Spyfall

by Carter, Elizabeth Ellen

  “You’re both safe as houses with us, luv,” someone called.

  “We’ll make sure you’re all right,” said another.

  Peggy returned to the kitchen.

  “Right. Now we have some proper guard dogs on duty,” she said.

  “There’s something else, too…” said Susannah. “I received a letter from Robert Lawnton.”

  Peggy sank down at the dining table, her ruddy complexion paling.

  “Where? Not here, surely.”

  Susannah swallowed her own apprehension. “He sent it to the house at Lydd. The solicitor in Kent sent it on to the one in Truro. It looked months old.”

  “You don’t think he’s the one who stole…”

  Having someone ask the question out loud coalesced the issue in Susannah’s mind. The answer came to her swiftly.

  “No.”

  Susannah shook her head, now more sure of her answer and her reason for it.

  “No, he doesn’t know where we are. How could he? The fact the letter reached me at all was only happenstance. And Robert Lawnton didn’t strike me as a man who’d skulk in the shadows and play games.”

  “He’s a nasty one, Duch. Your husband was bad enough but Lawnton has a cruel streak.”

  So, she hadn’t been the only one to notice.

  “He’s looking for the ledger.”

  Peggy squared her shoulders. “Well, he can’t find it if it doesn’t exist.”

  The avowal bolstered Susannah’s own confidence – after all, she and Peggy had been through much more trying times than this.

  “That’s exactly what I was thinking. I want to burn it tonight. I want to make sure not even ashes remain.”

  “Then that’s what we’ll do, Duch.” Peggy looked at her sympathetically. “You look like you need a cup of tea.”

  As Peggy busied herself with the teapot, Susannah took a deep breath and tried to sound lighthearted. “I promised you a wedding present.”

  “I know,” said Peggy over her shoulder at the kettle. “A partnership in The Queen’s Head.”

  “Have you given any thought as to how you’d like your dowry?”

  The trouble of the stolen glove box aside, now was a time for celebration. The woman who had become her dearest friend in the world was getting married.

  Susannah’s smile broadened when Peggy turned and had a healthy blush instead of the angry red of a few minutes earlier. She looked girlish.

  “Yes, I had a quick word with Old Boots. Neither of us are in the first flower of youth and we’re both set in our ways. So we’ve agreed Clem can run his business his way, and leave it to his son, and I can run my half of my business in the way I see fit. It’ll need a few changes though.”

  Susannah’s smile broadened.

  “You said you had a quick word?”

  Peggy gave her a look that said her pointed tease had not gone unnoticed. She came to the table with the teapot.

  “Tressa’s proven herself a good little maid-of-all-work – and she’s got a friend in need of employment as well.”

  “An extra set of wages, Peggy. Have you thought this through?”

  “Indeed, I have,” she replied, pouring their tea. “With me living in the village, the two girls could share my old room. I’ll still come in every day and do my other work but I’ll teach the girls how to cook. That’d mean we have more time to make preserves. It’s a good side business, we know that already. Well, Clem says the pirate knows a provedore in Newquay who’ll take a regular quantity…”

  Susannah wasn’t sure what expression she had on her face, but Peggy halted.

  “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to bring up his name.”

  Forcing a nonchalant set to her shoulders, Susannah shook her head. “No, that’s fine but that’s another thing I need to tell you. I… I don’t think Nate is going to come home.”

  Susannah picked at a scar on the table to avoid seeing Peggy’s expression.

  “He’s going to continue to work with Adam Hardacre out of Truro now.”

  “Ooh…” murmured Peggy doubtfully. “I suppose it’s honest business in a way. But if you ask me it’s barely different from smuggling.”

  “So how would you feel if some of Mr. Hardacre’s… friends came to stay every now and again?”

  “And they’d be paying guests?” asked Peggy sharply.

  “Yes. According to Lady Abigail.”

  “Lady who?”

  “Sir Daniel Ridgeway’s wife. I met her. She runs some of their… business interests.”

