Spyfall

by Carter, Elizabeth Ellen

  The woman looked thoughtful. “I suppose it would be too much to hope he put his address on the letter?” Susannah shook her head. “No matter. Write down everything you can remember about the man. I’ll have some of my people run him down and I suspect we can make sure he won’t bother you again.

  “Now, we’ll continue with some immediately pressing matters. I need to ask you again, Susannah, about your willingness for us to make use of The Queen’s Head.”

  “Why is it so important?”

  This time Olivia answered. “I don’t know if Nate told you the particulars about his and Adam’s excursion into France.”

  Susannah shook her head. They’d been too caught up in Peggy and Clem’s wedding and their own reunion to talk business.

  “They rescued two of our agents who brought back a trove of information,” Lady Abigail continued. “We know there is more than one plan to invade England, but we don’t know how many of these plots have merit. That’s the job of The King’s Rogues to find out. What our men brought back suggests a major campaign is being prepared in Ireland.”

  “A campaign? You mean an invasion?”

  Lady Abigail leaned forward. “We don’t know. A suspect ship called the Stockport was captured two nights ago off the Scilly Islands departing from Cork. The men onboard started dumping papers overboard so we don’t know what’s lost, but what was retrieved was a mountain of information in French.”

  “I’m waiting for them to arrive,” said Olivia. “Of course, a lot of it could be in coded language or is so oblique we won’t know what might be of use and what is not.”

  Lady Abigail continued. “Daniel has not had a chance to interrogate the men but he is… we are all certain… that with the right incentive, they will furnish us with what we need to know. He’s waiting for a report from the captain of the Stockport.”

  Olivia drew the conversation back to Susannah’s original question. “From what Adam has said, The Queen’s Head is a perfect launching place for a covert trip. It has direct access to the Irish Sea, and it’s quiet but not too far from major roads. Sir Daniel spoke about establishing temporary semaphore stations along that stretch of coast as well.”

  Susannah shook her head. This was the most remarkable thing she had ever heard in her life!

  She noticed Olivia glancing at Abigail who regarded her with a mild frown. Oh – they thought she was refusing when she shook her head?

  “Of course…yes,” said Susannah, her voice growing in strength. “Whatever I can do I will, it’s just that… well, I’ve never had this type of conversation before. And the idea of having it with other ladies is, well, incredible.”

  Lady Abigail let out a bright laugh.

  “Oh, I can assure you, Susannah, I’m more than capable of discussing the latest on dits with the rest of society and agonizing over the newest fashion silhouettes,” she said. “And, as it happens, since there is little more we can do in the meantime, I suggest that we go shopping for a trousseau for our bride to be.”

  Susannah shook her head once again. This time she meant it. “I assure you that’s most unnecessary.”

  “Nonsense!”

  “I… I’m not a first-time bride.”

  Abigail flicked her hand dismissively.

  “I shouldn’t count the first one at all since the man was such a villain. No, this is a new life for you and Nate. You should start as you mean to go on. I’ll introduce you to my dressmaker. You wouldn’t think such a talented seamstress would be found this far away from Bath or London, but the number of supremely talented emigres in all corners of the country has been quite the find.”

  “I have a dress I ordered from a dressmaker in Truro.”

  “The one on the corner of Lemon and Fairmontle Streets?”

  Susannah nodded.

  “The very one! You have excellent taste, indeed, and I’m sure Madam Lefanu will be only too delighted for a further commission.”

  *

  Nate watched Adam Hardacre erupt like a barrel of gunpowder.

  “What do you mean we’re not going back to France?” he yelled.

  “At ease, Hardacre!” Sir Daniel commanded. “The Stockport’s capture takes precedence, especially when you take a look at the names of those apprehended.”

  He picked up a piece of paper from his desk and handed it to Adam. Nate leaned over his shoulder to read it for himself.

  When Sir Daniel next spoke, his voice was calm. “I received a coded signal about an hour ago that said one of the men captured may be Harold Bickmore.”

