Letters For A Spy

by Alice Chetwynd Ley

  Silence crept over the room, broken only by the soporific ticking of the clock and the busy scratching of Elizabeth’s pen. An hour passed, and she was far away in the realms of fancy when a slight creak told her that the door was opening. She had her back to it; thinking that Claudette must have returned for some reason, she did not bother to turn round, but told her quite sharply to go away.

  The door closed, and she heard a quiet voice behind her say, ‘It is not your maid.’

  It was Robert Farnham’s voice, as she knew at once. She turned sharply, rising from her chair, which would have fallen to the floor with a clatter had he not leapt forward and seized it.

  ‘Don’t cry out, I beg you!’ he exclaimed, in a low tone, seeing her amazed look. ‘I must talk to you, Elizabeth.’

  She recovered herself with an effort. ‘How — how did you get into the house?’ she stammered. ‘There’s no one to let you in.’

  ‘I let myself in,’ he answered, briefly. ‘But more of that presently. We’re not likely to be disturbed here, are we? You’ve sent the servants to bed?’

  She nodded, watching him without speaking.

  ‘Good,’ he said, then hesitated for a moment. ‘Elizabeth, I scarcely know how to begin. When we last met, I treated you in such a way, said such things to you — it was all a mistake. Can you possibly forgive me?’

  ‘I’m not sure.’ She regarded him gravely.

  ‘I owe you some explanation. Will you allow me to make it, at any rate?’

  Her face relaxed into a brief smile. ‘Yes,’ she replied, honestly, ‘because I am so very curious as to what it will be.’

  ‘Then I’ll tell you what I can. But a moment — can we be overheard in here?’

  He glanced at the ceiling, and she shook her head.

  ‘There is no one in the room above. The housekeeper and her husband have a bedchamber on the other side.’

  ‘And the abigail, I know, sleeps in an attic room,’ he said. ‘Perhaps it would be as well to make sure that she’s not left it.’

  He moved quietly to the door and opened it suddenly. He stepped out into the passage, where a light was still burning, and looked up and down for a few moments. Satisfied, he returned to the room and closed the door.

  ‘What’s in there?’ he asked, pointing to the door of the ante-room.

  ‘A small room where she was sitting sewing before I sent her to bed. You may look there if you wish.’

  He took up the candle from the writing-desk, and, pushing open the door, went into the tiny room. It contained only a small table and two chairs. There was another door leading out into the passage. This he had noticed when he had stood in the passage a few moments earlier, so he did not bother to open it. A glance showed him that the room was empty and that it contained no possible hiding place.

  ‘I have to make sure,’ he said, as he closed the door of the ante-room behind him and replaced the candlestick on the desk. ‘What I have to say is of the utmost secrecy, and for your ears alone.’

  ‘The prospect of hearing it fascinates me,’ remarked Elizabeth, with a faint smile. ‘Perhaps we had better sit down? I cannot offer you any refreshment, I fear, unless there is some wine in the sideboard—’

  He glanced at her quizzically. ‘You don’t seem unduly shocked at the thought of being closeted with a man at this hour in a house where all the servants are abed?’

  ‘I find it diverting. So very few adventures ever befall me — or at least, that used to be true until very lately. Besides’ — she hesitated, and a faint colour came into her cheek — ‘we are not quite strangers.’

  ‘No,’ he replied, gravely, watching her as she sat down by the fireside, then taking the wing chair opposite her. ‘Would you care to tell me about your recent adventures, Elizabeth?’ She raised her eyebrows. ‘Did I say you might use my name?’

  ‘May I not?’ A keen glance from his dark eyes studied her expression. ‘No, I forget, you haven’t yet undertaken to forgive me. Very well, Miss Thorne it shall be, then. I beg you, Miss Thorne to tell me everything that’s happened to you since you left London, particularly anything connected with the packet that came into your possession, or with the woman known as Mrs. Wood or the pedlar Potts. And, indeed, any other incidents which seem to you strange that have occurred to you here in Crowle.’

  ‘Oh dear! I hope you have plenty of time.’

