Dangerous Dalliance (20 page)

“Can you walk, or do you want my boots?” Bunny asked.

I could not think such huge, heavy things would be better than my bare feet, and declined the offer. We strolled at random away from the house, toward Hythe, while I discussed the details of the past days with Bunny. The odd thing is that he accepted the incredible story without blinking.

“We always thought Depew was a pretty inferior sort of a spy,” he said. “Daresay he was the one broke into your papa’s study and stole his gun.”

“Snoad had Papa’s gun, but Depew may have broken into the house.”

“We know he left Brighton before we did. He never got the message you sent him.”

“He was looking for the code book, I expect. That was what he wanted from us all along, and feeding us praise to keep us in line. I imagine he made up that story about Snoad searching the house with a light, to keep us looking. It was the message from Caesar he hoped to get his hands on. And we would have handed it over to him. He never had any men in our park. All lies.”

“Regular Johnnie Raws. Caesar didn’t show up anyhow. Not while I was waiting for him.”

“Oh lord, Caesar!”

“He’ll turn up yet.”

“He has turned up. He’s in my dresser drawer.”

“Eh? I must be going deaf. I thought you said—”

“I did! We must go back, Bunny. I have to give Snoad that message.”

“We could sneak in and have a servant give it to him. Leave a note in your room addressed to Snoad. Put your shoes on while you’re there. And a dress,” he added. “Thing for us to do, I believe, light out for America. Won’t be easy, with this war on. Better than hanging. Catch a fishing trawler to get out of the country, transfer somewhere in midocean.”

“We haven’t done anything wrong. We were duped!”

“Who’ll believe that? We’ll look a dashed pair of fools.”

“That is better than looking like traitors. I’m going back.”

“I’ll drop you a line from America.”

“You must come with me and corroborate my story. Flight will be taken as evidence of real guilt. And we have Caesar,” I added. “When we turn the message over, they will know our hearts are in the right place. We could have taken it and run
–
somewhere,” I said, at a loss as to what we might have done with it.

“Could use the note for barter, I daresay. Our lives for the letter. Have to secure the letter somewhere first. Might torture us to make us talk. This spying game is a little dirtier than I thought. Don’t believe I’ll offer my services after all. Not that they’d want me now.”

“Are you coming or not?” I demanded. His chatter was depressing me greatly. “I must give that message to Snoad. And Auntie will be worried sick that I’ve made a runaway match.”

Bunny stood, undecided. “Daresay I must go with you. Not the thing, abandoning a lady in distress. As you said, we’re only dupes, not traitors.”

On this speech we turned and retraced our steps to Gracefield. Despite my encouragement, my heart was as unwilling as Bunny’s. I was humiliated to present myself in such a ridiculous guise to Snoad. Not only a dupe, but a dupe with a dirty face, without a gown, and in her bare feet.

Chapter Seventeen

We went to the door that led to the kitchen. It was locked, but lights were on within. I tapped, and Mrs. Gibbons came. She had changed from nightgown to dress and apron, but had forgotten to remove her nightcap. It was of white flannel, tied beneath her chin like a baby’s bonnet.

“Merciful heavens, Miss Hume! You’re back!” she said, and pulled me inside. Bunny trailed in behind me. “I knew it would be you,” she said, examining him with relief before returning her sharp eyes in my direction. “Mr. Depew indeed! Whoever heard of a Mr. Depew? As if you would marry a stranger.” She gave Bunny a tentative smile. “But Mr. Smythe is your first cousin, my dear. You should have got a dispensation from the bishop. First cousins are forbidden kindred for marriage.”

In the light of the kitchen, she discerned my bare feet, and noticed that no gown showed at the front of my pelisse. “Good gracious! You could have waited till you found a bed at least! Look at you. You must have been—”

“Don’t be absurd, Mrs. Gibbons,” I declared, in my most haughty tone. “I did not run away with Mr. Smythe. I was abducted, and he rescued me.” I had to give some excuse for my appearance.

