Spyfall

by Carter, Elizabeth Ellen

  The man shrugged Nate’s hands off his lapel and offered a sour grimace.

  “Whatever it is you think you’re after, you’ve picked the wrong night and the wrong man,” he said. “I’m nothing to you and you’re nothing to me and I’d like to keep it that way because I’m not a man you want to get on the bad side of.”

  Nate felt the switchblade lightly sweep across his chest in warning.

  Bloody hell, he’d never even seen the knife! He brought both fists down and his right knee up to meet them, trapping the man’s knife hand between them and catching his assailant by surprise. The knife clattered to the ground.

  Nate followed up with a left hook across the jaw and a right fist into the man’s solar plexus. He wheeled him around by the shoulder and lashed a booted foot against his arse, kicking hard.

  The man tumbled out onto the street, gasping. Nate kicked his knife after him.

  “A world of advice,” he said. “Find another village to stay in. I don’t know who the hell you are, but you’re not welcome here.”

  The man retrieved his knife and folded the blade. He got to his feet slowly and slipped the knife back in his pocket before dusting himself off.

  He glared at Nate. “Mark my words. I’ll deal with you…”

  He turned and began to walk away, muttering something more that alarmed Nate. For a split second, he almost went after the man to demand to know what he meant. Then better sense prevailed – Nate was still drunk, the man was armed, and the advantage of surprise was gone.

  He couldn’t be sure what the man had said anyway.

  It sounded like “as soon as I’ve dealt with her”.

  *

  As far as places to lay low went, this was not a bad one, even though it had been the devil to find – and get to – in the dark.

  Robert Lawnton found the boatshed door unlocked, just as the letter said it would be. He found a flint and striker on a small stove. He lit it and coaxed the coals to life. It shed enough light to help him find a lamp.

  He lit that, too.

  The inside of the shed had been whitewashed, an extravagance only the wealthy would indulge themselves in. A daybed large enough for two was in the corner farthest away from the boat and its gear – a perfect location for assignations.

  He grinned to himself. He was beginning to get an idea of what his mysterious benefactress was like.

  And he was in no doubt it was a woman who wrote him.

  The whole thing was the devil’s own luck. He hadn’t intended to return to the house at Lydd after learning the little bitch had sold it. But after four months of dead-end inquiries, he returned there on a whim to find a letter written in a feminine hand waiting for him.

  To his surprise, it wasn’t from Susannah Moorcroft.

  Lawnton,

  I have come to learn that you are seeking a mutual acquaintance. I may be able to assist. Come to St. Sennen and spend one night at The Rose and Crown giving the name of McAllister. Do not ask for your quarry by name. You will only be disappointed.

  You will receive a further communication from me there with instructions.

  A friend.

  A lifetime in society’s shadows had taught him caution. Two years in Causton Prison reinforced it. So he’d thought long and hard before following the letter’s instruction.

  He’d pondered if it might be Susannah drawing him into a trap but, no, the stupid bitch didn’t have the guile for it. All the same, it could be any of his enemies – and there were many – trying ensnare him. But the lure of Jack Moorcroft’s ledger could not be ignored so he’d determined to advance with extreme care.

  He had, indeed, received another communication to “McAllister” at The Rose and Crown, this time a crudely drawn map from the inn through the village to a path that would take him over the headland and down to the boatshed by the sea.

  It had been a mistake to follow the drunken men from the pub, but the map was crap and the village a rabbit warren. He’d thought to let the drunks lead the way through the unfamiliar streets until one of them, obviously not as soused at the rest, clocked him.

  Whoever he was, Lawnton planned to find the man later and make good his threat.

  Mark my words. I’ll deal with you as soon as I’ve dealt with her.

  His jaw and gut still hurt from the man’s blows. On top of that, he was exhausted from being so long on the road. He glanced around and found a bottle of spirits. He uncorked it and took a swig. Brandy – and good quality at that!

  He grinned. There was active smuggling going on in these parts. He’d put a hefty wager on it.

