the coach reached Lewes.

  There was a scramble then to collect their belongings, while an obliging ostler held up a lantern to aid them.

  ‘You have the guide book, I imagine,’ said Margaret, as she stepped down from the coach.

  Elizabeth started. ‘Oh, dear, no! I thought you had it. It must be still inside. I recollect it fell on to the floor w
hen we pulled up so suddenly.’

  Turning back, she searched for the book by the light of the ostler’s lantern. It certainly was not on the floor, as she saw at a glance, nor on either seat. She bent to peer underneath the seats, then hesitated a moment before politely requesting the third passenger to move over a little in case it had chanced to slide behind her feet.

  The stranger seemed extremely reluctant to comply with this request; but after a second polite application on Elizabeth’s side, she grudgingly moved.

  Elizabeth bent down and, with a satisfied exclamation, retrieved A Tour of Sussex from beneath the recently vacated seat. She thanked the lady, who favoured her with a hostile glare, and rejoined Margaret, who was watching the guard hand down their luggage to one of the inn porters. ‘What a disagreeable female that is!’ she remarked to her friend. ‘I’m not at all sorry we’re parting company, are you?’

  ‘Hush!’ warned Margaret. ‘She is just behind us.’

  Surprised, Elizabeth turned, then stared.

  Their fellow-traveller had hitherto shown no sign at all of being about to leave the coach. Yet here she was standing in the yard of the White Hart Inn, her carpet-bag beside her.

  Chapter 3

  FACE FROM THE PAST

  Their travelling companion followed them into the inn, where presently they heard her asking to be conducted to the room that had previously been reserved in the name of Mrs. Wood. The landlord, with that barely concealed air of disdain common to innkeepers who perceived a lady travelling unaccompanied, handed a key to one of the servants with the brusque comment ‘Number Seven.’ Towards Miss Thorne and Miss Ellis he was more affable, personally conducting them to two adjoining bedrooms on the first floor near the head of the main staircase. These were numbers Two and Three, and a communicating door made it possible to pass from one room to the other without going out into the corridor. As both rooms were similar in size and equally comfortable, there was no difficulty in deciding who should occupy which; Elizabeth settled in Number Two, which was nearer to the head of the stairs.