“You know where Susannah Moorcroft is. Now leave.”
The man sat up on the daybed and eyed his “benefactress” with faint amusement.
“Now, how can I leave before I’ve gotten what she’s stolen from me?”
The woman was unconvinced. “You could ask her for it. She’s supposed to be a very honest person.”
Lawnton surged to his feet as quick as his temper. “Honest? Luring her husband to his death in the marsh and watching him drown?”
“What?”
Lawnton calmed himself. He was almost amused by the look of shock on the woman’s face. The practiced neutral mask which gave the illusion of someone who had only just passed the prime of youth had slipped. In her, he felt a kindred spirit.
“Oh, yes,” Lawnton continued, “That one’s a cold-hearted bitch if there ever was one, to be sure. She claimed she hadn’t seen Jack all evening and only grew concerned in the morning. But I know for a fact she was out there on the marshes that evening and right where her husband died. I fully intend to make her pay. She owes me.”
Lillian Doyle wrapped her cloak around herself in an imperious fashion and raised her chin. She nodded toward the door.
“Get out of here.”
Lawnton stepped forward in an instant and gripped the woman’s arms tightly. He shook her and the shock on her face pleased him.
“You don’t understand me, woman,” he snarled, leaning in. “I need until Sunday when the inn’s closed ’til late afternoon.”
Lawnton shoved her away from him. To his chagrin, the woman recovered herself far more quickly than he anticipated. The look she gave him now was one of utter contempt.
In that moment, he knew he had underestimated her.
Lillian Doyle brushed down her sleeves and peered down her nose at him.
“You’ll have until the end of this coming Sunday. On Monday, I’ll be down with all the footmen and your body will wash up at Land’s End. Never threaten me again.”
She slammed the door behind her. The swirl of frigid sea air extinguished the warmth in the boathouse but resentment heated Lawnton from within.
Bitches! All women can rot in hell. Every last useless one of them. They’re only good for one thing…
He was calmer by the time Agnes came down with the food. At least this time, she had brought him something warm to eat, and the ale would go part way to restoring his temper.
He arranged his most charming personality and lavished praise on the dumpy woman until she blushed with it. He drew Agnes close and ran his fingers through her hair tenderly, as a lover might.
“How I’d love to see you dress in satins and pearls. Hair like yours needs to be dressed; shown off. Emeralds would set off the color of your eyes,” he crooned.
He brought her into his embrace and whispered in her ear.
“Have you ever gone through your mistress’ jewels and tried them on for yourself?”
Lawnton watched the woman’s face. She blushed. He knew he’d hit the right note.
“You have, haven’t you? You naughty minx,” he said, lightly pinching her chin. “I won’t tell, I promise.”
He ran a finger down the side of her neck and across the chest above her ample bosom.
“I’d love to see that,” he whispered. “I want to make love to you covered in jewels.”
“I… I couldn’t take…”
He pressed a finger to her lips, shushing her.
“I would never do anything that would get you in trouble with your mistress, Agnes. But if she’s away for the evening, perhaps you can invite me in and…”
He finished the thought with a kiss. The woman gave herself into it and Lawnton knew his ruse had worked.
“The master and mistress are attending a house party on Sunday evening. They’ll be away overnight.” Agnes offered him what he imagined she thought was a seductive smile. He pretended to be enraptured by it.
“Let me know when and where, my dove, and I will fly to you.”
Chapter Twenty-Six
Nate reached across the pew and caressed Susannah’s hand as Reverend Johnston read out their names alongside those of another couple for the first reading of the banns. Her gloved fingers curled around his and lightly squeezed.
A murmur of delight went through the congregation. He wondered whether any would be surprised at hearing Susannah’s full name – Susannah Louise Moorcroft Linwood. He appreciated the clergyman’s tact. By reading out both their full names and adding Susannah’s legal name as only part of hers, he had fulfilled his duty and, at the same time, prevented questions of a strange surname being raised.
Through the leather of her glove, his thumb brushed along the smooth tops of the gemstones in the gold ring he had given her.
The ring had caught his eye over the others he scoured through at a market in Truro. He’d reviewed some spectacular jewels. Some had been large stones, others had been elaborate settings of ruby and pearl, yet none of them seemed right to him. And he knew they were pieces Susannah would not wear.
The aquamarines reminded him of the color of her eyes, its simple mounting was practical for the owner of The Queen’s Head.
Although he was not the most frequent of churchgoers, he was surprised at how warmly he was welcomed and congratulated on his engagement after the service.
Of the greatest surprise was that Martin and Lillian Doyle had attended church. As the preeminent family in the district, they had their own pew, but they rarely made use of it.
Magistrate Doyle had the excuse of frequently being away on business. His wife had no such pretext. To his shame, Nate had been a party to many of her absences from her civil and Christian duty, taking advantage of the household staff being away from the house to conduct their affair on the Lord’s day.
Regret settled like a cloud on him and he almost missed the question from one of the congregation.
“When are you and Mrs. Linwood planning to wed?”
Out of the corners of his eyes, he saw Lillian Doyle drawing close, and regret deepened to foreboding.