  He dropped his satchel and unlaced his boots. He lay down on the bed and listened to the sound of the lapping water on the wooden slipway. He speculated on the identity of the woman and the thought it might be a set-up came to him again.

  This place was so isolated that a gang could jump him, slit his throat, and dump his body in the sea.

  He sat himself up onto his elbows and looked about. The boathouse double doors were chained. He set one of the wooden chairs under the unlocked side door.

  That would have to do until morning.

  *

  Lillian surprised her maid by waking early and insisting on being dressed in her walking dress. The servant was wise enough to never question her mistress’ decisions or activities and was well compensated for her lack of curiosity.

  “Ma’am, a reminder that Mr. Doyle expects your company in hosting a luncheon today for the meeting of the bankers’ board,” she said.

  “Yes, yes, I haven’t forgotten,” she said impatiently, although she had.

  Of all the impositions!

  Lillian pulled herself out of bed. She slipped on a sky blue silk wrapper before sitting down at her dressing table and pulling forward a small writing box.

  “Set out my rose gown and the cultured pearls that go with it. Then I need you to run an errand. Take this note down to the boathouse.”

  Lillian ignored the maid’s lip twitch reflected in the mirror.

  “Am I to wait for a response, Ma’am?” she asked.

  The question was mild and deferential, but Lillian knew better than to take it at face value. Sloan’s silence was best fed from time to time, and this was one of those times.

  “No – but bring out my jewelry box.”

  Sloan went to the wardrobe and drew out the ebony box Lillian rifled through it until she found what she had in mind – a pair of silver and amber earrings a lover had once given her as a token. She hadn’t liked them at the time and had never worn them. They would do.

  She held them up momentarily as though she was considering wearing them herself, then held them out to the maid.

  “Here, let me make you a present of these.”

  Sloan’s avaricious, little piggy eyes lit up.

  “For me, Ma’am?”

  Lillian forced a pleasant smile onto her face.

  “Yes, for you. You’re such a faithful servant, Agnes.” It nearly pained her to use the girl’s first name. “So faithful. And discreet…”

  The heavy-set maid dropped a curtsy and accepted the trinkets.

  Lillian wafted the lightly scented paper until the ink dried and folded it in half. Let Sloan believe it was an assignation. It wouldn’t have been the first she’d covered for Lillian, and the little miss had done quite all right out of it over the years.

  *

  Lawnton awoke at dawn. He didn’t like the idea of being cooped up in a shed until someone deigned to call on him. He’d had enough of confined spaces in his prison cell.

  He shaved and dressed, supposing to take on the role of an eccentric rambler if anyone looked at him. He would explore the region until he knew it as well as a local.

  He had plenty of experience playing whatever part was required for the job. That was the difference between himself and Jack Moorcroft.

  That man had been a crafty bastard to be sure, but was more a blunt object than a clever operator. Robert Lawnton, on the
other hand, had coolly walked right into the fanciest houses in London and Brighton in the guise of a vicar, a brush salesman, a rag and bone man, an itinerant scholar, a collector of subscriptions, a handyman. Once he had impersonated the long-lost son of a marquis. Mind you, that had only fooled a poor ignorant maid, but it had been enough to learn the layout of the house from the inside-out.

  He was a master at his craft, often imitated but never beaten. Why? Because he was patient, he was thoughtful, and he was thorough.

  Lawton returned from his walk and spied a stout figure making her way down a manicured path. He had avoided that one because he suspected it belonged to the big house on the headland.

  Keeping his distance, he followed the woman, a lady’s maid, judging by her attire, and watched as she walked right up to the side door and knocked.

  Surely this was not the woman who had contacted him? There was something a little tentative about her actions that suggested not. Coming here on behalf of her mistress perhaps? Yes, much more likely.

  “You’ll find no one’s at home,” said Lawnton in his most charming voice.