Her shock did not subside, but it assumed an air of satisfaction. Abduction, it seemed, was preferable to a runaway marriage. “I’ll call your auntie. She’s in hysterics, poor soul. That wretched Snoad has been filling her ears with tales of your running off with Depew. She was cheered to learn Lord Fairfield had gone after you.”

So that was what he had told her. How did he mean to account for it when Castlereagh arrived and led me away in chains? Was he trying to protect me by claiming the lesser evil? Did some spark of love still remain, or was it only chivalry?

“Was it Depew who kidnapped you?” Mrs. Gibbons asked.

Caught off guard, I said, “Yes,” then quickly spoke on to divert further questions. “Let me slip up the back stairs and get dressed, before I see Auntie. And would you have some hot water sent up, please? I’m filthy.”

Mrs. Gibbons nodded her agreement. She was sufficiently recovered to offer Bunny a cup of tea.

“Don’t mind if I do,” I heard him say. “That gag has made my throat sore.” It was a nasty stunt to leave Bunny to fabricate the tale of my kidnapping. Imagination was never his long suit.

I scampered up the servants’ stairs, into the hallway. The carpet was kind to my bruised feet. It felt like walking on a cloud, after the roughness of stones and earth. I noticed that my wrists were chafed and bleeding where the stone had scraped them. They would sting like the devil when I washed up. I hurried along the empty hallway to my room and threw open the door, without a thought in my mind but washing and dressing. One step at a time.

Imagine my astonishment to find Mr. Snoad there, holding my dressing gown, and staring at it as if it might speak. His eyes, wide with disbelief, flew to mine. He didn’t speak for a moment, nor could I think of how to begin my explanations. We just stared at each other, while the clock ticked in the yawning silence. I felt those coffee-dark eyes were plumbing the very depths of my soul. I would never forget their bleak, accusing gaze.

Then he dropped my dressing gown on the floor and closed the door. “So you’re back,” he said in a harsh voice.

Tears stung my eyes. “I didn’t know,” I said. My hands went out to him in an involuntary gesture. In the same involuntary way, he reached for them. Before we touched, he recovered himself and withdrew a step from me, as one withdraws from a snake or venomous creature.

I watched in misery as his lips thinned to a cruel line, and his spine stiffened to intransigence. “I’m not easily conned a second time, Miss Hume. Not even by you.
You knew.
You knew everything. Why else did you search my room? Why else did you try to poison the birds? How did he convince you?”

“You mean Depew?”

“Of course I mean Depew!” he growled. His next words came out in an angry rush. “I have been racking my brain for some slight shred of excuse for what you have done. While I thought you were dead, I could forgive you. Blame it on your youth, your sorrow and anger at your father’s death. I called it a childish, ill-conceived attempt at revenge for that accident. But you are no child, Miss Hume. And your father is not the only man who has given his life for his country. The other grieving wives and daughters did not turn traitor. Just tell me one thing. Was it for love or money that you traded your soul to Satan?”

“Enough!” I shouted. My spine, too, was stiff. I, too, had my anger to vent, and now it was my turn. Snoad’s eyes widened in surprise at my new attitude. “If my attempts to help were childish and ill conceived, they were at least not ignoble. I
did
agree to help Depew, because I thought he was helping England. He wore the prince’s buttons. He said, and Mr. Smythe corroborated, that Depew was with the Horse Guards.”

Snoad listened, but with an air of suspicion that he did not even try to conceal. “So he was—six months ago, when he came under suspicion. He was a junior clerk, who was caught rifling files he had no right to see. Nothing was proven, but he was turned out. Since then, he’s been watched. We put abroad the idea that Fairfield was in financial trouble. Depew approached Fairfield as a possible ally. Fairfield was assigned the job of keeping an eye on him.”

“Why was everything kept a secret from me? I had a right to know. You have been using my house.”

“With Mr. Hume’s permission.”

“What was I to think, when my father’s simple trip to a meeting in London resulted in his assassination in Brighton?”

“Secrecy was necessary. We did not wish to draw attention to what was going on at Gracefield. There are many spies here on the coast. When you vowed revenge for your father’s death, we felt you were too—volatile—to trust with the truth. Hotheads have no place in this service.”