  Nate watched his friend’s reaction, grim and determined as he read over the document.

  “I’ll leave immediately, sir.”

  “You’ll do no such thing. The weather is set to turn bad, you told me that yourself only this morning. You have a wife to go home to. Don’t be in such a hurry that you forget what’s important. Those men aren’t going anywhere, not until the weather clears.”

  “We can sail to Old Grimsby in a couple of days’ time,” Nate assured him. “If we’re away at first light and you can get your old chum to talk quickly, we’ll be back in time for supper. What do you say?”

  Adam nodded, his temper barely under control. He turned on his heel and rapidly descended the stairs. Nate went to follow after him but was stopped.

  “Let him go,” instructed Sir Daniel. “He’ll calm down once he’s had a chance to think it through. But watch him when he gets to Old Grimsby. I want to have you as an eyewitness in case Bickmore pulls some stunt.”

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Old Grimsby

  Scilly Islands

  Nate followed Adam into the commander’s room. Weary from a rough sea crossing, he was happy to be a silent spectator. Yet he forced his focus to the task and observed the man in front of him.

  Even though Nate had seen Harold Bickmore twice before, this was the first time he’d had a chance to study the man up close. He had light brown hair and youthful good looks which, no doubt, went over well with the ladies.

  On their arrival, Nate detected a malevolent look that quickly disappeared behind a mask of affable indifference. It would be a mistake to underestimate their prisoner.

  Previous attempts to draw Adam out on the matter of his one-time friend had proven fruitless. Nate tried to imagine someone as resolute as Adam Hardacre being subordinate to a little prig like Bickmore.

  He still couldn’t imagine it.

  Bickmore sat on a wooden chair, shackled arm and foot, but with an audience to play to, the former lieutenant did not look like a man who risked being hanged for treason. He wore a faint expression of amusement across his face, designed no doubt to irritate his interrogator.

  A glance to Adam reassured Nate that his friend wasn’t fooled by the charade.

  “Ah, I was wondering if they’d bring you over to have a chat with me,” said Bickmore in a tone that seemed genuinely friendly.

  That was a surprise.

  Adam Hardacre adopted the same tone of voice. “Did you think I’d pass up the opportunity, Harold? We didn’t get a chance to finish our conversation last time.”

  Bickmore leaned forward with an earnest expression “How are my two other friends? It was two, wasn’t it?”

  “Much safer with us than with you, to be sure. Anyway, I’m the one who’s supposed to be asking questions.”

  “Well, now,” Harold leaned back in his chair holding up his manacled hands. “I’m your captive audience… ask away. Although I can’t guarantee you answers.”

  “Then let’s start with something easy. Are you The Collector?”

  Bickmore frowned. Nate concluded the man was genuinely confused by what also sounded to Nate to be an odd question before realization dawned on the man’s face.

  “Oh – The Collector. Wilkinson hated that name, you know. He thought all the code names were ridiculous, but I thought they were rather fun. So, to answer your question, yes, I am The Collector.”

  “And what precisely w
ere you collecting?”

  “Oh, come on, that question is beneath you, Adam. You know exactly what I was collecting.”

  Adam remained silent for a long time, so much so that Bickmore acknowledged Nate for the first time.

  “We’ve met before, haven’t we?”

  “Votre Français n’est pas mauvais, mais ce n’est pas la langue des gens.”

  Your French isn’t bad, but it’s not the language of the people.

  “What do you know of the ‘language of the people’?” Bickmore responded in his formal, mannered French.

  Nate continued in French: “I was there at Fort St. Pierre. I know who you took away.”

  Bickmore stared at him, more curious than worried.

  “Speak English, both of you,” Adam demanded.

  “We were just renewing old acquaintances, that was all,” said Nate.

  The interrogation of Bickmore continued. In English.

  “What was so important about me that you were planning to take me to France?” Adam demanded.

