by Joan Smith
"News for you," he said to Vanessa. "You'll never guess the first fellow to pull into the inn after you yesterday. Mr. Carlisle. Or a fellow driving such a rig as his, in any case, and the description of the driver, too, sounded like him. A jack dandy with a smirking face was the description, verbatim. A very apt one, don't you agree?"
"What is your own rig like?" she asked.
"Why—a yellow curricle, in fact, with also a team of grays, but …” Carlisle's grays were dancing with impatience to be off.
"The smirking face and dandified appearance, too, so very apt!" Vanessa pointed out. "It was yourself he spoke of, depend upon it. He was pulling your leg." She strode off to her carriage, with Miss Simons following close behind.
"So Mr. Landon is the spy who is after our letter. A pity," Miss Simons said, glancing out the window at him. "One has such a strong feeling he would make an excellent guard, that it is a pity he is not to be trusted. Carlisle, on the other hand, looks extremely innocent, and ineffectual."
"We dare not trust either of them," Vanessa answered, worried at Landon's last comment. "We must devise some way to be rid of both of them. Oh, how I rue the day I ever met Kiley."
"There is no need to rue Carlisle, at least," Elleri consoled herself, till her niece disillusioned her with Landon's tale that he had been at the inn. She then looked out the window, to see if she could tell by the cut of their jackets which was to be abhorred. They both looked so remarkably handsome and elegant she wished she could trust them. It was very nice to have a male escort for a trip. It made stopping at the inns much more dignified, with someone to see to hiring parlors and tipping waiters and ordering wine.
"Do you know, Nessa, I have just had an idea! You were alone with Carlisle last night downstairs—very improper of you, by the by. Be sure you don't breathe a word to Henry or he'll snap my head off for not going with you. But what I meant is, Carlisle would have tapped you on the head and stolen the letter then, for you had it in your stocking."
"He didn't know that. He would be in an awkward position, having revealed himself without getting what he was after. He knew he would have better opportunities, traveling right along with us. I'm sorry I asked him."
"Yes, love, but on the other hand, if Kiley is a spy—you recall that French newspaper—we will be ever so glad to have someone to protect us, even if it is only Carlisle. Is the letter back in your stocking?"
"Yes," was the despondent answer. She wished she could think of a better hiding place, but was soon diverted to wishing she could have a cup of coffee instead. She tried to find some way to solve her puzzle. She had only Kiley's word for it that Carlisle had been at the inn, and she had certainly no reason to trust him. He only wanted her to turn Carlisle off so she would be unprotected. Carlisle knew Edward Rafferty—it could not have been arranged in any underhanded way.
Of course if Carlisle had been at the inn, he could have learned not only where Oakdene was, but that the family boasted a son, who was not at home at that particular time. Would anyone be so bold? Really it was rather odd he should have offered his help on such short acquaintance, and his arrival at the house too was about right to have followed Elleri and herself from Tilbury. It was strange he had not known the name of the estate, if he had been Edward's friend since school days. On the other hand, he had not put himself forward; it was rather she who had sought his help. Certainly he was to be trusted, but never to the extent of knowing her true mission. He would remain till she was rid of Kiley, then she would reconsider the matter.
Chapter Eight
The obvious time and place to be rid of Kiley was at their first stop, and Vanessa cudgeled her brains to think of some manner to do so. She must pretend she trusted him, invent a good story to make him think she had come to mistrust Carlisle. She would say her father had warned her in particular against a gentleman who bore some peculiar physical characteristic. She rapidly scanned her brief acquaintance with Carlisle for such an oddity—something small enough to have escaped early detection. She remembered having noticed the night before that he had a scar on his left hand, a white half-moon on the knuckle of the index finger. She would claim she did not notice it till that very morning.
Next she must invent a way to send Kiley on some errand that would take at least an hour, to give her time to evade him. This proved extremely difficult to do. She was coming to know Kiley well enough to realize he would not easily be fooled. Perhaps she could claim she was ill, and ask him to go for a doctor.... If she could assume a credible pallor, he would not suspect her of planning to flee.
