A Spy's Devotion (14 page)

“Oh yes, but Father says he has done away with that problem.”

“What do you mean?”

Phoebe shrugged her shoulders. “Father told me he is giving Mr. Edgerton a rather large sum to marry you, which will be enough to cover all his debts.”

“But why would your father do that? Why does he particularly wish me to marry Mr. Edgerton?”

“It is rather strange.” Phoebe’s forehead wrinkled. “I had not thought Father intended to give you a dowry, but
. . .
” She shrugged again. “Wouldn’t marrying Mr. Edgerton be better than becoming a governess? I know you do not particularly like him, but is he so terrible?”

Julia bit her lip, hard. How would Phoebe feel if she were in Julia’s position and someone asked her the same thing?

She turned away before Phoebe should see the look of anger and resentment that must surely be on her face. Did Julia not deserve happiness or love? Was that what everyone was telling her?

Phoebe said quietly, “Father wishes you to marry Mr. Edgerton. He told me so himself. He believes Mr. Edgerton would make you a good husband, as he sincerely admires you and wants to save you from becoming a governess.”

Julia kept her back turned as hot tears slipped from her eyes. She quickly wiped them away with her fingers and drew in deep breaths to chase the salt drops away.

“But I don’t suppose you have to decide now.” Phoebe sounded nonchalant. Just as Julia was gaining control and forcing back the dam of moisture, Phoebe said, “So you have no intentions toward Mr. Langdon?”

Julia turned to face her cousin. Phoebe was displaying her pouty look, as she tucked her chin to her chest and looked up at Julia.

“None whatever.” Julia’s voice sounded dull and flat.

“And you don’t think he has any toward you?”

“Of course not. Anyway, he has no fortune, he is a sensible man, and he would never desire me over you.” Julia tried to smile but felt the corners of her mouth trembling.

“Oh, Julia, I knew you could never want the man I love.” Phoebe sprang forward and threw her arms around Julia.

Her embrace caused a gnawing in Julia’s chest, and she barely returned the hug.

Julia pulled away. “Do something for me, Phoebe.”

“Of course.”

“Tell your father that you know there is nothing between Mr. Langdon and me, that you know I have no intentions of betraying you in any way, and that I will do anything I can to maneuver Mr. Langdon’s affections in your direction.”

“Oh, will you, Julia?”

“Of course.” Julia ignored the painful knot in her chest.

If Julia could not have a love of her own, at least she could see Phoebe happy. And Mr. Langdon would be her cousin, practically her brother, if he married Phoebe.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Julia took breakfast the next morning with her aunt and Phoebe. Her aunt said no more than was necessary, but Phoebe made a show of speaking with Julia as much as ever, no doubt to reassure Mrs. Wilhern that all was forgiven.

Forgiven.
How could Julia help being a little resentful of her relatives for making her feel as if she had committed a sin by allowing herself to dance a second time at a ball with an eligible young man? How different things would be if Julia had a family who loved her as much as the Wilherns loved Phoebe.

But such thoughts would only make her bitter. It was perfectly right and fitting for parents to want the best for their daughter. They couldn’t be expected to care as much for a niece as for their own child.

A manservant entered the room and presented the morning’s post to Mrs. Wilhern. She shuffled through the letters and handed one to Phoebe and one to Julia.

Julia’s was from Sarah Peck. She had wondered if her friend was angry with her after Julia had reported what she had said to Mrs. Dinklage, destroying any hope of a marriage between Julia and Mr. Dinklage. She had also worried she had offended her friend by warning her against becoming so familiar with her employer’s oldest son.

Julia placed the letter in her pocket, quickly drank her tea, and hurried upstairs to read it. Once in her room, she sat by the window and unfolded it.

Dear Julia,

I am sorry I have been a bad correspondent of late. I must tell you that I hardly have any time of my own. When I am not teaching the older children, I am amusing the younger ones. I do not have a single friend in the household besides Mr. William, as the housekeeper is an irascible old complainer, and the other servants treat me as if I think I am better than they are. I confess, I do not crave their company either. And since William is away most of the time, I find myself wishing for a Julia to talk to, or a Phoebe, someone who neither looks down her nose at me, nor thinks me too high-minded—a companion to make my evenings less dreary.