  “Originally, you were supposed to have gone willingly, remember? You signed up to The Society for Public Reform on your own. You were going to be our Perkin Warbeck after the war was over and return to England to reclaim your place. Not King of England obviously, but a man the rank and file would follow to overthrow the last of the aristocrats in the highest ranks.”

  Hardacre barked out a laugh. “I happen to remember my English history. Warbeck died a traitor’s death.”

  Bickmore shrugged, unconcerned.

  “You played your part well. I have to admit. I… we… all thought you were quite filled with revolutionary zeal.”

  “And seven men are dead because of it.”

  Bickmore looked up, lips pursed, appearing to count the number in his head.

  “Six,” he said at last. “You can’t lay the seventh on me. Your sweet governess did in Peter Fitzgerald all on her own from what I hear. Whoever you’re working for has done quite the job in covering that death up.”

  Nate made sure he watched both men but he kept an eye on Adam. The only reaction he showed to the mention of Olivia was a clench of his fist which made the crossed anchor tattoo on his hand stand out starkly against his skin.

  “Credit where it’s due, old man – you genuinely had me fooled,” Bickmore continued. “Even that bull-headed oaf Dunbar saw right through you, but I was completely convinced, even when I saw Miss Olivia outside that strange little chandlery in Truro. It never occurred to me to wonder whose side you were on.”

  “Why involve her?”

  “I put on the show to test you, and to show Wilkinson my judgement was right. I included her because she was getting too curious. If she had started planting doubts in your head, it was going to make our job harder. I knew she was fond of you and you fond of her, so it was going to be a little added insurance to ensure your cooperation.”

  Nate saw Adam’s jaw clench tight. He was fighting his fury.

  “Cooperation for what?”

  Here, Bickmore seemed transformed, energized, animated. He stretched out his arms as wide as his chains would let him. He held their attention like a carnival barker, clearly reveling in having an audience.

  “The biggest, most audacious military conquest the world has ever known. By the time we’re through, Napoleon will weep like Alexander because there are no more worlds left to conquer.”

  Hardacre barely stifled an obvious yawn, not above employing a bit of theatre of his own, it would seem.

  “And that would be?” he asked, sounding bored with the whole thing.

  Bickmore shook his head.

  “I can’t say. I mean I literally have no more answers to give you. Torture me if you like. I can’t tell you what I don’t know. What the Emperor has planned is too big for any one man to be trusted with all of the details. I was simply tasked to bring together a group of specialists prepared to betray King and Country and usher in a new Europe, without borders, united under one flag.”

  “Considering you’re in chains facing the noose, has it been worth it, so far?” Nate asked.

  “C’est le guerre,” Bickmore shrugged.

  “Tell us what you were doing in Ireland,” Adam ordered, changing the subject.

  Bickmore shook his head.

  “No more questions tonight. Any chance to getting these off me?” He rattled the chains on his arms and legs. “Shouldn’t I be treated like an officer in His Majesty’s Navy?”

  Hardacre shook his head in refusal. “You resigned your commission – something else you failed to tell me.”

  “You never told me you’d turned Agent of the Crown either, so call us even.”

  “I’ll tell your corpse when I spit on it on the gibbet.” Adam turned to Nate. “Come on, let’s get out of here, the stench is becoming intolerable.”

  “Wait, I have some questions of my own first,” said Nate. Adam shrugged. He leaned against the wall and waited.

  “The men you were with at Fort St. Pierre. You took away three officers from the HMS Starbeck. Where are they?”

  “I’m afraid two are detained at the pleasure of the Emperor,” said Bickmore. “Hopefully in more convivial surroundings, at least the captain is. One of the lieutenants was killed when a partisan force attacked the detachment that was taking them to Paris. We believe the attempt to liberate them was part of a sabotage campaign you and your little group might know something about.”

  “Guard!” Adam pounded on the door. “We’re finished in here.”

  He stormed out as soon as the door opened. Nate followed. He gave Bickmore one last look before the guard closed the door and locked it.