"Auntie, do you have your talcum powder in that little night bag you carry?" she asked suddenly.
"To be sure, I have. I never travel without it. I also have my bottle of Gowland's lotion here, and rice powder and rouge—not that I ever use it! Well, occasionally when traveling. We ancients fade away to a ghost when we are on the road, especially when we cannot sleep." Elleri glanced to her niece. "Do you know, Nessa, I think you would be wise to use a daub of rouge this morning. I would not suggest it at home, but among strangers it cannot matter. You look very peaky. It would be going without proper sleep and breakfast that has done it. One of those gentlemen is not a spy, and they are both very elegant. There is no point wasting a chance to nab the respectable one. Here, let me put just a tiny daub of this rouge on your cheeks."
"No," Vanessa said, smiling. "I want to look as pale as possible."
"Yes, some gentlemen do like the fragile, consumptive sort of female, but I never thought that your style in the least."
"You misunderstood. I am about to be ill."
"What a pity! I hope you are not going to cast up your accounts. There is nothing so unromantic. It would be enough to turn off a hardened rake. It is bound to give them both a disgust of you. But even if you are, you should still use the rouge."
Vanessa outlined her scheme, patting the talcum on her cheeks as she spoke. Her aunt listened, doubtful. "That is all very well, but what if Kiley is the innocent one? Then you have turned him off, and put us in Carlisle's clutches."
"I'll think of something to get rid of him at the next stop. I am sorry I asked him along."
"I am sorry they are not both eligible. There is nothing like a little competition to whet a gentleman's appetite. Ah, here is Kiley pulling alongside of us now. He is definitely the more mannish of the two, but Carlisle has a more personable air."
Vanessa put down the window and stuck her head out. "I must speak to you, Colonel Landon," she said eagerly, using his preferred name, the one under which he was assumed to be innocent.
He regarded her with suspicion, then noticed she was looking very pale. "What is it?" he asked.
"It is Mr. Carlisle. I have just noticed—remembered—that is. Papa mentioned a man around Hastings whom he believed to be a French spy, and I now suspect Carlisle is the man."
Speech was difficult, between the rattle and dust from the wheels and Landon's being mounted, but she outlined the story she had invented, and looked at him for signs of having swallowed it.
“Odd your father didn't mention this scar to me," he pointed out.
This seemed an auspicious moment to put her hand to her brow and claim a bout of nausea.
"It is having set out without anything to eat. We'll stop at the first place for something. Can you hold on for a mile or so?" he asked. She nodded her head. "Good. Keep your window open and take deep gulps of air. If you are going to be sick, let me know. I'll keep a sharp eye on you, and signal the groom to pull over."
She leaned back against the seat, while he rode alongside them for a few moments. After a while he said, "I'm going to canter ahead and see if there's anywhere close by we can stop. Are you all right for the moment?"
She nodded her head, weakly, like an invalid. He was soon back, announcing they were approaching a small hostel where they would stop. This met with her grateful approval. She summoned her thespian powers for the next step. She was happy it was not a village, but only a
small wayside inn that tended to travelers. There would not be a doctor in the immediate vicinity.
Carlisle was not far behind them, but it was Landon who opened the carriage for the ladies to descend. Elleri had been given orders to inform Carlisle of the plan; she waited for him, while Landon helped Vanessa into the inn. She leaned heavily on his arm, allowing an occasional low moan to escape her lips.
"Buck up; you'll soon feel better," he encouraged, helping her gently up the steps to the door. He explained to the proprietress that the lady was unwell, and was shown into the private parlor, boasting a settee as well as table and chairs. "Lie down here till you feel more the thing," he suggested, with every appearance of genuine concern. "Where is your companion? Has she a vinaigrette?"
Elleri was still with Carlisle, explaining in her own lengthy fashion what was afoot.
"She has one with her. She'll be here presently," Vanessa said. "Before they come, Colonel, I must speak to you in private."