“Soon, at Christmas,” he answered.
He continued receiving the congratulations and made his way with Susannah toward Peggy and Clem. Nate accepted Clem’s handshake and warm best wishes gratefully.
Perhaps he was being foolish. The foreboding feeling at seeing Lillian again vanished when he stepped out of the shadow of the church and into the late autumn sunshine. Yet he had a sense that a shadow of a different kind would follow him unless he addressed it face to face.
He kissed Susannah on the cheek.
“You head on back to the inn without me. I have a few people I have to catch up with first.” He was as honest as he could possibly be and not reveal his true intent.
Susannah waved him farewell. He watched her walk out of the churchyard with the others until they rounded the corner past one of the houses and the end of the terrace row. Then he turned the other way toward the cemetery that spread around the hill to the east. There was a place out of sight of the village. He knew Lillian would come to him there.
As he went, he paused by the simple headstones that marked the graves of his mother and father. The stones were weathered and worn. It had been too many years since he had stopped here to pay his respects.
He touched one, then the other of the granite monoliths and bowed his head a moment before walking onwards to a bench in the sunlight.
Out of the corners of his eyes, he could see Lillian make her way up the path toward him. He didn’t acknowledge her, looking out on the view instead.
The day was clear and he could see down through the valley and its patchwork of fields, rising up to the hills. The movement of large canvas-covered vanes of a windmill caught the sun and drew his eyes. Beyond there, on the hill, was another structure he’d never really taken notice of before, perhaps it was new. It was a semaphore tower. The white-painted arms glowed in the sun but he was too distant to see the particulars of it.
“Well,
you are serious about the widow, aren’t you?”
“I thought I made that clear months ago.”
“But marriage… I never saw you as the type to fall into the parson’s mousetrap.”
There was silence between them for a moment. When Lillian spoke, it was almost with sincerity.
“I’ve tried to warn you about her. There’s something not right about that woman. She has secrets, Nate, dangerous secrets.”
He bared his teeth, got to his feet and strode no more than a few feet away.
“You need to listen to me,” Lillian insisted. “I learned something about her husband. That woman killed—”
“I will not hear of it!”
“My, my, such a show of temper for a conniving little slut.”
Nate hauled Lillian up by her shoulders and, for half a second, considered backhanding her. In his mind’s eye, he’d already done it and it was satisfying.
Instead, he let her go.
Lillian sank back down on the bench.
When he spoke, his voice was harsh with anger barely restrained.
“Susannah has told me everything I need to know about her past and anything she hasn’t told me wouldn’t change a thing between us. Let it go. I’m your plaything no longer.”
His rough handling didn’t seem to bother her a whit. She rose to her feet and approached him.
“I don’t want this to be a bitter farewell,” she said, touching his shoulder. He shrugged her hand away and heard her make a little dismissive snort. “For what it’s worth,” she continued, “our time together has been pleasurable and profitable, so you cannot blame me for feeling a little nostalgic for what we once had.”
He turned to look at her. “Your husband arranged to have me imprisoned in France.”
A twitch of amusement touched her lips.
“You might find it amusing, Lillian, but other people’s lives are not a game. That’s something you and Martin could stand to learn, otherwise, one day, it might end very, very badly for you.”
He decided not to head back down toward the village, but instead go up to the Trethowan headland and cross over and down along the rough cattle path to The Queen’s Head.
He did not look back. He would leave his past with Lillian behind, appropriately in the cemetery, and concentrate on the future – with Susannah and with The King’s Rogues, however it might turn out.
As he walked, he looked up at the sky, pale and blue but cold. The coming winter was heralded in the chilly evenings and it wouldn’t be too long before the days were short and grey.
There was another reason why he wanted to make sure Lillian knew in no uncertain terms that she and her husband were not welcome in his life anymore. The Queen’s Head was to have a full house for Christmas and he didn’t want any unwarranted intrusions.
*
Robert Lawnton lingered in the shadows between two buildings and watched those leaving the churchyard.
He spotted a woman in a reddish-brown dress and there she was. Apart from the smile on her face, Susannah Moorcroft was unchanged from the timid little creature she had been when Jack wed her.
She was in animated conversation with another woman he thought he recognized. After a moment, it came to him that maybe the older one was Jack’s housekeeper. She was holding hands with some old bloke. Lawnton looked back at Susannah. There was no mistaking her. That was definitely Susannah Moorcroft walking around laughing like she didn’t have a care in the world.
That was going to change.
He watched the party make their way down the street in his direction, joking and huddled together against the chill. He drew back into the narrow alley as they neared, saw them cross the entrance to the passageway, then slipped back out to spy around the corner after them.
He had no idea why Susannah stopped a moment. Perhaps she could feel the weight of his stare on her. She glanced behind just as he drew back into the alley again.
“What’s up?” called the older woman. “Come on, Susannah, it’s cold!”
After a moment, he looked out again. She had caught up to them and they continued on their way.
Little did the woman know she had passed by him so closely he might have grabbed her and slit her throat in a single action. But where would the fun be in that?