Such is the life of a governess, Julia. You probably think I blame you for what you said to Mrs. Dinklage. I was rather dismayed at the way things ended for you and Mr. Dinklage, but I wish I had been there to hear you give that insufferable woman a rightfully earned set down. She deserved it, I have no doubt, for you are such an even-tempered, docile person, Julia. You are everything that is gentle and good, and you deserve the best of men.

Julia had to put the letter down for a moment and dry her eyes with her handkerchief.
Docile.
Yes, she had thought being docile and good and everything society dictated a young lady should be would gain her the love and favor of her aunt and uncle, and of a good man. She was realizing now that she quite possibly had got it all wrong.

She went on reading. At this point in the letter, the color of the ink was slightly different, the handwriting more hurried and messy.

Julia, since writing the above I have left the employ of the Smithermans. You will blame me, no doubt, for my weakness. In truth, I blame myself. I know I behaved foolishly. And now I fear I shall be ruined forever. Julia, I have run away with William to London, have given myself to him completely. And now I believe he has abandoned me, for he did not come back last evening, and I am alone, with very little money and nowhere to go.

I have no excuse. I believed myself in love with him. I was desolate, desperate to feel loved, to truly live and not be entombed in my own loneliness and the scorn of other people. I believed he might love me enough to marry me. I was too foolish for a woman of twenty-four years. I should have known better, did know better. You tried to warn me, and you were right. I should have listened to you. But, Julia, he offered me the chance to escape. The things he said to me . . . I believed he was sincere. I should have known better. Forgive me, Julia, for I don’t think I can ever forgive myself.

Forgive me even for writing to you, but you are almost my only friend in the world. I shouldn’t burden you with my sin, with my ruin, Julia, but if nothing else, this should serve as a lesson for you. Please don’t ever do as I have done, for I have earned myself the scorn I so desperately wanted to escape. If I thought my situation bad before, it is utterly worse now. And please do not feel you have to continue your correspondence with me. If you do not write to me, I shall understand.

Yours sincerely,

Sarah Peck

“Oh, Sarah!” Julia checked the return address. She didn’t recognize the street name. It was probably in a part of town worse than where the Bartholdys lived. What must Sarah be feeling?

“Why didn’t she listen to me?” Julia had warned her about becoming too familiar with the oldest son. Now he had ruined her and obviously didn’t care. Fiendish man! Oh, what wouldn’t she say to him if she were to encounter him on the street! To abandon a sweet, loving girl like Sarah! It was unpardonable.

The man was a villain, but he was not the first gentleman to seduce a governess or servant and then abandon her. There were countless such stories on the lips of the gossips at every ball or party. “Mr. Theodore Richards, oldest son of the Richards family in Shropshire, has run away with the family’s governess, a Miss Little. Mrs. Richards is furious, for she has four younger children who are running wild, and she hasn’t had a moment’s peace since the trollop of a governess left.”

Of course, if it had been a gentleman’s daughter rather than a governess, it would have been treated in a much more serious manner. There would have been talk of him being made to marry the girl. The papers would have mentioned it discreetly, only giving the first letter of their names. But a governess . . . no gentleman would be expected to marry a governess, and the papers wouldn’t even deem it worthy of mentioning.

The gentleman goes on his way as if nothing ever happened. He is full able to make a suitable match. But the governess’s reputation is forever ruined.

Julia sat down at her writing desk at once and took out a sheet of paper, pen, and ink.

She began:
Sarah, please write to me and tell me where you are and how you fare. You know I will help you in any way I can! Please do write to me.

What could Julia offer her? If only she could offer her a home! But it was impossible. Mr. and Mrs. Wilhern would never allow her in their house. If Julia had married Mr. Dinklage . . . it would have made it possible for her to help her friend. She would have at least been able to send her enough money to live somewhere decent.

Perhaps she
had
been selfish and thoughtless not to try to endear herself to his mother. Perhaps if she had, Mr. Dinklage would have been allowed to marry Julia, and Julia could have benefited not only Sarah in her dire situation but others as well. Perhaps she could have persuaded her husband to help Mr. Wilson in his mission to help the poor children of the East Side, like Henry and his sister, to help fund the Children’s Aid Mission.