  Peggy raised her eyebrows then shrugged. “Well, as long as they’re paying, they’re welcome, because I have a business to look after, too.”

  The monthly markets in St. Sennen were where Susannah and Peggy did their best trade. They sold a fine quantity of cordials and preserves. It added finely to the income from the bar, guests staying at the inn, and those who came for meals.

  It was also at the markets where ideas were shared and deals struck for future business, so it had been the habit for Susannah and Peggy to attend together.

  But not today.

  Peggy had been fighting a cold bravely for days now. Susannah insisted that not only could she do the markets on her own, but she’d also make supper for their evening patrons.

  “I may not be as good a cook as you, but I have been paying attention,” she said, touching a hand to Peggy’s forehead. It was warm.

  “It’s not right,” she croaked. “I never get sick.”

  Susannah shook her head indulgently.

  “You’ve been working hard every day since we arrived here. Besides, you’re getting married soon – you want to be completely well. Sleep, and I promise you won’t even notice I’ve gone.”

  An attempt to “harrumph” ended in a series of hacking coughs. Oh my, but Peggy was a dreadful patient.

  “There, I’ve left you a small crock of chicken soup and some lemon tea.”

  “Don’t fuss, I’m not a complete invalid.”

  “I’m glad to hear it!”

  Susannah looked at her friend. “Besides, there’s a method to my madness. If you let me take over the duties for the next couple of days, you’ll be well enough for Friday and Saturday which you know are our biggest days. And don’t forget, we’re expecting four new guests to stay with us for the next two weeks shortly after that, and we have yet to prepare their rooms.”

  Peggy offered a resigned nod of her head.

  “I suppose you’re right.”

  Susannah accepted that as a victory.

  “I am, you’ll see.”

  “You’ll send Clem or Sam with a message back to me if you need anything at the markets?”

  “I promise faithfully,” she said.

  On this chilly late September morning, Susannah set up her display of bottled brandied apricots and rosehip cordials, and nodded at familiar faces among the stallholders as they set out their wares.

  She would miss Peggy’s company. She was far more attentive to gossip than Susannah, and her asides about people who came and went during the day always made her giggle.

  Susannah and the other stallholders chatted business for a while before Simon Sitwell, the rounded, grey-haired owner of The Rose and Crown, drew her to one side just as the church bells chimed eight o’clock.

  “I heard about the break-in at your place, Mrs. Linwood,” he said. “I wanted to let you know one of my regulars caught the cove what done it. You can rest assured it won’t happen again.”

  Sitwell placed a pair of black leather gloves in her hands and, indeed, they were hers.

  “Thank you!” she exclaimed. “How did you come by them?”

  “Pettigrew caught young Joe Stapes clambering through my office window the other night,” Sitwell continued. “He was looking for the cashbox and admitted he tried your place first. He swiped your glove box because – in his words – ‘something that pretty should have something expensive inside it’. He’s not the brightest boy God ever made.”


  Susannah knew Joe’s family, although not well. She tutted her disappointment.

  “He’s not a bad ’un really,” said Sitwell. “A few of the boys took him outside to, er, straighten him out. He’ll get another hiding if he doesn’t apologize to you in person.”

  Susannah thanked the innkeeper warmly and returned to her stall ready to serve her first customer. She was relieved to find the theft and destruction of the glove box was not as malicious as she had feared. She’d even entertained the thought that Robert Lawnton had stolen the gloves. Between the theft and Lawnton’s letter, she had been jumping at shadows, afraid that if she turned around Jack’s associate would be there.

  Three hours later, Susannah gave in to her aching feet and resorted to using a shooting stick to rest upon instead of remaining on her feet. Beneath her skirts, she rolled one ankle and then the other, flexing her toes to rid them of an ache.

  A figure caught her eye, a stylishly dressed woman in a dark blue riding habit and an ostrich feathered hat. It was Lillian Doyle.