He went down on one knee beside the settee, examining her intently with those dark eyes. She was actually pale, and with a fairly sleepless night, had some dark circles under her eyes, so that her illness was possible to believe. "I don't understand your father sending you on such a mission as this," he said harshly.
She raised a hand to object. He immediately took it in his. "Never mind. We'll make it. I am happy you have come to trust me, Miss Bradford. You must realize the danger now, with Carlisle knowing where you are going."
"Did he tell you we are going to Ipswich?" she asked, ready to brain Carlisle for his loose tongue.
"No, of course not. Your father told me," he assured her, but his original thought was that they were headed to London.
She nodded, as though accepting this patent lie. "I know what is on your mind," he said, nodding with a rueful smile. "When I spoke of accompanying you to London, I revealed my own plan. I convinced Colonel Bradford London was the proper destination for your news. Is that why you have mistrusted me all this While?"
"Yes, of course," she said, with an apologetic glance up from under her lashes. This gave her an excellent excuse to now place her apparent confidence in him. He looked immeasurably relieved.
"What a foolish misunderstanding! All my fault too," he said, swift to exculpate. "Poor girl, what a dither I put you in. No wonder you latched onto any help that offered."
"Now I have a favor to ask you, Colonel," she said, smiling shyly. "Will you help me to be rid of Carlisle? It was shatter-brained of me to have trusted him."
"One never looks for both brains and beauty in a lady," he said gallantly. "It is my job to get rid of him. Don't worry about that." There was some grim satisfaction in his statement. Vanessa had a fearful premonition that he was very well able to do it, too.
"How shall you accomplish it?" she asked.
"Leave that to me. The first thing is to get you back on your feet. Where is that woman?" he asked impatiently, with a look to the door.
Elleri Simons entered with her vinaigrette already drawn out. She replaced Landon at the settee. Miss Bradford had soon "recovered" sufficiently to sit up, at which time she put her hand to her head and moaned in anguish. "Oh, my head! I know I am getting one of my migraines," she wailed. "I wish there were a doctor nearby."
Landon looked pensive, then nudged Elleri aside to return to Vanessa. "You cannot be doping yourself at such a time as this," he told her. "If the pain is too severe for you to go on, give me the letter, and I'll deliver it. You can rest here with your companion in comfort and safety. I'll return as soon as the job is done."
This she had not foreseen. "We'll send Carlisle off for a doctor," he added next, rearranging all her carefully laid schemes, as she might have known he would, had she had more time to consider it. She came to see, too late, that she would never get away from him while she had the letter, and determined on the spot that she would write up a forged note for him to deliver.
"I dislike to fail Papa. I promised him I would deliver it."
"It is the spirit, not the letter, of the promise that must be followed. Whose hand passes it over to the government is irrelevant," he assured her. "Your father suggested that I do it for you, so you need not trouble your conscience on that score."
"I think if I rested half an hour and had something to eat, I would feel stout enough to go on," she countered.
"That's the girl," he complimented her, patting her shoulder as though she were a child. "We can spare half an hour. Meanwhile, I shall lose Carlisle. I'm going around to the stable here for a better nag than the jade I got at Tilbury, while you eat. I could go in your carriage with you, but would feel better if we had a mount besides, just in case ..."
"In case what?" she asked, curious, and also relieved he did not plan to sit in their carriage.
"In case of attack by a highwayman. I shall act as scout—ride ahead from time to time, and on horseback, it is also possible to canter up to a hilltop, when one offers, to view the countryside. As a colonel's daughter, you must be familiar with reconnaissance missions," he mentioned.
He was no sooner out the door than she called for paper and pen, and, folding a perfectly blank sheet up, she addressed the envelope to Sir Giles Harkman, in the best forgery of her father's hand that she could contrive. She had no seal, but this could not be helped. With a frowning look at her work, she took it and squeezed it into a tight ball, then smoothed it out between her fingers, to give it the worn air of the original. This done, she tucked it into the bodice of her gown. Carlisle, caught to listen to her aunt, looked in her direction from time to time but did not come to her. She ordered bread, butter and coffee, which made her feel rather worse than better, owing to her excitement.
