Letters For A Spy

by Alice Chetwynd Ley

  Both ladies felt too weary to face a meal until they had rested, so a drink of warm milk was brought up to them, and they gave instructions that they were not to be disturbed until ten o’clock.

  After drinking the milk in a silence punctuated by politely smothered yawns, Margaret retired to her own room and Elizabeth prepared to lie down on the bed. She first closed and shuttered the window, for it looked out on the noisy stable-yard; then, having removed her gown, she sank on to the mattress with a sigh of deep contentment, and was soon fast asleep.

  She woke with a start some time later. Something had disturbed her, but at first she could not think what it had been. Perhaps a chambermaid had tapped on the door; she pushed back the coverlet, straining her ears for a repetition of the knock. It was then that she became conscious of a far more disturbing sound, and one that was close at hand. It was the faint hiss of a quickly drawn breath.

  There was someone in her room.

  At first, the realisation set her heart thudding with fear so that she was unable to move or cry out. She recovered in a moment. How stupid she was; of course, it would be Margaret. She raised herself on one elbow.

  ‘Is that you, Margaret? Surely it’s not ten o’clock already?’

  There was no reply. Instead, she heard a quick movement, a slight thud as something solid dropped to the floor, and the sound of the door knob turning. But it was not the knob of the door leading into Margaret’s room.

  Fully awake now, she sat bolt upright. By the sparse light which filtered through the chinks in the shutters, she was just able to glimpse a shadowy figure gliding swiftly from the room.

  It could not have been Margaret, or she would have used the communicating door. Then who in the world had it been?

  In an instant she was out of bed and groping round for her dressing-gown. She found it, and flinging it hastily round her shoulders, pulled the door open and looked out into the corridor.

  No one was there. She hesitated for a moment, then crept to the head of the stairs, peering down. Curious as she was to catch a glimpse of the intruder, she would not have dared to stand there had she not known that she was safely concealed from the view of anyone passing on the floor below. This was because the staircase was in two short flights divided by a half-landing from which the lower flight bent round at an angle. She saw at a glance that no one was descending the first flight. Disappointed, she decided that she could not risk going any farther in her present state of undress. She turned and covered the few yards back to her room at a run.

  Once safely inside, she stood still for a moment, deep in thought. She had a distinct impression that she had seen the door of Number One, the room next to hers and immediately at the top of the stairs, quickly closing as she passed. She had gone by so hurriedly that she could have been mistaken, of course; but the impression persisted.

  Could the intruder have come from Number One? It would account for such a speedy disappearance. But who in the world could it be, and what would anyone want in her room? She shook her head. It must surely have been one of the inn-servants coming in by mistake. There was no other explanation.

  She sighed impatiently, and moved across to the window to fling back the shutters. It was no use trying to think of sleeping now; she felt as wide awake as though she had been asleep all night. Just before she reached the window, she stubbed her toe on some hard object lying on the floor. With a little exclamation of pain, for her feet were bare, she stooped to massage the injured toe, and found that the offending article was a book.

  She picked it up. The light was too dim to see properly, but she thought it must be the guide book. She remembered placing it on the dressing-table when she had first entered the room. Whoever had been in here must have knocked it off then; and, yes, she thought suddenly, that would account for the noise which had awakened her.

  She put the book down and opened the shutters, staring out for a moment on to a grey, rainswept stableyard. Then she looked again at the book; it was A Tour of Sussex, as she had supposed.

  She sat down on the end of the bed, frowning. What could this mean! An abigail coming into a guest’s bed-chamber in error would surely leave as soon as she found the room in darkness and its occupant asleep. She would not grope her way over to the dressing-table, knocking off a book in the process. Many a girl had lost her situation for less, especially when orders had been given that a guest was not to be disturbed. Yet any other explanation of the intrusion was absurd. Who would want to visit her room except Margaret, who was safely asleep next door?

