Spyfall

by Carter, Elizabeth Ellen

  A whistle from below told them the goods had arrived safely.

  *

  Susannah examined the charcoal sketch before her and rued her inadequacies as an artist. A skilled watercolorist needed to do it justice.

  She really ought to have brought a book instead, but if she’d done that then she would have missed the magnificent scenery around her. The grey boulders, blackened and smoothed over time by the sea. Beyond the reach of the water, coastal plants took a toehold. Little pink flowers raised their heads to the cerulean sky. The beach and its gritty golden-yellow sand down to the water’s edge. The clear water turning pale blue, then deepening to green and then a sapphire blue as the vista reached the horizon.

  Peggy sat on a blanket-covered rock and knitted. Her practiced hands added row-upon-row of stitches while she, too, appeared mesmerized by the sea.

  Nate and the others had left them at the mouth of the cave as lookouts, and they had been gone for nearly an hour. Susannah glanced at the small hand bell at her feet. She was to ring it loudly if someone showed themselves more than idly curious.

  So far, she and Peggy had seen a small boat leave the St. Sennen estuary for parts unknown and two riders take their horses for a gallop along the shore, an impromptu race between two young bucks who were so fixed on their own enjoyment, they never once looked toward the cave.

  Even so, Susannah breathed a sigh of relief when she heard the echoing voices of Nate, Clem and Adam Hardacre as they made their return.

  Peggy looked behind her and set down her knitting.

  “Cor, would you look at that? That’s a right pirate’s haul,” she observed.

  Susannah forced herself to look. Regardless for whom Hardacre worked, these were still contraband goods and too close to what her husband had done for a living to be comfortable. She scanned the crates and barrels as they were loaded onto the wagon.

  Hardacre tapped the small barrels, listening for something, while Nate used a small pry bar to open one Hardacre selected. The rich, dark aroma of fresh tobacco filled the air.

  “There’s something else in here,” Nate called, tension clear in his voice. Unwillingly, Susannah rose to her feet and approached.

  From what she could see, it appeared to be nothing more than a notebook or a compendium of sorts.

  Hardacre all but snatched it from Nate’s hands. He flicked through it quickly at first, then went through it a second time more slowly and, to her surprise, the man’s hands seemed to tremble a little.

  “This is it,” he said. “I’ve got what I came here for.”

  “Well that doesn’t seem like much, compared to all those goods there,” Peggy announced, verbalizing the question that Susannah had in mind. “The way you went on last night, I thought you were smuggling jewels!”

  Like Jack Moorcroft.

  “Excuse me,” Susannah murmured before walking out of the cave and along the beach a little.

  She raised her face to the wind, letting it cool her heat-stained cheeks, willing the salt-tinged air to settle her stomach.

  I thought I was stronger than this… I thought I could leave it buried with Jack…

  She started when someone touched her elbow. Nate stood half a pace away, concern written large on his face.

  “Are you all right?” he asked. “I called after you…”

  She shook her head.

  “I didn’t hear you… the wind,” she finished lamely.

  “You seemed well this morning,” he said.

  “I’m well now.”

  He frowned. He looked every inch the pirate now with the stern expression on his face and the wind plastering his lawn shirt against his chest.

  How unfair that, even now, her attraction to him was undiminished.

  “It’s the contraband, isn’t it?” he said.

  Susannah closed her eyes, so he wouldn’t see the truth in them.

  “Even though you accept Hardacre’s bona fides, the goods still trouble you, don’t they?”

  “It’s not the goods themselves, Nate,” she said after a moment. “If an agent of the Crown is a part of this, it’s hardly contraband. I can accept that spies will have their schemes, but it just reminds me of…”

  It was on the tip of her tongue to say his name, but to say it to Nate would break the wall between the two worlds she inhabited, and if she did that, how could she guarantee the nightmare of her past wouldn’t leach into this one?

  “Your late husband?”

  Her eyes welled with tears. He pulled her into his chest. She accepted his embrace and felt his chest rise and fall with a deep sigh.

  “What kind of bastard was he, to make you feel like this, Susannah?” he whispered against her ear.

  “If I tell you, then it would be as though he lived again.” She replied so softly, she wondered whether he heard her words. She drew in a breath and was relieved to find her voice didn’t shake when she spoke again.

  “Now that Adam Hardacre has found what he is after, he can be about his business and leave us alone to ours. No spies, no intrigue, Nate – that’s the world I want to live in.”

  *

  No spies, no intrigue… what about no secrets?

  Hell, who was he kidding, they both had secrets.

  Well, no, that wasn’t entirely true. She had secrets; he simply had a past. And, yes, parts of it reflected poorly on him, but he would share even those to earn her trust.

  Was he not good enough for her? Sufficient to flirt with, but not good enough to confide in? Was she just like Lillian or Yvette, but more skilled at pretending to be the ingénue?

  He pushed the uncharitable thought down as he walked with Susannah back to the cave where Peggy had laid out a feast complete with a portable table and chairs. The other woman’s expression when she saw them was full of contrition.

  Interesting? What was it she’d said? Something about smuggling jewels?