When Kiley returned, she called him to her side, away from the others, who took coffee at the table near the fireplace. "I have thought over what you suggested, Colonel," she said in a conspiratorial whisper, "and have decided the following. I shall give you the letter to take to Sir Giles, if you will promise not to take it to London. I shall stay here an hour or so to keep Carlisle busy, while you run ahead with it. We shall meet there, at Ipswich. Agreed?"
She deemed Kiley a consummate actor when he frowned his disapproval of this plan, instead of snatching at it, as she knew he wanted to do.
"I have two objections," he said. "London is closer, and the logical place to take the news. Any fears it will not receive close attention are groundless when I deliver the letter personally. The other is that it leaves you unprotected with Carlisle. He is not so toothless a tiger as he looks. That boyish charm hides a rather nasty nature, to judge by his knocking you on the head at the inn. He might think you have the letter, and do you some serious injury. I would feel derelict in my duty to leave you alone with him. But of course delivering the letter is the prime mission. He won't believe for one minute I have gone off without it, however. In the worst case, you can tell him I have got it. He'll go after me, and leave you in peace."
"I am not afraid of him. Of greater concern to me is where you take the letter. I promised Papa it would go to Ipswich."
"All right—I'll take it there for you. There is time. I cannot just walk peacefully out, after being at such pains to have joined your party. How shall we arrange my departure?" He spoke hurriedly, in his eagerness to achieve his end. A youthful smile alit on his harsh face. "But of course! We shall have a fight. In the heat of my temper, I stomp out. Carlisle will suspect I am lurking around the closest corner, and think little of it. The battle causes a recrudescence of your migraine—how is it, by the by?"
"Much better. It was the hunger that caused it."
"Good. You shall have a migraine quand même, and send Carlisle off for a sawbones, while you and your aunt dart back to Raffertys. It will be a dead bore for you, but perfectly safe. He won't think of looking for you there, do you think? Even if he does, you can tell them what is happening, and they won't let him in. Oakdene looks a strongish fortress. The letter will be safe in my keeping, so you need not w
orry about that end of it. What do you think?"
She thought it an acceptable plan. Carlisle was not to be sent off till after Kiley had left, and once he was gone, there was no need to send him at all unless she wanted to. That decision could await. She had no intention, of course, of returning to Raffertys. She must get hold of a map and find another route to Ipswich, at all speed. "Fine," she said, smiling with contentment.
"I am very happy we got all this business straightened out at last. I look forward to meeting you under less harassing circumstances at a later date, Miss Bradford." He allowed a little smile to lighten his eyes, and a lingering glance to settle on her face, but soon his eagerness prevailed and he said, "May I have the letter, then?"
"You'll have to turn away while I extract it," she answered. She found, to her consternation, that she was blushing.
"So that's where it is," he said, laughing, but very softly, so as not to call Carlisle's attention. He turned his head aside obediently while she pulled the letter out, warm and crumpled.
He took it, read the address, turned it over. "No seal?" he asked, surprised.
"Papa was in such a rush, he must have forgotten," she said, looking at the envelope. Then she smiled her prettiest smile at him, which had the desired effect of drawing his attention from the envelope.
"Where shall we meet?" he asked as he surreptitiously put the letter in his inside jacket pocket, with a quick look to Carlisle to see he was not watching. "You'll stay at Raffertys, will you? I suppose you could go back to Levenhurst without danger."
"What do you think best, Colonel? You have more experience than I in these matters." He saw nothing amiss in this blatant flattery. There was even a touch of satisfaction about him. "Stay with the Raffertys," he decided. "It will not be pleasant, but it will be safe. I want you to be safe. I did promise Colonel Bradford to look after you, you know. Now that I have come to know you a little better, I find I would dislike it very much if anything were to happen to you."
