‘What do you suppose this can be, Margaret?’ she asked, carrying it over to the window. ‘It looks like some kind of watering-can — ah, no, I believe it is a curious kind of lantern.’
She held the object up for Miss Ellis to inspect. It was undoubtedly a lantern with sliding shutters which could be adjusted to obscure the light wholly or partially; but its most unusual feature was a spout which was attached to it of some eighteen inches in length and tapering towards the end. ‘Well, it is certainly a lantern,’ affirmed Margaret, moving the shutters so that the socket for a candle was revealed. ‘But I have never in my life seen one similar. Now, what could the purpose of this spout be?’ she added, half to herself. ‘Supposing one closed all the shutters, the light would appear only as a fine beam through the spout. I cannot imagine any circumstances in which that would be useful can you?’
Elizabeth pondered for a moment with a frown. ‘Yes!’ she burst out suddenly, in an excited tone. ‘Yes, I can, Margaret! What if someone wished to stand on the cliffs, and throw a beam of light down below, or out to sea, without the risk of being seen from inland?’
‘My dear Elizabeth! Who in the world would want to do so?’
‘Smugglers! They must signal, you know, to those who are waiting at sea in boats, to let them know when it’s safe to land! This lantern would be the very thing for that!’
‘Smugglers?’ repeated Miss Ellis, in tones of derision.
‘You are not going to pretend, Margaret that they don’t exist? Why, when we were travelling in the Mail coach, you yourself mentioned how Customs officers sometimes search the coaches for contraband.’
‘Well, of course they exist; but I see no reason for supposing that they exist here, just because we have come across a rather uncommon lantern.’
‘But it’s not only that,’ went on Elizabeth. ‘What is the purpose of this hut, in so remote a spot? I feel confident that no one would fish from here, for, as you yourself, said, there is no harbour — but I can imagine many ways in which a hut at this point could be very useful to smugglers!’
‘My dear, you can always imagine things.’
‘You thought I was imagining things about that letter, didn’t you, but there turned out to be substance in that, at any rate,’ retorted Elizabeth, with satisfaction. ‘And there are one or two other little points I’ve noticed to lend colour to this notion of mine: did you not remark only this morning on the very superior brand of tea that Mrs. Wilmot uses? And did you notice how evasive she was when you asked her where she bought it? Oh — and why did she try to put us off taking a walk in this direction?’
‘You’re surely not going to suggest that the poor woman is hand in glove with a gang of smugglers?’
Elizabeth hesitated. ‘Not hand in glove, precisely, but she may know about them. After all, she has lived in these parts all her life, and people take smuggling more or less for granted, don’t they? I’ve heard Philip talking on this subject, and he says that sometimes whole villages get their living by it, just as if it were an honest trade.’
‘That may be, but I still think you are erecting too great a structure on a very small foundation — the finding of this lantern,’ stated Margaret Ellis, sensibly. ‘And therefore, my love, I suggest you hang this up again where you found it, and forget about the whole. See, the rain has stopped, and the clouds are clearing. We shall be able to return soon, though I fear we shall have a very wet and dirty walk back.’
So they did; but at the end of it they were not nearly so wet as the man who had followed them all the way from Crowle Manor and been obliged to crouch in the rain against the side of the hut, while they were sheltering inside. He, too, would have liked to investigate the interior; but this he promised himself he would do another time, when one of his helpers was keeping an eye on the activities of the two ladies. For the present, his duty was clear; he must follow them back again to Crowle Manor. He was satisfied that they had met no one. If they were still in possession of the letter, there had so far been no opportunity for them to hand it over to anyone else.
Chapter 14
MISS THORNE ENGAGES A MAID
When they reached home, Mrs. Wilmot exclaimed at their soaked footwear and mud-splashed gowns.
‘I would have sent one of the lads after you when it came on to rain, ma’am, but there’s no taking any vehicle but a farm cart along that track, and ’twouldn’t hardly have been any use to you, being as they’re so dirty inside, and haven’t no cover. And it came down so heavy, too! You must have been soaked, poor ladies!’