  My, the peacock is up with the hens today, thought Susannah uncharitably, in a voice that sounded too much like Peggy. Worst luck, Mrs. Doyle approached her.

  “Good day to you, Mrs. Linwood.”

  “And to you, Mrs. Doyle, a pleasant day, indeed,” she replied.

  That was best. Keep the conversation agreeable.

  The woman stepped closer and picked up a jar of brandy preserved apricots.

  “I rather thought Moorcroft was a perfectly serviceable name,” she said casually.

  Susannah rose to her feet, ignoring their aching and the sudden tightening in her chest.

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “Just making conversation.”

  “With all due respect, Mrs. Doyle, you are not the type of person for whom conversation is an idle pastime.”

  Someone else approached the stall. Susannah give her attention to an actual customer who bought a selection of preserves and marmalades. But the other woman didn’t take the hint and remained.

  “I’ve started to wonder why you’re really here, Mrs. Linwood. St. Sennen is such a backwater. Your manner and your speech suggest you’re a lady of some quality, so it makes me curious.”

  Susannah rearranged her display of goods, trying her best to ignore the woman without seeming too rude. “I regret that I’ve occupied so much of your thoughts. I would have expected someone as important as you to have much more interesting things to do with your time.”

  “My time is my own, my dear, and I choose to spend it in the ways I found most… stimulating.”

  A sly dig about Nate, no doubt.

  How was it that she could never think of anything clever to say back? That was why she needed Peggy by her side. Her friend could snap out a stinging riposte faster than anyone she knew.

  In her case, silence served her best.

  “And by the way, how is your houseguest?”

  “Are you thinking of anyone in particular?” Susannah responded with mock sweetness. “After all, I do run an inn and we have any number of guests.”

  Lillian Doyle put down the apricot preserve.

  “I think you and I know exactly who I’m talking about, Mrs. Linwood.”

  Susannah pulled together every ounce of self-possession she owned and pinned the woman with a direct look. This response came easily from her lips because she had rehearsed it often enough.

  “If you’re inquiring about Mr. Payne, then I’m afraid I’m going to have to disappoint you. He moved away over a month ago and left no forwarding address.”

  She watched the look of surprise flash across the woman’s face before her self-assured mask slipped back into place.

  “How disappointing.”

  Those two words were layered with meaning. For the first time, Susannah thanked her years with Jack Moorcroft for teaching her the ability to give nothing away on her face. No hint of emotion. Nothing.

  “Well, it’s been delightful chatting with you, Mrs. Doyle,” Susannah said brightly.

  If Lillian Doyle doubted her sincerity, then let her.

  “Please do let your cook know the relishes he ordered are ready to pick up from The Queen’s Head, if he cares to send someone down.”

  She had to give Lillian Doyle some credit, too. The woman did manage to keep her composure well.

  With a condescending incline to her head, the magistrate’s wife looked every inch the lady of the manor.

  “And a good day to you, Mrs. Linwood. By the way, a word to the wise – once something piques my curiosity, I don’t stop until it’s satisfied.”

  Chapter Twenty

  Early October, 1805

  Susannah glanced out the kitchen window, and the dishcloth stilled in her hand.

  A trim white sail was appearing over the tops of trees along the banks of the Pengellan River.

  Her heart stilled a moment, then continued in double time.

  She recognized it. It could belong to only one vessel.

  The Sprite!

  She turned back to the kitchen, willing her heart to slow to its regular pace. Peggy caught her eyes, glanced out the window herself, then took the dishcloth from her hand.

  “You’d better go and see what those smugglers are after, Duch,” she said softly.

  Susannah shot her a melancholy smile and walked unhurriedly across the field. Six months ago, it had been fallow; now part of it was an orchard beginning to thrive, and in another corner a couple of goats ruminated. Secure, now that the chickens had a run of their own, was their vegetable patch where long runs of vines had produced bright orange pumpkins nearly ready for harvest.

  Perhaps she should greet Nate as she had done all those months ago. Would he remember he had confused her for a housekeeper? Would he find amusement in it now as he had done then?

