Elizabeth listened anxiously, and debated with herself whether there was anything she could do to help. Some of the use was returning now to her hands, and although her mouth felt sore and her throat dry and parched she was beyond caring about anything but what was happening to Robert. Suddenly she realised how much he still meant to her; and that life would no longer hold anything that mattered if they were to be parted again.
She had almost made up her mind to venture out of her hiding place, when she thought she heard a faint sound from the panel which gave access to the secret staircase. It was difficult to be sure with all the noise that was coming from the attic; she strained her ears, trying to shut out the sounds of conflict. She had almost decided that she had imagined it, when a pair of boots came into her line of vision crossing the floor past her hiding place. At the same moment, a sudden hush fell in the attic, until Claudette’s voice was heard once more, screaming and ranting.
Elizabeth’s heart stood still. There was someone else in the room, approaching the attic with stealthy tread. Who could it be? The man whom Robert had expected to come to his aid, or that other, the spy Martin? And what did the sudden silence from the other room portend? Did it mean that one of the men had laid out the other? Pray heaven that it might not be Robert who had been defeated! She must do something — but what was best to do?
She was beginning to creep quietly out from under the bed, when she heard an unfamiliar voice speaking from the open cupboard into the room beyond. She peered out, and saw a short, squarely-built man in fisherman’s garb standing inside the cupboard with his back to her, facing into the attic. His right arm was raised in a threatening attitude; it held a pistol.
‘Put up your hands!’ he snarled.
Elizabeth heard Claudette scream, ‘Jean!’ She knew then without a doubt who it was.
‘What goes on here?’ rapped out Jean Martin. ‘Tell me at once, Claudette, and don’t be long about it.’
Claudette burst into a torrent of French which was too fast for Elizabeth to follow with any certainty; but it did seem that Robert had succeeded in knocking out Potts just as Martin had arrived on the scene.
‘So this is an English agent,’ said Martin, when he had listened to Claudette’s story for a few minutes. ‘He will not trouble us for long. Someone shall take you for a short trip on the sea, my friend, but there’ll be no return passage. Claudette, find some strong cord to truss up this man, and be quick about it.’
Elizabeth heard Claudette’s footsteps as the abigail went off to obey this command. She realised that now, if at any time, she must do something to help Robert. The cupboard door stood open, offering the only cover in the room, and the head of the bed was behind it. She wriggled out at this point, careful to make no sound, and pulled herself to her feet against the wall. As she did so, her eye fell on Farnham’s pistol which he had cast aside when he had rushed into the attic. Quietly she stooped to retrieve it. She had no notion how to load a pistol, even if the powder and ball had been to hand; but at least, she thought pugnaciously, grasping it by the muzzle, she might manage to stun Martin with it. The only thing that worried her was that the attempt might cause him to let off his own weapon at Robert.
She realised this was no time for doubts and fears. At any moment Claudette would return with the cord, and once Robert was bound hand and foot, he could do nothing to help himself. If she could only give him a chance, however slender, she knew he was opportunist enough to benefit from it.
She crept round the cupboard door, the weapon raised in her hand. Farnham saw her, and a keen look came into his eyes. Either it was this, or she must have made some slight sound, for suddenly Martin turned towards her. She shrank back retreating against the bed.
In a flash, Farnham was on him and had knocked the pistol from his hand. It went spinning across the floor towards the panel which concealed the staircase, discharging itself with a roar.
Elizabeth let out an involuntary scream before she managed to control herself and sink, shaking, on to the bed. Claudette came running into the attic shouting to know what was amiss. The two men were engaged in a desperate struggle on the floor. For a moment, it looked as if Claudette meant to launch herself into the fray; but she thought better of it, and contented herself with leaning against the wall and screaming encouragement to the Frenchman.
Elizabeth looked on in horror while the two men wrestled fiercely for mastery. If only there were anything she could do! But first one was on top, then the other; and even if she attempted to club Martin with the pistol she was still grasping, she might quite likely hit the wrong man.
Her nerves were almost at breaking point when a thunderous knocking sounded throughout the house. Stentorian voices accompanied it: ‘In the King’s name! Open, in the King’s name!’
The combatants paused; Claudette ceased to shout. And clearly from outside the house could be heard the pounding of hoofs, jingling of harness and the tramping of spurred boots.
‘The dragoons!’ panted Farnham. ‘Praise be!’
Martin began to struggle like a fiend, but Farnham held him fast. Suddenly Elizabeth knew what she could do. Seizing the lantern from over the bed, she rushed from the room, through the attic, down the two flights of stairs and to the front door. She drew back the bolts with hands that trembled, admitting two officers and several men who were standing on the step.
‘Thank God you are here!’ she gasped. ‘Come quickly!’
*
It was several hours later. Elizabeth was reflecting, not without a certain relish, that it really was most improper to be travelling in a coach all alone with a gentleman in the early hours of the morning, even if that coach happened to be accompanied by a military escort.
‘Poor Margaret!’ she exclaimed to her companion. ‘She will have a sad shock, seeing me on the doorstep at this hour, and quite unannounced. It is to be hoped Cousin Ernestine will not be put about.’
‘From what I know of Miss Ellis, she will make no to do about that,’ he replied, squeezing her hand, which had somehow slipped into his. ‘Anyway, it won’t be for long. I must go to London post haste now to deliver these papers, but I’ll be back to claim my bride before the week is out.’
‘Oh, Robert!’ she protested, with a blush. ‘As if I could marry you as quickly as that!’
‘Why not? There’s no need for delay that I can see — God knows we’ve waited long enough already. Do you propose we should wait another six years?’
He put his fingers under her chin and tilted it up so that he could look into her eyes.
‘Don’t be absurd,’ she answered, with a smile. ‘But Anne would never forgive me if—’
‘We’re not consulting Anne’s wishes, now or in the future,’ he warned her. ‘She’s had her run, and a good long run for it. Now it’s my turn. I warn you, dearest, I mean to monopolise you shamefully.’
She murmured that she would have no complaint about this, and for a time there was silence in the coach. Presently Elizabeth protested, and tried to straighten her tumbled hair.
‘Dearest, you will be careful when you take these documents to London, won’t you?’ she begged anxiously.
‘I shall have a full military escort. Have no fear.’
‘There’s one thing,’ she went on, hesitantly. ‘I don’t think — Robert, are you so very determined to remain a secret agent? Only I would much prefer you not to — but, of course, I don’t wish to stand in the way of anything you really want to do.’ ‘Spoken like a good dutiful wife,’ he laughed, then sobered again. ‘No, I think perhaps it’s not an occupation for a married man. I shall apply myself to other pursuits for the future — buy a house in the country, settle down, rear a family — how will that suit you, eh?’
She gave a sigh of deep contentment, settling herself comfortably in the warm shelter of his encircling arm.
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Letters For A Spy Page 17