Julia clutched her chest, feeling as if she was choking. No, she couldn’t think such thoughts. She couldn’t go back and change things, nor was she certain she would if she could. She must focus on what to say to poor Sarah.

She wrote:
I have a little money, which I will gladly give to you. Perhaps you can advertise for a new position, somewhere in the country away from London and Sussex where no one knows of this and it can all be hushed up.

Unless, of course, she was with child.

Julia quickly finished her letter and hurried to take it to the post herself. A short walk would soothe her nerves.

Instead of walking to the Children’s Aid Mission on the East Side that Tuesday and running into Miss Grey again, Nicholas went to speak to McDowell at the War Office. They strategized how to catch Wilhern passing information to the French. They were nearly certain he was the traitor, since Nicholas had identified his footman as one of the men who had attacked him and stolen the diary.

“You must find a way to get back inside the Wilhern house,” McDowell said. “Get back into his study and see if you can find anything to show us what they are plotting and how they are getting the information out of the country. You said Wilhern’s daughter is in love with you. Flirt with her. Get another invitation to dinner.”

Nicholas hesitated. “I don’t like making the girl think I have an interest in her when I don’t. It goes against my grain.”

“You are a very honorable man, Nicholas, but there is too much at stake here. It appears someone is trying to find out Wellington’s exact whereabouts so they can kill him and turn the tide of this war. We need to find out what they know and how they are getting their information. We need answers.”

Nicholas had a strong aversion to leading a young lady to assume he felt more for her than he actually did. But it seemed insignificant when compared to the outcome of the war. After all, he had a greater duty to his country.

Which is how he ended up walking toward the Wilhern house, wondering how to show enough interest to get invited to their home without giving Phoebe the idea he might want to marry her. Especially since he actually preferred her cousin Miss Grey’s company and conversation—much preferred.

He also had an idea that he might be able to find out more information from Miss Grey. At present, she might not be feeling terribly loyal to her uncle.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Miss Appleby accompanied Julia on her usual Tuesday visit to the Bartholdys, which was cut short due to Monsieur Bartholdy feeling unwell. All the way down Bishopsgate Street, her darting eyes betrayed her, as she couldn’t help searching the street ahead for Mr. Langdon. When she did not see him, she wasn’t sure if she was relieved or disappointed.

She arrived back at the town house and found Phoebe and Mrs. Wilhern entertaining Leorah Langdon in the drawing room.

“Julia! How good to see you!” Leorah jumped from her seat and clasped her hand.

Over Leorah’s shoulder, Julia caught a glimpse of her aunt’s scowl. Her aunt normally didn’t leave her room until after noon and therefore didn’t know Julia went out every Tuesday to visit her old tutor. Would she ask her where she’d gone?

Julia quickly sat down, wishing she knew how to downplay Leorah’s enthusiasm at seeing her. “It is a lovely day for a walk,” Julia said to fill the silence.

“Oh?” Mrs. Wilhern said. “Where did you walk to, Julia?”

Julia fidgeted with her gloves. “I walked to—to call on friends.”

Phoebe, who knew of her secret visits to the Bartholdys, interjected, “Julia is a great walker, and she and Miss Appleby love to visit friends together, especially in the mornings, don’t you, Julia?”

“Oh, nothing out of the ordinary—”

“So you visited Felicity Mayson,” Mrs. Wilhern said, the scowl never leaving her face. “How is her mother? I heard she was not feeling well.”

“Oh, I didn’t visit Felicity today, although you are right, Aunt. I do often visit her, and sometimes she accompanies me on visits.” She picked at a loose string on her skirt. Julia felt her face turning red at her aunt’s scrutiny. Finally, she decided it was better to voluntarily tell the truth. “Miss Appleby and I have been to visit Monsieur and Madame Bartholdy.”

Mrs. Wilhern’s upper lip curled. “Why in heaven’s name? The Bartholdys, indeed.”

Her scornful tone made Julia’s spine stiffen.