  It occurred to Elizabeth that it might be as well to make sure of this, and so she softly opened the communicating door between the two rooms, and poked her head inside. Sure enough, the gentle sound of rhythmic breathing came at once to her ears. Margaret was certainly asleep, and likely to remain so for some time yet, by the signs. She closed the door again, and stood for a while meditating.

  It was possible, of course, that there might be a thief at the inn. The White Hart had an unimpeachable reputation according to report, but such accidents could happen even in the best circles. Why, only last year her brother-in-law, Philip Horley, had fallen a victim to a pickpocket at the Opera, of all places; and it was a common occurrence at Ranelagh and Vauxhall Gardens. All the same, there seemed to be little enough in her room to tempt a thief. She had laid out a set of brushes and combs on the dressing-table and a small pack of other toilet aids, but these were undisturbed. So, too, when she examined it, was the rest of her baggage. If there had been a thief in her room, he or she had departed empty-handed. Perhaps she had awakened too soon; the intruder had certainly left abruptly. No doubt professional inn thieves took a chance on finding valuables lying about in a room, and left quickly when the pickings were too small, as in this instance. Elizabeth wondered if she ought to mention the incident to the landlady, and decided to discuss the point with Margaret first. It would be selfish to wake her friend now, however.

  She looked at the time, and saw that it was close on seven o’clock. She decided to dress and go down to the small coffee room that was reserved for residents. She felt ready for breakfast, and though she normally might have hesitated to take a meal alone in a public room, at this time of day she ought to find it private enough.

  She rang the bell for some hot water, and when the maid brought it, asked if anyone had been sent up to her room previously. The girl was emphatic that the landlady had given strict orders that the ladies in rooms Two and Three were not to be disturbed on any account before ten o’clock.

  ‘And when the Missus says somethin’, she means it, Ma’am, for sure! We all know that, right enough!’

  Elizabeth made no mention of her other suspicions, but dismissed the girl. She lingered over her toilet, for there would be several hours to pass before Margaret was awake and ready to join her; and in this weather there was no prospect of taking a stroll round the town to pass the time. Fortunately she had packed a few books in her portmanteau, and there was always A Tour of Sussex to browse through if she could not settle to a novel.

  By half past seven, she felt she could wait no longer for food; her last meal had been at six o’clock the previous evening. She left her room and was about to go downstairs when she hesitated and turned back. She removed the key from the inside of her door and locked it, then put the key into her reticule. No doubt it was an unnecessary precaution, she told herself, but at least she could now be sure that no unauthorised person would be free to enter her room. Secure in this conviction, she continued on her way downstairs.

  The residents’ coffee room was empty except for one gentleman who was sitting alone at the far end, his head bowed over a newspaper. She hastily averted her eyes from him, choosing a seat as far away as possible, close to the door. A waiter quickly came forward to attend to her order for toast and coffee, which was promptly brought to her table.

  While she ate her breakfast with appetite, her thoughts wandered to the household she had left behind in London. Anne had t
hought she was mad to leave its shelter for a prolonged stay in so distant and solitary a part of the country as Crowle. Perhaps she was; but suddenly she knew that it had been more than time for her to strike out for some life of her own, before she sank completely into the role of old maid that she seemed destined to play under her sister’s roof. Of course, things might have turned out very differently — she herself might have been married now, watching her own children growing up around her…

  Her mind drifted for a few moments along forbidden channels.

  Some extra sense, which kept guard even during her fit of abstraction, warned her that she was being watched by someone. The conviction grew, recalling her sharply to the present. She looked up from her plate, glancing quickly across at the only other occupant of the room.

  He had put aside his newspaper, and was staring intently at her.

  Their glances met and held for a moment. The colour rose swiftly to her cheeks, and as suddenly ebbed, leaving them pale under the light tan which summer had given her.

  She was looking into a face which she would have known anywhere, even though she had not set eyes on it for six long years.

  The face was changed a little, as she might have expected. There was more maturity and a certain hardness there which she did not remember noticing formerly, although she could have claimed truthfully that she had once known every contour and expression. But the brown eyes had not lost their keen, shrewd look, nor the jutting chin its firmness. There could be no mistake.