  The cat got your tongue?

  Surely, she was forgiven if he had returned.

  Or should she greet him with an apology on her lips? She was ready to move forward now. There was nothing of her past that could hurt her; hurt them.

  Lawnton would surely have given up searching for her by now, and Lillian Doyle’s knowledge of her real name was easily explained by her nosing through Magistrate Doyle’s records.

  And now, even the wedding band she’d worn as a reminder of her past – and her penance – was gone from her finger.

  There was a moment when she and Peggy burned the ledger that she was tempted to throw the ring in the fire along with it, but she put it away instead. Gold was gold after all.

  As slender as the band had been, her hand felt lighter without it. She felt lighter without it. And, for the past three weeks, she had considered Olivia Hardacre and Lady Abigail’s words.

  Nate cared about her.

  Did he love her still?

  She stopped at the boatshed, its deck out to the jetty now fully repaired. The shed was also completely weather tight and whitewashed. It would welcome Nate’s chandlery and supplies. And she would welcome him.

  The first person she saw was Adam Hardacre. He dashed across the deck to throw a line to moor the Sprite and, with his back to her, threw out the anchor into the creek.

  That was her first hint something was wrong.

  Susannah’s eyes swept across the deck to the helm.

  There was no one there.

  Nate wasn’t there.

  She climbed the steps and ran out to the end of the jetty.

  “Lieutenant Hardacre! Adam! Where’s Nate?”

  The man pivoted around to look at her. Susannah took a step back. His bewhiskered face was grim.

  “Get a man out here now to help me get him inside.”

  She put a hand to her mouth to cover an involuntary sob.

  Hardacre’s expression softened immediately. He stopped what he was doing and jumped onto the jetty to give her a quick embrace.

  “Is Nate…”

  She couldn’t finish her words, let alone try to articulate them.

  “I
t’s all right, Susannah. He’s just concussed and has a badly sprained ankle. We had a narrow escape from a French patrol. We fled into some bad weather to evade them. We had a devil of a time to make it back here.”

  Susannah nodded her understanding, then took a deep breath to calm her jangled nerves.

  “And you’re unhurt? I know Olivia worries about you, too.”

  The name of his wife from her lips had the most remarkable effect on the man. He picked up her hands and kissed them.

  “You’ve met her! I hoped Lady Abigail would arrange something. That you speak of Olivia warmly makes me happy. As The King’s Rogues, there are few we can trust. Knowing we are not alone in this enterprise brings more comfort than you can imagine.”

  Susannah swallowed and nodded, offering a wan smile in return. There was a noise from the cabin, a stumbling. Nate appeared, holding on to the roof of the cabin for support.

  He looked horrible. Half his face was black and blue. Anywhere not covered in bruises was covered in cuts and scrapes.

  He managed to cant a corner of his mouth upwards in an approximation of a grin. “Good morning, Miss. I’ve not seen you around here before. Are you one of the maids from old Gilliam’s inn over there?”

  Susannah’s heart leapt. He remembered!

  But his attempt at a jest seemed to drain his last reserves of energy. He took another stumbling step forward and swayed. She and Adam reached him at the same time.

  “We’re going to arrange a stretcher,” said Hardacre.

  “Like hell,” said Nate through gritted teeth. “Find me something to use as a crutch. If I can’t walk two hundred yards unaided, I may as well be dead.”

  “Really? Because you were doing a good enough impression of that two nights ago.”

  Nate snarled. Adam ignored it.

  Susannah retrieved one of the paddles from the dinghy.

  “Will this do?”

  “Just dandy,” he bit out, but the look in his eyes conveyed his gratitude.

  She stepped back onto the jetty to give Adam and Nate room to make their egress from the Sprite.

  “He’s not going to be able to make it up stairs,” she said. “Take him through to my room.”

  Adam gave her a quick nod. Nate’s face contorted with pain as he shuffled forward to make the step across off the boat.