‘Oh, no,’ said Elizabeth, ‘we were able to take shelter in the hut that stands near the gap in the cliffs. We weren’t outside in the rain for more than a minute or two.’
‘Hut, ma’am?’ asked Mrs. Wilmot vaguely. ‘Well, I’m glad you didn’t have to walk through the worst of it, I must say.’
‘Do you know the hut I mean?’
‘I’m not sure that I do, ma’am; but then I never goes down that way. I gets enough walking round the house and grounds here at home; and an occasional jaunt down to the village, or at times to East Bourne or Seaford in the gig, is all the outings I ask for,’ replied Mrs. Wilmot, virtuously seeming to imply that there was the devil’s work in walking for its own sake.
‘But you must have heard someone mention it, even if you never go there,’ persisted Elizabeth. ‘What is it used for, do you know?’
‘I can’t rightly say, I’m sure, ma’am. But hadn’t you best change your clothes, for it won’t do to be standing about in wet garments — you’ll catch your death of cold.’
‘Mrs. Wilmot is right, Elizabeth. We should change immediately,’ put in Margaret.
‘I’ll have the hot water sent up to your rooms at once, ladies. I’ll just see the kitchen maid about it,’ said Mrs. Wilmot, bustling out of the room.
‘There! You see,’ whispered Elizabeth, as they took their way upstairs.
‘See what?’
‘How evasive she was! She would not answer my questions at all.’
‘I think you refine too much upon too little. She is a very simple kind of character, who always uses a great many words to say what she means, and loses the point of it in the process,’ explained Miss Ellis.
‘Perhaps. And perhaps it is simply her way of avoiding awkward questions. I don’t believe she’s nearly as simple as she would have us think.’
After they had bathed and dressed, they went down to the parlour to eat a meal of cold meats and fruit that had been appetisingly set out for them. All the indoor servants came in from the village by day, returning to their homes at night. A few outdoor staff had quarters near the stables, but Mr. and Mrs. Wilmot were the only ones to sleep in the house itself. Wilmot performed the duties of butler; he waited on them at table, aided by a young footman in a rather shabby blue livery.
‘There is nothing to complain of in the arrangements here at all,’ remarked Miss Ellis, when they had finished their meal. ‘The household is well ordered. The only question is whether you would prefer to have one or two of the abigails sleeping in the house.’
Elizabeth replied that she could see no reason for this, and that the present arrangements suited her very well. They returned to the subject a short while later, when Mrs. Wilmot presented herself to say that she had forgotten to mention that the lady’s maid she had recommended to Miss Thorne had called that morning while they were out.
‘I hope I didn’t do wrong, ma’am, but I told her that mebbe you would see her this afternoon,’ she concluded. ‘If you don’t want her, think no more of it; but if you do, I could send down to the village for her to come up whenever you wish, Miss Thorne.’Tis only a step.’
Elizabeth and Margaret exchanged glances.
‘There’s your gowns, now, that you got so muddied this morning,’ went on Mrs. Wilmot, more boldly. ‘Of course, one of the girls can wash and iron them, doubtless, but they won’t get them up like Claudette would, her being used to dainty work, as you might say.
She looks after a lady as a lady wishes to be looked after, if you take my meaning ma’am.’
After she had gone, they debated the point without any strong interest in it. Miss Ellis tended on the whole to favour engaging a lady’s maid, while Elizabeth was totally indifferent. In the end, they decided that there could be no harm in seeing the woman.
‘Mrs. Wilmot is evidently very set on finding her a post,’ remarked Elizabeth. ‘I wonder why?’
‘She may have done your housekeeper a kindness at some time or other, or there may be some family connection,’ suggested Margaret. ‘I don’t think we should allow that to set us against her. Of course, you will want other references besides Mrs. Wilmot, who may well be — and most likely is, for one reason or another — biased in her favour.’
But Claudette Faubourg, when she came, brought excellent references from two unquestionable sources, known to both ladies by repute. She was a short, square woman in her middle forties, with a shrewd eye and delicate hands with long, artistic fingers which seemed to belie the rest of her appearance. Her manner was respectful in the extreme, and Elizabeth’s only doubt was whether she would grow tired of its sycophantic overtones.