Besides, he wanted the ledger and she needed to be alive for that. The book contained the details of their contacts on the Continent who Jack had sold their stolen goods to over the years. With that in hand, and a haul from the Doyle residence, he could slip across the Channel and soon set himself up in Holland or in Naples.
And he didn’t intend to swing for killing Jack’s widow, either. But he promised himself that when he’d finished with her, she’d wish he had.
To his surprise, she and her friends stopped outside an ironmonger’s shop less than a hundred yards further on and went inside.
Lawnton rubbed a hand across his mouth and considered his next move.
Believing himself safe from discovery, he decided to pay a visit to The Queen’s Head before heading to his next appointment.
As he walked, he considered the events of recent days. Romancing the lady’s maid had to be the single most easy conquest he had ever made. The pitiful creature was starving for a little attention. A word here, a caress there had all but secured him a private invitation to the house.
If need be, he was sure he could count on another week hiding out in the Doyle’s boatshed – longer if he romanced the lady of the house herself. Lillian Doyle was a piece of work but not half as hard as she thought she was. The threat to have him killed was all bluff. And he’d warrant she’d never had a man like Bobby Lawnton on that fancy daybed of hers.
Then again, best not stick around too long. If he stayed, the half-glance he and Jack’s widow shared across the green the other day might turn into full-blown recognition and that’s not what he wanted for now.
No, it was time now to just make the little bitch scared, scared as old Jack must have been as he breathed his last on the boggy marshes.
He stopped a few hundred yards from the inn. Susannah must have been stupid to buy as isolated a place as The Queen’s Head. He adopted the posture of a rambler and walked straight up to the front door. Chalked on a board fastened to the front door was an announcement that the inn would reopen at four o’clock. That was another three hours from now. Plenty of time to look around.
He went around the back of the inn, past the chicken run and the stables. All of this she’d profited from Jack’s death. Resentment brewed like a storm.
An old dog bounded up to him more in friendly inquisitiveness than protectiveness and received a pat on its head. Then something attracted its attention in the field and the hound went tearing off, leaving him alone.
He looked through a window into what appeared to be private quarters. He recognized the desk. That belonged to Jack. He went to the next window and peered through. A bedroom. He even knew the bed and its iron balusters.
He wouldn’t have time to search though the whole place. But if the woman kept the ledger then it would be in one of those two rooms.
Like the practiced thief he was, he pulled out a slender piece of metal from his coat and slid it between the window frame and the sill, maneuvering it until he could knock the simple latch to its unlocked position.
With another look about on the off-chance he was being observed, he pushed open the window and clambered through.
He leafed through the ledgers on the bookcase by the desk, but none were what he sought. He opened desk drawers and rifled through. The last one was locked. He withdrew from his pocket a smaller iron strap and a hooked length of wire. He worked the lock until it unlatched. Beneath a cloth was a small cashbox. Doubtless the float for the inn’s till tonight.
It was tempting to take the money. But he wouldn’t if he couldn’t find the ledger. Why put the woman on alert and make it difficult for him to come back and search again if he needed to?
He was thorough i
n his present search, spending far longer than he would normally when doing jobs like this. “Get in and get out quick”, that was his motto. “If you stick your neck out, the hangman will find it quick enough”.
He started at the sound of the hall clock chiming two.
He would look in the bedroom next.
After a while, he admitted temporary defeat. If she had the book, then she’d hidden it well. He’d even searched around for a safe. Perhaps it was down in the cellar. If so, he didn’t have time to look there. The next time he came back, he would have to take more direct action…
As he was about to leave the bedroom, a box on the dressing table caught his eye. He opened the plain wooden casket and found a pair of earrings and a simple gold band.
The wedding band old Jack had put on the useless chit’s finger.
He’d told Jack that he was a fool at the time, but the man insisted he knew better. How better to trick the authorities than by having a perfectly respectable wife – the daughter of a vicar even! – living in a perfectly respectable house, acting like a perfectly respectable businessman. That was Jack’s argument anyway.
Ungrateful wench. She didn’t know when she was well off. Jack had given her the clothes on her back and little jewels for her so she could keep up appearances. What did she do with those pieces?
Anyway, time to put the wind up her. He pulled out of his pocket a small tangle of green ribbon and white lace about three inches in length. He would leave “Mrs. Linwood” a gift. He put it in the box and closed the lid.
Let’s see if she remembers.
*
Lawnton did not come empty-handed to his assignation that night. He brought a bottle of gin and, in his pocket, a vial of opium. He poured them both a glass of mother’s ruin while Agnes sat at the dressing table and opened her mistress’ jewelry casket with the key entrusted to her.
He emptied the vial into Agnes’ glass behind her back and stirred it in. She accepted the drink he placed on the dressing table. He tried not to smile as she quaffed a large mouthful to cure her nervousness. He leaned down and rained kisses on the back of her neck, loosening her plain hair pins until her locks tumbled down her shoulders. He ran his hands over her shoulders until the wrapper of the nightrail she wore slipped off and down her arms.
Spyfall Page 24