  The woman started and turned. And, indeed, her face was as plain as her figure suggested. That told him something about the mistress. No woman with a philandering husband would hire an attractive female as an intimate servant. And no unfaithful woman would take one either lest she turn her lovers’ eyes.

  The maid looked him up and down but said nothing.

  “Is there a message for me?”

  The woman glanced at the closed door as though she might see through it and know there was no one inside. Then she turned back to him. He kept his distance and a pleasant demeanor, lest he be considered as a threat.

  “I was told to wait here and a message would be waiting,” he offered.

  Satisfied he was the right person, the maid held out a note. Lawnton accepted it, but before the woman could withdraw her hand, he took hold of it. Today he would play the part of a poor but deserving gentleman.

  “Thank you… may I know your name?” he asked with earnestness.

  “Sloan, sir.”

  “You must have a first name.”

  “Agnes, sir.”

  He bent over her hand in a practiced, courtly gesture, then released it – just enough to keep the woman unsettled but not arouse too much suspicion. He held the letter to his nose to breathe in the perfume.

  “Tell your mistress I await her at her convenience – and thank you, Agnes.”

  The message duly delivered, there was one more thing the maid could do for him.

  “Agnes… I… well, I don’t wish to create an inconvenience, but I have a favor to ask.”

  Her face remained blank.

  “Is there a chance you could bring back some food? Of course, I wouldn’t want you to get into trouble…”

  The maid sighed ever so slightly with relief, it seemed. Obviously, she had expected a task much more difficult.

  Interesting…

  “Of course, sir, I should be able to slip something out of the kitchen before the master’s guests arrive.”

  “Thank you, my dear. You’ve been more than kind.”

  He offered a small, friendly wave as the woman ascended by the path again, then he looked at the note.

  Stay where you are. I will come to see you as soon as I can.

  The perfumed paper suggested a woman of great wealth and whose maid was well used to being a go-between for her lovers.

  Lawnton tapped the paper. He’d really like to get a look inside that lady’s boudoir and not the one set up in the boatshed. A decent haul of jewelry and silver would set him up in business again quite nicely. Quite nicely, indeed.

  This was just the stroke of luck he’d been waiting for.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  The warm, pleasant sunshine of autumn lingered the next morning. The air was crisp, but the sky was completely blue.

  Susannah and Tressa were up at dawn, decorating their wagon with sprays of greenery and bunches of stock with flowerheads in pink, white, and purple. Swags of pink and green fabric decorated the cart. Even Sid sported a double row daisy chain collar, that he wore with much forbearance.

  A few other ladies from the village had arrived early to help prepare the bride for her big day.

  “My dear, you look a treasure,” said Miss Wood.

  Peggy burst into tears for the second time since rising, and Susannah nearly joined her.

  Indeed, her old friend did look a treasure in her wedding gown of ivory and pink stripes worn beneath a woolen spencer in russet. It showed the highlights of red in her brown hair and brought out the warm shade of her eyes.

  “Well, stop that crying or he’ll wonder who the red-faced harridan is,” Mrs. Baumann joked. It was just the right thing to say.

  Peggy’s tears became a howl of laughter instead.

  Mrs. Baumann rounded up the rest of the bridal party to herd them down the stairs and into the wagon, giving Susannah and Peggy a few precious moments alone.

  “Oh, Duch, I didn’t believe a day like this would ever come for me,” she said. “I’ve never been a picture, I know that. After a while you leave the idea of marriage behind. And as you’re getting older, you think falling in love is something silly young people do. But now I know love can come your way, no matter what your age.”

  Susannah hugged her friend gently by the shoulders as not to crush her gown. “And it’s well deserved,” she said. “I’ve never seen anyone look so much in love as you and Clem. I’m delighted for the both of you. I must say, Clem has become a dear friend.”

  Peggy accepted Susannah’s kerchief to wick away the moisture from her eyes. “And you know how quiet young Sam is?” she asked Susannah. “Well, yesterday, he welcomed me into the family and asked what he should call me after I marry his pa. Bless him, I told him that he should call me Peg and I’d be honored if he considered me a friend.”