“I hope you do not make it a habit of walking in such a neighborhood. It won’t reflect well on your character if you are attacked or molested in such a street as theirs.”

My character?
Julia felt an argument rising inside her breast, but she quelled it and replied, “Yes, Aunt Wilhern.” She hoped her aunt didn’t ask if the coachman had driven her there. She didn’t want to get him in trouble.

Phoebe began asking Leorah about her family, no doubt working the conversation around to her brother, and Julia sighed in relief at the change in topic. As soon as Leorah left, she hoped to run up to her room with the excuse of changing her clothes before her aunt asked her any more questions.

Phoebe was expressing a desire for Leorah to come for a visit to their country house in Warwickshire when the Season was over in a few weeks. As the Langdons’ home was in Lincolnshire, Leorah said it was possible she could come for a short stay. Phoebe’s entire face lighted up with excitement. Of course, Julia knew Phoebe was thinking of having her father invite Leorah’s brother to come with her.

Phoebe and her single-minded pursuit of Lieutenant Nicholas Langdon.

When Leorah rose to take her leave a few minutes later, Julia regretted she had been too nervous to enjoy her visit. As Julia squeezed Leorah’s fingers in farewell, her friend said, “Do come and call on me. We are but a short walk from here.”

The invitation had been given to Julia and appeared not to include Phoebe. Of course, Leorah meant nothing uncivil, only that Julia was more her friend than Phoebe. Julia was quick to say, “Of course, Phoebe and I will come, very soon. You may depend upon it.”

But before Leorah could make a move toward the door, Nicholas Langdon was announced. He entered the room.

Leorah eyed her brother with a mixture of surprise and suspicion. Phoebe’s pale cheeks turned pink as she seemed to be standing on her toes, and Aunt Wilhern rallied to sit up straight.

Nicholas bowed and smiled at everyone around the room in turn. “My sister was not leaving, I hope.”

“I was,” Leorah admitted, “but I can stay a bit longer, and then you can escort me home.”

They all sat down again and began to talk of the weather, the subject that always seemed safest when one is nervous. After a few moments, they spoke of politics, another rather safe topic amongst fellow Tories.

“Mr. Langdon,” Mrs. Wilhern said, “won’t you and your sister join us for dinner next Thursday evening?”

Mr. Langdon look pleased, almost relieved. He agreed to come, and he only stayed a few moments more before declaring that he would escort his sister home.

No sooner had Leorah and her brother gone, Phoebe watching them walk down the street from the sitting room window, than she began exclaiming to her mother how wonderful she was for inviting them to supper. Phoebe immediately added that it would be perfect if Leorah went back with them in the fall to Wilhern Manor. Surely her mother could persuade her father to have a hunting party and invite Mr. Langdon. He could have no objections.

“What luck that Julia was able to secure a friendship with Mr. Langdon’s sister!”

Mrs. Wilhern turned a cool eye on Julia, as if she believed Julia had had other designs when she’d made friends with Leorah.

Julia excused herself as quickly as possible and hurried up to her room. One thing was certain: she could not call on the Bartholdys in the next few weeks. She only hoped her uncle didn’t discover her visits and become angry with her.

Julia made her way up the stairs and to her room. She closed the door behind her and found a letter for her on the dressing table from Sarah Peck.

She snatched it up and tore it open.

Dear Julia,

I urge you not to try to see me. I wouldn’t want your reputation to become tainted by association. I fear now that there is no hope for me to ever be thought respectable again, for I believe I am with child. I am ruined, and I have no one to blame but myself. I do not even blame William. He was only doing what men do. I was the foolish one, and I alone will bear the shame and reproach.

Oh, Julia, I pray you will never know the wretchedness I feel!

Julia, if you know anyone—and I can’t imagine how you would—anyone who might help me, or if you’ve ever heard of a home for girls in my condition and situation, a place where I might be away from society and have my baby in safety, please write to me and tell me. Perhaps you might have read of some Christian place of that sort in the paper, a charity poor house where I might work out my stay. Nothing is beneath me now. I can sew or clean or do laundry. But I must get out of this place or I fear I shall end up sinking, giving in to despair and doing harm to myself.