  He nodded. ‘At least three or four hours, I think, though I don’t propose to inflict myself on you for that length of time, so don’t worry. There are things I must do later. But now I would like to hear your side of the story, and then I will tell you mine. Pray begin, ma’am.’

  Elizabeth was only too glad to oblige, for she felt that at least there was some hope of her finding the solution to so much that had puzzled her in recent events. Her practice in telling a story stood her in good stead now, and the attention with which Farnham listened while she unfolded the tale would have flattered her extremely had it been one of her own concoction.

  He nodded in a satisfied way several times, and interrupted only once. That was when she recounted how she had gone down to the stableyard to try and overhear the conversation between Potts and Mrs. Wood.

  ‘That was very unwise,’ he said, gravely. ‘These are very dangerous people — don’t underrate them. Had they discovered you, they would not stop at murder.’

  She shivered. ‘I felt that at the time, although I did not know what it was all about. And then, of course,’ she resumed, ‘I managed to get back to my room and found you there.’

  ‘You can leave that part out,’ he said quickly, with a shamed look. ‘When I think of what I said to you — ! But it was all a misapprehension. I will tell you afterwards, when you have done, and then maybe you can understand, and from understanding perhaps even come to forgive a little — though I realise it’s more than I deserve. But I’m distracting you — pray continue with what happened after I left you that night.’

  Elizabeth took up the tale with the arrival of Margaret and herself at Crowle Manor, the walk on the cliff and the discovery of the hut, rounding off her account with the glimpse of the horseman that morning, whom she had thought was the pedlar.

  ‘I could not be certain,’ she concluded, ‘as he was too far away and I only saw him for a moment before he turned off into the trees. Of course Margaret thought I was imagining things again, but I really had a singularly strong impression that it was the man Potts.’

  ‘You were right,’ he stated. ‘It was. I have just come now from the hut on the cliff — which, as you supposed, is used for smuggling — and I saw the pedlar there with another man, who is evidently his brother and a leading light in the local free-booting business.’

  ‘Smuggling here in Crowle!’ exclaimed Elizabeth. ‘Do you suppose the Wilmots are involved in it in any way? As I told you, there have been one or two little things which made me wonder —’

  ‘They may or may not be involved in it,’ he replied slowly. ‘It could be that they benefit by it without taking any active part themselves. Or it could be that they are involved in a far more dangerous game than smuggling — that is something for me to discover if I can.’

  She stared at him, ‘A more dangerous game? What could that be? It’s something to do with the letter, isn’t it — the letter to J. Martin, Esq., of Crowle Manor? There’s no such person living here, you know. I’ve asked several people, and no one admits to knowing anyone of that name at all — although I must say Mrs. Wilmot looked a trifle taken aback when I questioned her, as though she knew more than she was prepared to admit.’

  ‘Hm,’ he remarked thoughtfully. ‘I hope to bring this affair to a successful conclusion tonight, but if the Wilmots are in it, they might well queer my pitch.’

  ‘What is your pitch?’ asked Elizabeth, her eyes alight with curiosity. ‘Are you a Customs officer? You were not, when I knew you first.’

  He laughed shortly. ‘A Preventive man? Nothing so respectable, Eliz — Miss Thorne. I am a
secret agent for Mr. Canning, the Foreign Secretary.’

  Chapter 17

  RETURN OF LOVE

  She considered him thoughtfully. He had expected a rather different reaction.

  ‘A secret agent?’ she repeated, slowly. ‘I’m not sure that I know what that is.’

  ‘I don’t suppose you would. It’s a euphemism for a rather more ugly word — a spy.’

  ‘A spy!’ She echoed the word on a breath of sound, and was silent for a moment, while he watched her. ‘I see,’ she said, at last, in a different tone. ‘I never knew we had any — that is to say, one always supposes that it is the enemy who makes use of spies.’

  ‘We are the enemy to those on the other side of the Channel,’ he reminded her.

  ‘I suppose so — yes, of course, I see that it must be just as important for the English government to have information out of France as for Napoleon Bonaparte to find out what is going on over here. But is it not a very dangerous profession?’