  “We’re not going to get any more out of him,” said Adam as soon as Nate caught up with him in the corridor.

  “He didn’t answer your question about Ireland.”

  Hardacre didn’t slow his pace. “And he’s not going to. The best thing we can do is send him to London to put him on trial. If he knows anything, he might use it to plead for his miserable hide, though I doubt it.”

  Nate shrugged. “Torture may be quicker… and more satisfying.”

  “The man is a fanatic. He’d rather die first.”

  Nate surged forward and opened the door to the outbuilding, leading the way out into the bitter November night.

  “Let’s hope Lady Abigail and your Olivia have made more headway with the documents they’ve retrieved,” he said. “Although what we’re going to do if they’re in code is another thing altogether.”

  For the first time this evening, Adam returned to his usual even temper. “Olivia’s good at ciphers, but Sir Daniel is a truly talented codebreaker. He read mathematics at Cambridge in his younger years, apparently. If anyone can make sense of this then he will be able to.”

  *

  The early November market day at St. Sennen was one of the largest of the year. Winter brought uncertain weather and the wisest were stocking up.

  Susannah stopped in the middle of a conversation with Peggy and Clem, dropping the bottle of preserves she had in her hand. It landed on the table unbroken and remained sealed, but it toppled and rolled toward a pyramid of jars like a ball toward nine-pins.

  She shook her head to clear it and stopped the bottle rolling before it could do damage to the display.

  Her friend frowned. “You look pale. Are you all right?”

  “I thought I saw someone I recognized, that’s all.”

  “You mean there’s someone around these parts you don’t know?” Clem teased.

  “I suppose you’re right.” A rueful smile emerged.

  “Who was it you thought you saw?” asked Peggy.

  Susannah shook her head. “I’m sure it was no one.”

  Surely it couldn’t have been him. But it certainly did look like him. She waited until Clem was in conversation with a couple of men before tapping Peggy on the shoulder and drawing her to the back of their stall.

  “What’s up, Duch?”

 
“I thought I saw someone who looked like Robert Lawnton.”

  The older woman’s eyes opened wide, but she didn’t say anything for a moment.

  “Tressa,” she called. “Mind the stall will you, luv? I’m just going to have a chat with Mrs. Linwood.”

  Peggy steered her away from the crowd to a quiet corner of the green.

  “Where did you see him?”

  “The other side of the green.”

  Peggy glanced over there. “Are you sure?”

  “No, I’m not sure, that’s why I need you to keep your eyes open.”

  “All right, I will. But what do we do if we see him?”

  Susannah fiddled with the ring on her finger, turning it round and round.

  It seemed strange to be wearing another one but it was different. It was not the plain, thin gold wedding band from her marriage to Jack, but rather an engagement token from Nate, a ring with nine aquamarines as bright as the summer sky set flat into a gold band.

  He presented it to her before he left for the Scilly Islands with Adam. But now her new ring had fallen subject to an old anxious habit.

  “I don’t know,” Susannah confessed. “Make sure you stay close to Clem. Sam will be accompanying Tressa and I home today anyway. If it is Lawnton, then we’ll deal with him when the time comes.”

  Peggy’s lips thinned. “I’ll tell Clem that we’ll stay at the inn for a few days.”

  “You’ll do no such thing! I won’t have everything upset over a panic about nothing.”

  “Well it was you who said you saw him,” Peggy retorted.

  “I said I thought I saw someone who looked like him. It’s been more than two years; how can I be sure of anything?”

  “All right, I’ll have a good look around. So, what if I don’t spot him?”

  Susannah shrugged her shoulders “Then it means I’m jumping at shadows, and I’m missing Nate.”

  “Are you sure?”

  Susannah nodded and looked sheepish. “Thank you for looking out for me.”

  “I’ll always be here for you, Duch, you know that.”

  *

  “What are you still doing here?”

  Lawnton opened his eyes and looked at Lillian Doyle balefully.