It is selfish of me to even write these things to you, Julia, you who are so unsullied by the world and who always strive to be good and proper and follow all of society’s rules. But I don’t know where else to turn for help.

Pray write to me soon, even if you have no help to offer me. Your letters are my only companions.

Yours ever,

Sarah Peck

Julia sank into a chair, her knees shaking as she imagined herself in Sarah’s situation. She must help her—there was no question about that—but how? She knew of no such place, a place of charity for girls who found themselves in Sarah Peck’s position. If there were such a place, how would she find it? Who could she ask without raising suspicion and causing a scandal for which her aunt and uncle would never forgive her?

Suddenly, she saw the face of Mr. Langdon’s friend, Mr. Wilson, with his friendly expression and kind eyes. Of course! His charity mission helped children, but might he not also know a place where someone in Sarah’s situation could receive help? Surely he would. She determined to ask him as soon as she could. She only had to be careful to go at a time that would not excite Mrs. Wilhern’s suspicions.

Perhaps Providence had led her to meet Mr. Wilson just at the right time. And now Providence would give her a way to help poor Sarah.

In the meantime, she took out pen and paper to write to Sarah and tell her she had every hope of finding just such a place for her, if only she could wait a few more days.

“Julia, come here.”

Julia arrived home from posting her letter to Sarah to be greeted by her aunt’s command.

Her heart fluttered. She laid aside her bonnet and entered the sitting room. “Yes, Aunt Wilhern?”

Her aunt sat in the corner of the settee, stroking her little gray-and-black dog while it rested in her lap, its eyes half closed.

“Julia, you have been calling on Monsieur Bartholdy in an unsavory part of town.” She fixed Julia with a baleful stare. Mrs. Wilhern’s eyes, which protruded slightly, struck Julia, not for the first time, as resembling her pug dog’s.

Aunt Wilhern seemed to be waiting for Julia to speak, so she answered, “Yes, Aunt. Miss Appleby and I, and sometimes Felicity, call on Monsieur and Madame Bartholdy on occasion.”

“I believe you call on them every Tuesday. Is this true, Julia?”

“Yes, Aunt Wilhern.” The poor coachman must have been forced to disclose the truth. What would her uncle do to him? “It isn’t Coleman’s fault, Aunt. I asked him to take us, and he—”

“I won’t tell Mr. Wilhern about any of this if you promise me not to visit there again.”

“But why?”

Mrs. Wilhern frowned at the question. “I do not want a niece of mine, with only that half-addled spinster, Agnes Appleby, or her niece, Felicity Mayson, as a chaperone in that part of town, and neither would Mr. Wilhern.”

“But, Aunt, please. I enjoy my visits with them, and I am perfectly safe, I assure you.” God would take care of her, and her aunt need never know about the incident with the three drunken men Mr. Langdon had maneuvered them around.

“Julia, I am not accustomed to having my word questioned.”

By Phoebe, yes. By me, no.
“Forgive me. May I pay one more visit to the Bartholdys to say good-bye?”

“You can say good-bye in a letter.” Her aunt’s tone was firm. She had stopped stroking the pug, and her hand rested on its neck, clutching the skin in a way that made the dog’s eyes open wider.

What would she tell the Bartholdys? How would she explain? And worse, how would she speak to Mr. Wilson at the children’s mission about a place for Sarah, now that her aunt had ordered her never to go there again? Did she dare defy her aunt?

She certainly didn’t want her uncle to know. She shuddered at the thought.

“One more thing before you go. Mr. Langdon and his sister, Leorah, are to dine with us next Thursday. Phoebe has her heart set on marrying Mr. Langdon, and I expect you to do anything in your power to secure your cousin’s happiness.”

“I have no intention of endangering Phoebe’s happiness. Phoebe knows I would do anything for her.”

“Good.” Mrs. Wilhern closed her eyes so long, Julia wondered if she had nodded off. But she opened them again and said, “I give you leave to go.”

Julia retreated to her room.
Haven’t I done everything that was expected of me? Haven’t I tried to obey every instruction?
She closed her door behind her.

All her careful striving to adhere to society’s rules had built a foundation for her life that was shaky at best. At any moment, it would crumble beneath her.