  It was the face of Robert Farnham, who had once asked for her hand in marriage.

  Chapter 4

  THE BAGMAN

  About an hour after the arrival of the Mail coach at the White Hart, another traveller reached the inn. He came in more modest fashion, on horseback, cursing the rain which had set in suddenly a few miles back. Having seen to the welfare of his horse, which was a surprisingly good animal in view of its owner’s humble station in life, he entered the White Hart by the back door.

  There was no one about, so he made his way to the kitchen with the certainty of one who had often been there before. He pushed open the door, surveying the homely scene before him with deep appreciation. A good fire was burning on the wide hearth, its light flickering on the gleaming china and rows of tankards ranged along the huge dresser; several sides of bacon hung from the ceiling and the savoury smells of cooking made his mouth water.

  Three serving maids were in the kitchen, each busy with a task. One of them, the most buxom and handsome, was bending over a pot which simmered over the fire, and from which the savoury odours came.

  The man moved quickly across the room and gave her a playful, though hearty, slap on the rear. She spun round as the other two girls began to giggle, bringing up her hand smartly to deliver a counter-attack.

  ‘Who’s that takin’ liberties?’ she demanded, in a shrill indignant voice. Then, recognising her assailant, she lowered the upraised hand and chuckled.

  ‘Oh, so it’s you, Jem Potts!’ she went on, in a mollified tone. ‘I might ‘ave knowed. And what be you a-doin’ here at this time o’ day?’

  ‘I couldn’t wait another hour to set eyes again on the fairest wench I ever did see in all my travels,’ declared Potts, with an ingratiating smile.

  ‘That’s fustian, if ye like!’ snorted Nancy, who was nobody’s fool. ‘Why, I’ll take my oath ye say that to all the wenches — and ye a married man, most like, into the bargain.’ The other two girls doubled up with laughter at this sally. Potts looked put out, but only for a moment. He took off his travelling cape, and held it at arm’s length for their inspection.

  ‘I’m wet through,’ he exclaimed, needlessly. ‘And not a bite past my lips since I ate my dinner at three o’clock yesterday. B’aint you going to take pity on a poor benighted traveller, and let him dry out by your fire while you prepare a tasty morsel for him to eat?’

  Nancy tossed her head. ‘There’s the fire. No one’s stopping ye from getting at it. As for victuals — well’ — she paused, giving the other two girls a broad wink which set them off again — ‘if ye was to ask Sally here with your best company manners, there’s no saying but what she might cook you a slice or two of ham and a couple of eggs.’

  ‘Sally, my love, you heard what she said. “Of all the girls that are so smart, there’s none like pretty Sally”,’ carolled Potts, striking an attitude with his hand on his heart. ‘Ye’ll not refuse me, Sally, my own?’

  ‘Anyone’d think ye was askin’ ‘er to wed ye,’ snorted Nancy. ‘I thought it was me ye was so set on a minute since.’

  This remark set the others girls off again. After they had recovered, Sally went into the larder and returned bearing a dish which contained two thick slices of ham and three eggs… She was soon busy cooking the bagman’s meal, while he pulled a chair up beside the fire, and chatted away as the steam rose from his wet clothing.

  ‘Got many folk staying?’ he asked Nancy.

  ‘Too many,’ answered Nancy. ‘Full ‘ouse, as usual.’ ‘There’ll not be many come down from London today, I reckon,’ he said, spreading his hands to the blaze. ‘Not in this tarnation weather.’

  ‘The day’s early yet, but we’ve ‘ad some,’ grumbled Nancy. ‘There’s them as come off the Mail not an hour agone, an’ a gennelman as come on horseback only just now. I’m not speak-in’ o’ ye,’ she added, with a chuckle which started the other girls laughing again.

  ‘Who came in by the Mail, then?’ he asked, carelessly.

  ‘Oh, three ladies who’re staying a night or two,’ replied Nancy, giving the pot a vigorous stir and turning away with the ladle in her hand.