She mentioned this to Margaret when the maid withdrew at last to await their decision.
‘Well, I don’t know, my love,’ said Miss Ellis doubtfully, ‘It is the kind of manner which one frequently sees in females who are obliged to earn their own living, towards those whom they hope may be induced to offer them a post. In short, once you have engaged her — if you mean to do so — she may lose that rather tiresomely ingratiating way. I think she would be excellent at keeping your clothes in good order. She has the hands of an artistic person, and is praised for being good with her needle.’
Her friend’s remark about the necessity of Claudette Faubourg’s earning a living worked on Elizabeth’s compassion, always readily aroused, and in the end she decided to engage the woman. It was settled that she should begin her duties that same afternoon, as there was nothing to hinder her.
The weather was so unsettled for the rest of the day that there could be no thought of going out of doors again. The two ladies spent a pleasant hour with the harpsichord, Margaret accompanying while Elizabeth sang some old favourites in her soft, pleasant voice. When they tired of this pastime, Elizabeth fetched the manuscript of her novel and sat down to write, while Miss Ellis occupied herself with her embroidery.
At first, Elizabeth found it difficult to settle to her task. Her story was slight, and relied chiefly on the development of character rather than on such melodramatic incidents as could be found in the pages of Mrs. Radcliffe. She always found it difficult to resume the story after a long interval spent from it, and for the next half-hour or so fidgeted, now mending her pen, now writing a few lines and crossing them out again, in a way that Miss Ellis privately found irritating.
‘You do not seem to be going on very well,’ she remarked at last.
Elizabeth sighed. ‘No. It’s always the same when I’ve neglected my writing for some time. It takes a while, you know, to establish the rhythm, to put myself into the minds of my characters again. But presently I shall re-enter this world of my fancy, and then you will find me reluctant to lay aside my pen for anything.’
She soon proved her point by settling down to composition in earnest, and wrote for the rest of the day without interruption except for meals.
*
The next morning was bright again, and after breakfast Elizabeth suggested that they should venture out for a while.
‘Are there plenty of paths about the grounds?’ she asked Mrs. Wilmot. ‘The grass will be damp after all the rain we had yesterday, I fear.’
Mrs. Wilmot pursed her lips. ‘Not to say plenty, ma’am. There’s a wide path takes you from the stables through the trees to the back gate, and a couple of smaller ones leading off it to the different outbuildings. It would be pleasant in the walled garden, though maybe you’ll not care to sit in the arbour, for fear of spoiling your dresses. And talking of that, ma’am, Claudette has got your gowns up real fresh and nice again, after all they went through yesterday, you’ll be pleased to know.’
Elizabeth made a suitable reply, but she was not particularly in charity with her maid at present, as Claudette had so far shown an irritating tendency to hover about her new mistress.
‘It is a good fault, after all,’ Miss Ellis had remarked, when Elizabeth complained of it. ‘Better than never being able to find her when you require her services.’
They strolled around the walled garden, where roses were in bloom, and then took the winding pathway through the trees which Mrs. Wilmot had mentioned.
‘There is plenty of ground here,’ remarked Margaret, ‘and yet one has the feeling of being shut in — isolated from the outside world. I suppose it’s the effect of the hill which rises behind the house. On a dark day, it must be rather melancholy, as your sister Anne remarked.’
‘But not on a day of bright sunshine such as this. Besides, I don’t mind being isolated for a time — I shall go on all the better with my writing. And we don’t appear to have any near neighbours, so there won’t be any duty calls to be received or given. That suits my present mood; and when I tire of solitude, I shall return to London, or go and visit one of my friends or relatives.’
Just then, they heard the sound of hoofs approaching along the path, and soon a rider rounded a bend and came into view, taking his horse at an easy trot in the direction of the house.
‘You spoke too soon,’ said Margaret, with a laugh — ‘Here comes someone to call.’
‘It must be someone who’s very much at home here, then, for he comes by the back way. I dare say it’s only one of the stable boys.’