  Was that what her husband was? A jewel thief? A fence?

  He watched Peggy draw Susannah away and the pair spent a moment in earnest conversation before Clem took Peggy by the hand for a walk along the beach. Now it was just the two of them – and Adam Hardacre who was so engrossed by his find that he might as well not be there.

  Nate put together a plate of cold cut meats and cheese from the table and sat on the sand, his back against a boulder. He speared a slice of roast beef.

  So what if Susannah’s husband was a criminal? No blame attached to her.

  He moved his head slightly until he caught her out of the corner of his eye. She sat as properly as one could on those canvas sling back chairs, as quiet and reserved as the day he first met her. She picked at the plate in her lap.

  When she glanced his way, their eyes met. For a brief moment, he felt with a certainty that resonated through him that she was going to say something.

  That’s when he felt Adam’s presence beside him and, not for the first time, he cursed the man.

  “Nate, a word.”

  Shit.

  Susannah’s eyes blinked rapidly, as though she, too, had been surprised by the interruption. She turned her head away.

  Nate stood, dusted himself off, and drew closer. In Adam’s hand was an open notebook and drawn on a page appeared to be a map.

  “Can you recognize where this is?”

  The blue inked lines were not done by an expert cartographer by any means. This was a rough, hand-drawn representation of a coastal outline done in haste by an amateur hand. Nate followed the serpentine line from one end to the other, taking in marks that might represent habitations but, without scale or reference, it was impossible to say.

  “It doesn’t look like the Brittany coast,” he said. “It could be anywhere along the coast of Cornwall, Dorset, Devon, or Wales. Or another part of France I’m not familiar with. Or even Ireland for that matter.”

  Hardacre straightened.

  “Ireland? Can you be certain?” There was a note of agitation in the man’s question. Nate turned to him and fo
und an equal expression on his face.

  “Not without consulting the maps on the Sprite. Why is Ireland so important?”

  Hardacre stared back at him a moment, his expression closed.

  “You already have us involved in your scheme, Mr. Hardacre.” Susannah rose. She set down her plate on the table and approached.

  “Susannah…” Nate started. The reservation earlier had gone and was replaced with a look of courage in her that filled him with unearned pride. She touched his arm and gave a smile.

  “In for a penny, in for a pound,” she told him. She looked at the map and frowned.

  “This looks familiar,” she said.

  “Do you know where it is?” asked Hardacre, his voice softening.

  “No, but I’ve seen something like it before…” She hesitated and drew a finger along the meandering line on the page. “It looks like something drawn in a document my late husband had.” She withdrew her hand and it clenched, unconsciously it seemed, into a fist.

  Nate felt the weight of Susannah’s expression on him, her eyes telling him: I’m ready to tell you about my past, if you’re ready to listen.

  Mindful of the fact they weren’t alone, Nate reached for her hand, holding it until her fingers unfurled like petals in his palm.

  There was silence for a long moment, the roll of the waves on the sand, and a shrill cry of gulls wheeling across the cliff face.

  “There is a man I’m after,” said Hardacre quietly. “His name is Harold Bickmore, a lieutenant – former lieutenant – in the King’s Navy. The man’s a traitor. Once he was also a friend of mine.

  “I’ve been trying to track him down for the better part of six months. Another man who was part of Bickmore’s gang is an Irishman by the name of Regan O’Neill. If we can be certain this is Ireland…”

  “Is there anything more in that book of yours?” Nate asked.

  Hardacre shook his head.

  “It’s in code. I need to go back to Truro.”

  Chapter Twelve

  Nate waved his hands. “Shoo! Go home.”

  A big pair of brown eyes stared at him. Prince proceeded to wag his tail.

  “No,” urged Nate, “you have to stay here.”

  Prince responded by dropping open his jaw into something that resembled a canine smile. Nate sighed. He had hoped to slip away to his appointment while Susannah was occupied in the kitchen, but now the woman in question had stepped outside to find out what he was yelling at.

  Prince sat, looked at him, then to Susannah, and then back to him again, offering a whine and thump of his tail as though his loyalty was torn.

  “He’s really taken to you,” she laughed.

  “You don’t mind if he goes with me?” Nate asked.

  “It’s clear he’s made up his mind.”

  Nate nodded and offered a half-smile. Susannah’s cheerful countenance sobered and returned the same uneasy half-smile.

  Although he had not revealed his destination when he announced he would be out for the rest of the day, he suspected Susannah knew the reason for it.

  Lillian Doyle.

  He wanted to reassure Susannah, once more, that any attachment there once was had long been cut. But to do that required more explaining than he cared to do. Instead, he gave her a wave and crossed the road, cutting across the field and the hill to Trethowan House with Prince trotting happily alongside.

  As he reached the headland, the dog ran ahead of him, scattering a group of terns as he did so. They took to the skies and squawked in irritation of their rest being disturbed.

  The usual time at the usual place…

  Yes, the boathouse at two o’clock on the days when Doyle was away on the judicial circuit.

  Generally, her husband would be gone for three days, and Lillian would summon for him on the first day of his absence. Even if he hadn’t been occupied with the journey to the caves yesterday, he would have ignored her. Now, it was the last day before the magistrate’s return.