  He smiled a little more easily. ‘Hazardous, yes. But not more so, perhaps than driving neck and neck in a curricle race or taking part in any of the other wild sports that occupy the time of our young bloods.’

  ‘You were not always a — secret agent,’ she said hesitantly. ‘Not — when I first met you?’

  ‘No.’ His face tightened. ‘It was after that. I was looking for something to do that would give my thoughts a new direction. This came in my way, and so’ — he shrugged — ‘so here I am.’

  ‘And the letter to J. Martin is connected with this,’ she said, thoughtfully. ‘Yes — I begin to see…’

  ‘I promised to explain and I will. But first I must have your promise that you will not repeat anything I tell you to anyone at all — not your friend, Miss Ellis, nor even your sister Anne, when you next see her. What I am about to reveal to you is not my secret alone, but a secret that is vital to the whole country. Once you’ve given that undertaking, I know I can rely on you to keep it. Will you give it?’

  She promised readily, caught by the gravity of his manner.

  ‘It all started some weeks ago,’ he began, leaning forward in his seat to look into her face. ‘I managed to bring back to England news of a secret treaty between Boney and Alexander of Russia. Briefly, the result of this treaty would be to place the Danish fleet in French hands, and to give Boney an extra stretch of coastline for an invasion against us.’ He broke off, smiling momentarily. ‘George Canning is a man of bold ideas, sometimes too bold for some other members of the government. He has his plan, but that plan must be kept a close secret until the last minute. There had to be certain documents drawn up, however, which were placed under lock and key in Mr. Canning’s department at the Horse Guards.’ He paused. ‘That brings us to a certain young man who worked there, and whose name you need not know, for he’ll never answer to it again, now.’

  Elizabeth drew a quick breath, and looked at him question-ingly. He nodded.

  ‘Yes, he’s dead — by his own hand, though his death in justice lies at the door of the woman who travelled down in the Mail coach with you from London. She too, is a spy, and her part one that must sicken even someone like myself, used to this treacherous game. She scraped an acquaintance with him — how, we do not yet know, but such things are simple enough for a good-looking female of determination — and in no time had him eating out of her hand. They are devilish cunning, you know, for he was the weak link in the departmental chain — an inveterate gambler who had run through a private fortune before he joined the Foreign Service, and one with a fondness for the petticoats, into the bargain. They paid him well. No doubt in future there will be some thought given to the hazards of entrusting secret diplomatic papers to those with such tendencies; but there is always a first time for things to go wrong.’

  ‘He stole the papers,’ stated Elizabeth, anticipating his next words. ‘I suppose that was what was in the packet?’

  ‘Yes, he was ordered to direct them to J. Martin at Crowle Manor, and leave the packet in a coffee house in Whitehall for Mrs. Wood to collect. As you know, it is quite usual for coffee houses to take in letters and packets to be called for. We think that it wasn’t originally intended that the woman should take the packet to Lewes herself. The unfortunate young man took longer to lay hands on the documents than the other side had hoped, and this somewhat altered their plans. Afterwards, we found a hastily — and only partly — destroyed letter in a grate at the house where she had been lodging with another woman. From this, we were able to conclude that she’d been instructed at the last minute to take the packet herself to the White Hart at Lewes, and there to deliver it to someone else who would convey it on the last stage of its journey. As far as we could judge from the incomplete letter, the second courier would be unknown to her, and would have to declare himself.’

  ‘And that is exactly what did happen,’ said Elizabeth. ‘But he declared himself to me, in the beginning, if you remember.’

  ‘Perhaps like myself, he was expecting two females,’ replied Farnham. ‘“One young and personable, the other middle aged” — that was my briefing, and you see how well it fitted yourself and Miss Ellis. Neither of us can be altogether blamed for the error.’

  ‘Hm,’ said Elizabeth, doubtfully. ‘I would scarcely describe myself in such terms.’

  His eyes flicked over her, and came to rest on her face with a look of frank admiration. ‘But I would, Elizabeth. Indeed, I have never seen you look lovelier than you do tonight, even when I’ — he paused, and took a deep breath — ‘even when I was first in love with you.’