  ‘All from London?’

  ‘Why don’t ye ask ‘em?’ retorted Nancy. ‘Danged if I know — or care, for that matter.’

  ‘Anyone else here from London?’ persisted the bagman, chucking her under the chin. ‘What about this gentleman ye mentioned?’

  Nancy pushed his hand away, and gave him a sharp glance. ‘Ye’re nosey, bain’t ye? What’s it to ye whether they’re from Lunnon or no?’

  He leered at her. ‘Not a thing, my love. But talking keeps my mind off my stomach, which is pinching something cruel, and a cove must talk about something, now mustn’t he? Besides, folks from London is more free with their blunt than folk from these parts, and I’m always open to do a bit of good business. I’ve some things in my pack happen these gentry might find themselves short of. So if any of the ladies might be asking for a length of ribbon, or some pins for their hair, just remember your good friend Potts carries them all, m’dear, and then you might find something there you’d take a fancy to yourself — and that goes for all of ye, my little lovebirds, for it shan’t be said that Jem Potts bain’t a generous man to whosoever gives him a bit of a helping hand.’

  The girls crowded round him eagerly at this, demanding a sight of his pack immediately.

  ‘So ye shall, so ye shall,’ he said, giving each of them a pat. ‘But only let a cove have something to eat first, for it’s hard work plying a trade like mine on an empty stomach. Ye wouldn’t like to see me drop to the ground like a stone for lack o’ nourishment, now would ye?’

  They were about to give him an honest answer to this; but fortunately they were prevented from doing so by the entrance of Mrs. Jilkes, the landlord’s wife, a thin, acid-looking woman who found no difficulty in imposing discipline on the serving maids.

  ‘Now, then,’ she demanded, arms akimbo, ‘what d’ye mean by skylarkin’ about with the bagman, instead o’ getting on with your work? Here’s the Newhaven stage due in at any minute, and not a sign o’ breakfast — except for what’s in your frying pan, Sally,’ she amended, going over to examine the contents more closely. ‘Who’s this for, then? Master?’

  Sally stuttered nervously that the nicely browned ham and sizzling eggs were intended for Mr. Potts.

  ‘For Mr. Potts, indeed!’ sniffed the landlady, turning a fierce stare on the bagman, who hastily stood up from his stool. �
�And who’s Mr. Potts, I’d like to know, that he should be waited on like Quality, while more urgent matters get left undone?’

  ‘Well, now, ma’am,’ said the culprit, in a propitiatory tone, ‘I’ll be paying handsome for my breakfast, and I reckon my blunt’s as good as the next man’s, be he Quality or no.’

  ‘That’s as may be!’ snapped Mrs. Jilkes. ‘You’ll be staying a night or two, I suppose?’

  ‘If quite convenient, ma’am. A bed over the stables as usual is all I need, p’raps for two nights, p’raps for longer, depending how business is hereabouts. Business, ma’am,’ he concluded, attempting a leer at her but changing his mind halfway through as he met her uncompromising glare, ‘business is one thing that’s of equal importance to both of us, eh?’

  ‘That’s one bit o’ sense out o’ ye, at any rate,’ replied Mrs. Jilkes, tartly. ‘And just remember not to take these wenches’ minds off their work. The least thing’ll do that, I needn’t tell ye. A more useless set o’ trollops I never did see — heaven send me a respectable, hard-working wench afore I go out o’ my mind ‘

  She broke off, as the strident note of a post horn sounded, followed by a clatter of wheels and hoofs from the inn yard.

  ‘It’s the stage — I’ll have to go. Just see you get on with it,’ she warned, as she hurried out of the kitchen.

  ‘Here y’are, then, Mr. Potts,’ said Sally, deftly transferring the contents of the frying pan to a plate which was warming before the fire. ‘It’s ready.’

  ‘That’s my girl,’ said Potts, approvingly, carrying the plate over to a well-scrubbed table where a place had been laid for him. ‘Gladden some man’s heart, one day, ye will, m’dear, if ye cook like this.’