  Nate reached a narrow path cut into the cliff rock. Prince ventured as far as the bluff and went no further. He barked once to get Nate’s attention.

  “Off you go home then,” he called. Prince cocked his head as if he understood perfectly, then bounded away down the cliff path that would take him back to The Queen’s Head, back to Susannah.

  This time, the dog obeyed, Nate grumbled to himself. Fine guard dog, you turned out to be… running off when I need protection from a she-wolf.

  The cliff path wended its way down to a large wooden boathouse tucked under a rock overhang. Across from the whitewashed structure and its grey slate roof was a wider, more cultivated path that led directly to the big house.

  Not for the first time, Nate wondered what he was doing there. It certainly wasn’t the promise of sex, though he was under no illusion that such was Lillian’s expectation. After all, it had become quite the habit in times past.

  No, he was there because Lillian had come up to The Queen’s Head, as bold as brass, and spoken to Susannah.

  That would not do. That would not do at all…

  Whatever claims Lillian thought she had over him were long gone. Any flames of passion which had existed were extinguished in that hellhole in France.

  Today would be a final and definitive farewell – and there would be no sex. Let the woman scream at him, if she must. Nothing she could say could possibly change his mind.

  He breathed in, the fresh sea air clearing his lungs, the kiss of the sun on his cheek and his back reminding him of Susannah. And somehow, it happened that over the past few months, since his return, Susannah was the only woman he could now imagine making love to.

  He reached the shore and picked his way across the shingle beach where the tide had only recently receded. Little pockets of water glinted and sparkled as he strode across to the firm plot of ground, safely above the spring tides. He reached the timber slipway and walked up it, using it as a path to reach the double doors before stepping around to the right and the smaller side door painted in a cheery blue.

  He pounded on it with the flat of his hand and listened to the sound of movement behind it.

  “It’s open.”

  That might well be, but Nate was damned if he was going to make the first move.

  He slapped his palm against the timber once again. This time, there was more movement, a rustling of fabric. After several moments, the door opened to a rather irate Lillian Doyle. She was looking back over her shoulder as she shouted.

  “What the hell do you want? I gave orders not to be disturbed from my rest!”

  The little tirade stopped when Lillian turned and finally saw him instead one of her household staff.

  “Why didn’t you come in when I told you?”

  “Because I wanted to give you time to dress.”

  And indeed, Lillian looked as though she had dressed hastily. The ivory silk nightdress, so sheer that she might as well have been nude, lay over a chair. The pink and purple floral day dress had been hurriedly put on, the ties at the back only loosely laced.

  “My undress never used to bother you,” she said.

  “Times change.”

  “Do they now? I wonder if something else hasn’t changed…”

  “You could be right there, too,” he conceded.

  Lillian beckoned him into the boathouse. He stepped through the door a few paces and stopped. He looked about. Little seemed to have changed since he was last there.

  While most of the shed was still dedicated to the boat and its associated chandlery – ropes, sail canvas, tools, varnish, and the like – a quarter of the room was a cozy retreat. There was a small unlit stove and a kettle in the corner, a table with two chairs, a dresser with a display of plates, cups, and saucers of good quality, but not particularly fine. More impressive was an assortment of bottles – gin, claret, and brandy – clustered on top of a water-stained corner cabinet that was missing a couple of panes of glass from its leading.

  Nate studiously
avoided looking at the largest piece of furniture in the room – a large daybed covered in linens and pillows, a woman’s boudoir transported to the most incongruous of locations where a man might rise and fall on the ocean of her carnal desires, far from the shores of her husband’s vigilance.

  Any vestige of seductive intent fell from Lillian’s face.

  “You’ll at least take a seat, won’t you?”

  Her peevish nature was still intact.

  He pulled out a chair, the one closest to the door, and sat down. He was willing to concede that much and no more.

  Lillian made herself comfortable on the daybed.

  “This is the last time we’ll meet alone,” he said.

  With a put-upon sigh, she rose and turned her back to him to pour two large tumblers of brandy before coming over and setting them on the table.

  “I had no idea she’d gotten her claws into that much… your Mrs. Linwood.”

  He felt his lips curl in contempt at the emergence of the green-eyed monster. It was laughable in a woman Lillian’s age.

  “Where’s the jealousy come from, Lillian? We’ve never had any claims over one another – and no love either. My visit here is a courtesy, to say in person there’ll be no more assignations.”

  He rose to his feet. Lillian downed her brandy in one gulp like the practiced drinker she was.

  “Well, they do say the quiet ones are the ones you have to watch out for.”

  It was a perfect actress’ moment, a line delivered to make an audience gasp, but not him.

  “I will not discuss Susannah with you.”

  “Ah… Susannah. How intimate… you don’t have to discuss her,” Lillian sneered. “I could tell you quite a few things I already know that your little paramour hasn’t told you, no matter how close to between her legs you’ve gone.”

  He ignored the barb.

  “I’ve said all I want to say – it’s over between us. It was over before I left on that run to France. There’s nothing you can say that will change my mind about you, or Susannah Linwood.”