They drew to one side to allow the horseman to pass; but well before he reached them, he swung off the path, taking his way through the trees which soon hid him from view.
Elizabeth halted and turned to stare after him.
‘Curious, my love?’ asked Miss Ellis. ‘Well, it’s no use standing there, for there’s nothing to be seen of him now. As you said, I expect it was someone from the stables.’
Elizabeth remained in the same attitude and made no reply. ‘What are you staring at?’ demanded her companion. ‘Is something amiss?’
‘I don’t know,’ replied Elizabeth, slowly, starting to walk on again. ‘Margaret, did you recognise that rider?’
‘Recognise him? How could I? He was too far away to see clearly. Besides, we don’t know all the staff as yet. Why do you ask? Did you recognise him?’
‘I’m not sure — I only caught a glimpse, but I thought I did.’ She paused. ‘I thought it was the man Potts — the pedlar who was at the White Hart in Lewes.’
Miss Ellis started. ‘Oh, no! Surely not! You could be mistaken — he was not close enough for anyone to be sure.’
‘No, that’s true. But it’s a face I shan’t forget — He threw a look at us as he turned off the path — I think he turned off because we were there, and he recognised us.’
‘Oh, dear! I thought all that unpleasant business was over and done with — but you may be mistaken, my dear. I defy anyone to be certain of recognising a person at that distance; and we only caught a quick glimpse of him, after all, before he was lost in the trees.’
‘Well, we can soon find out,’ said Elizabeth, turning on the path. ‘We’ll return to the house, Margaret, and see if he’s there. We shall only be a quarter of an hour at most behind him — and it must take him longer than that to transact any business he has there.’
They retraced their steps, keeping a smart pace back to the house, which they had left some way behind them. As they passed the stables, they looked about them for any sign of the horse or its rider, but saw only a man and a boy cleaning down the stable yard. Elizabeth paused a moment to ask them if anyone had recently come riding up to the house.
‘Nobbut the post boy, ma’am,’ replied the man.
‘Of course!’ exclaimed Margar
et, in relief, as they crossed the drive to enter the gate that led to the house. ‘That would be who our horseman was, without a doubt. You see, Elizabeth, you were letting your imagination run away with you again. I wonder if there will be a letter for me from Cousin Ernestine? I told her to write here and let me know when she would like me to go and visit her.’
They were met in the hall by Mrs. Wilmot, who held up a letter. ‘For you, Miss Ellis.’
Margaret took it from her, and glanced at the handwriting on the cover. ‘Ah, it is from Ernestine, I see. If you’ll forgive me, my dear. I’ll read it straight away.’
She took her letter into the parlour, but Elizabeth detained Mrs. Wilmot in the hall for a moment.
‘Have there been any visitors while we were out?’ she asked.
‘Visitors, Miss Thorne? No, ma’am. If there had been, I would have sent after you to fetch you back. Why, were you expecting someone, ma’am? I did not know that you had any acquaintances in this neighbourhood.’
‘I only wondered — we passed a horseman coming from the back entrance towards the house, but I did not see clearly who it was, and thought it might have been someone for myself or Miss Ellis.’
‘No one’s been here, ma’am.’ Mrs. Wilmot waited a moment, but Elizabeth said nothing. ‘Will there be anything else, Miss Thorne?’
‘No, that will be all. Ah, just a moment, Mrs. Wilmot — do you know anybody here by the name of Martin?’
She asked the question on impulse; for a moment it seemed to her that it took the housekeeper aback, for Mrs. Wilmot stood staring at her without attempting to answer.
‘Pardon, madam, but which gown will you be wearing for dinner?’
A soft, apologetic voice at her side made her turn away from the housekeeper. The maid Claudette had come quietly downstairs and was standing at her elbow.
‘Don’t bother me with that now.’ Elizabeth’s voice was impatient, for her. ‘I am talking to Mrs. Wilmot.’
Claudette quickly begged pardon, and, with one brief glance at the housekeeper, withdrew.
Letters For A Spy Page 11