  She felt herself blushing, and hastened to turn the subject. ‘You thought I was the female in the case,’ she put in, hurriedly. ‘That explains all the things you said that night in my room — I quite thought you had run mad, you know!’

  ‘I must have done, to suspect you of so much evil. Oh, my love, can you ever forgive me?’

  ‘Hush you must not speak so,’ she answered, confused so that she could not meet his eyes. ‘Of course I forgive you — what else could you think, in the circumstances? But tell me,’ she went on, her keen mind still able to worry at the unexplained details of his story, ‘how did you find out all this in the first place? If the young man was dead ‘

  ‘Not quite, when they found him,’ replied Farnham, grimly. ‘He told us what he could before the end. I think it was some consolation to him. He was not altogether bad, you know — just foolish.’

  She nodded; some of her poise returned now that she had managed to divert his attention from herself.

  ‘But who is J. Martin? And who has the letter — the documents — at present?’

  ‘Potts has them. I overheard this when I was in hiding near the hut. It seems Mrs. Wood succeeded in getting them from your room before I entered it that evening, and she passed them over to the pedlar at once. She left for Brighton the next morning. I have someone watching her, and we shall soon find an opportunity to put her where she can do no more harm. As for the pedlar, he did not come straight to Crowle because my attack on him at the White Hart made him fear someone was on his track. It seems he always takes care not to be seen in company with the smugglers when he’s in this part of the country, and when you saw him this morning he was making for a hideaway at the Manor. Seeing you frightened him off.’

  ‘A hideaway here?’ Her eyes widened.

  He nodded. ‘Yes. You have a secret room in this house, Elizabeth — probably a priest’s hole from the days when men were obliged to worship in stealth.’ She gave a gasp. ‘There’s an entrance at the side of the house and behind it a staircase that goes up beside the chimney and leads to the attics,’ he continued. ‘I came in by that way myself just now. It’s a small room, connected to the larger one on the other side of it by a false cupboard with a sliding panel at the back. The larger room is full of junk — but perhaps you know?’

  Elizabeth shook her head. ‘We didn’t bother to go up to the attics, as Mrs. Wilmot told us that they were not v
ery tidy, and scarcely worth looking at. She made no mention of this secret room either. Do you suppose that means she is in collusion with that frightful pedlar and the man Martin, whoever he is?’

  ‘Martin, I should think.’ He gave the name its French pronunciation.

  ‘He’s a spy for the French, and uses the room whenever he’s on this side of the Channel; that is, he may have bolt-holes in other places, too, for all I know, but it’s his headquarters in this particular area. As for the housekeeper and her husband, I can’t say. It seems likely that they know something of what goes on. How else would he get food? And I found some tempting rations up there, stowed away in a real cupboard.’

  ‘Oh, that reminds me!’ Elizabeth exclaimed. ‘I saw Mrs. Wilmot taking a loaded tray up to the attics earlier this evening. I thought it was strange at the time, but now this explains it, doesn’t it! And it means,’ she added, ‘that she, at any rate, knows what’s going on.’ She broke off and gave a little shiver. ‘All this talk of secret rooms and spies is making me nervous, Robert. Do you mean to tell me that dreadful man Potts is likely to come here at some time, as well as this Frenchman? When? Do you know? Is there nothing you can do to prevent them?’

  ‘They’ll be here later tonight.’ She gave a violent start, and he leaned over to pat her hand reassuringly. ‘You need not worry. There is no reason why they should harm you. The smugglers are expecting a cargo over from France and Martin’s coming with it. Around three o’clock, I heard them say. Potts may be here at any time before Martin arrives; he’ll hand over the documents and then depart — where, I don’t know, but probably off to some other part of the country where he has a similar task to perform. At least, that’s what he’s planning to do. Our plans for him are somewhat different.’ He gave a short, mirthless laugh.

  ‘You say “our plan”?’

  ‘I have helpers — not enough, because I had to send two of them on fruitless errands. One followed Mrs. Wood, as I told you. The other went off to East Bourne on the trail of your friend Miss Ellis. That left me with two. One of them is at this very moment, I hope, riding off to Seaford to fetch military help. The other should be returning here before long, and between us we hope to trap these two miscreants.’