  Now it was Susannah’s turn to search for a kerchief to wipe the tears away from her eyes.

  “Well, let’s get you wed!” she announced. “Everyone is waiting downstairs. But before we leave, I have a gift for you.”

  Susannah picked up the box from the dressing table and opened it to reveal a little hair comb. Set above the gold teeth was a pretty enamel bluebird and, in its beak, a white rose made of mother of pearl.

  “I found it in Truro. It is your ‘something blue’.”

  Tears started to well in the middle-aged woman’s eyes once more as Susannah lifted a lock of her hair and set the comb.

  “There, it’s perfect.”

  The two friends embraced.

  Waiting for them outside the church were Nate and Clem’s son, Sam.

  Nate was dressed in a frockcoat of dark blue. Against his black hair, the color was striking. There was never any doubt in Susannah’s mind that he was a handsome man, but seeing him dressed in finery she never knew he possessed made him even more arresting.

  Sam looked more like an adult than a youth dressed in his Sunday best waiting to play a father’s role by giving away the bride. The youth had even had a haircut which made him look more mature than his years. Sam said something to Nate which caused him to flash a smile. Susannah’s heart tumbled a little with the sight of it.

  As much as she tried denying it, the fact was plain. She was in love with Nathaniel Payne and it appeared he was sincere when he said he loved her.

  For one brief instant, she could see herself as the bride with Nate waiting inside at the altar of the old Norman church as Clem did now. She mentally shook her head. This was Clem and Peggy’s big day.

  She turned and helped Peggy down from the wagon. Her friend squeezed her hand and leaned in.

  “Perhaps mine won’t be the only wedding before the end of the year,” she whispered.

  Dismayed her thoughts were so transparent, she was about to fashion a denial when Peggy nodded over to the actual subject of her observation – Sam, whose gaze had followed Tressa, also part of t
he bridal party.

  “Really?” she whispered. “I hadn’t noticed.”

  Peggy touched a finger to her nose. “A housekeeper always knows, and it’s not escaped the attention of his dad either.”

  From inside the church, the first notes of the organ tumbled out and voices rose for the first hymn.

  Miss Wood shepherded in those who tarried, leaving just four at the entrance. The bride was suddenly looking nervous. Nate stepped forward and took Peggy’s hand.

  “I’ve never seen a more radiant bride,” he said.

  Peggy slapped his arm. “Ooh, you saucy pirate! The cheek of flirting with a girl on her wedding day.”

  Nate held back a laugh and kissed the back of her hand, then presented it to Sam.

  “I’ve never seen Da look so happy since he met you,” he said. “Thank you, Peggy.”

  “Ooh, dash the lot of you! I shall be cross if you make me cry,” she exclaimed.

  The hymn came to an end, and the organ took up the processional.

  Nate offered his arm to Susannah. He had a wry smile on his face. She was dying to know exactly what the look was all about, but he said nothing. He escorted Susannah down the aisle to their positions either side of where Clem waited for his bride.

  *

  “And the Lord God said, ‘it is not good that the man should be alone; I will make him a help meet for him’.”

  Nate gave a sideways glance at Susannah as Reverend Johnston delivered the homily. The pink gown she wore brought warmth to her cheeks. He liked it a lot.

  It was not good for man to be alone.

  For a long time, he had been alone out of choice. To be married, he thought, would be an anchor dragging on the sea floor, slowing him down or even stopping his progress completely. For a long while, being alone suited him. But, more recently, Nate had begun to appreciate the true meaning of the words.

  When he thought perhaps he might die in the French prison, he’d pondered who if any outside would mourn his passing. Perhaps Yvette, a little, for a short while, but what they had was just a dalliance. Certainly not Lillian. She’d just shrug her shoulders and move on to the next man. In truth, the only person he could think of who would miss him was Clem, as a man misses another man he has called friend.