“You did not trust me because I was a woman,” I said bluntly, for I felt that was the real reason. “You could trust a simpleton like Fairfield, but you could not trust me.”

His suspicion assumed an air of apology. “Your actions from the moment you returned from Brighton hardly encouraged trust. Your first suggestion was to get rid of the loft. Why the rush, if you didn’t know what it was being used for? Then your friend Depew broke into the house.”

“It would not have been necessary for him to
break
in if he were my friend,” I pointed out.

“You had not returned yet. I assumed he was in a hurry to have a look at your father’s papers. And if you wished to keep your association with him a secret from me, as you obviously did, then you could hardly introduce him into the house as a friend.”

“He did not want you or anyone to know he was here. He called himself Mr. Martin.”

“I observed that all your meetings were carried on with some attempt at secrecy. I thought no worse of you than that you were Depew’s dupe, playing at being a spy. Of course, Depew was followed and watched, and his movements reported to Fairfield. Until you arranged that ambush at Atherton, I was willing to blink at your little game. When you connived at my assassination—” His tirade came to a halt, and he stared angrily. “How
could
you, knowing how I felt about you?”

I felt as bad as if I were indeed guilty of these awful crimes. “I had no idea he meant to shoot you. He said you would be meeting your colleagues. He wanted to round up the whole crew.”

Snoad rubbed his hand over his forehead and drew a deep sigh. “If this is true—”

“Of course it’s true!” I shouted.

That was the moment his doubts left him. I could see it mirrored on his face as the truth penetrated. Suspicion flickered as some few details occurred to him, but apparently he found reassurance. The shadow of a smile moved his lips. And at that pregnant moment the servants came to the door with a basin of hot water.

It would scandalize them to find me half-dressed, with a man in my room. Snoad looked at me. I don’t think he had even realized till then that I wore no gown under my pelisse. I pointed to the clothes-press, and without a word spoken, Snoad fled into it as I went to open the door.

Mrs. Gibbons had sent up a large boiler of water, which necessitated a footman to carry it. Her nice sense of delicacy required Mary, a female servant, to accompany him on this intimate errand. They arranged the bath while I held my pelisse tightly around me, and tried, quite unsuccessfully, not to draw attention to my bare feet.

“Are you all right, Miss Hume?” Mary asked before leaving. I thought she showed great restraint to limit herself to this mild question.

“I’m fine. Thank you.”

They left, and Snoad came out of the clothes-press. Such was his sangfroid that he was not even blushing. He was slightly ill at ease, or uncertain how to deal with the new situation, but mostly he was
curious about my appearance. His eyes moved questioningly from my tousled head, down my wrinkled pelisse, to my dirty feet. I was acutely aware of what an unappetizing picture I presented, and spoke sharply.

“Do you believe me?” I asked, fixing him with a steely eye.

“It could have happened that way,” he admitted. When his eyes veered off to the left, I thought he was merely being kind by not staring at me.

“It did happen that way. How could you think I would connive at murder? Or betray my country? My family have lived here, in this very house, for over two hundred years. I love every tree and bush, every pebble on the beach. I was proud of my father’s death. I was willing to risk my own life to complete his work, and this is the thanks I get. I was only poisoning the pigeons so you could not send false messages to Bonaparte. And the only reason I searched your room was because Depew told me to try to find the code book you were using.”

“Of course. If Depew convinced you he was working for England, it must follow that I was on the other side. You accuse me of misjudging you, but you are guilty of the same error.” Again, he peered over my shoulder. A frown drew his brows together.

“What are you looking at?” I followed his gaze, and saw he was staring at my dresser. Through the crack left for Caesar to breathe, a pair of eyes and a beak protruded from the top drawer. Caesar recognized Snoad, and became quite excited.

“Is that—is that a
pigeon
in your dresser?” he asked.

“Oh! Caesar! I hope he is not asphyxiated.”

“Caesar!” he exclaimed. “When did he get in?”

He flew to the dresser and retrieved the bird, who had remained amazingly calm throughout the entire ordeal. Perhaps he had been sleeping after his long flight. His hood feathers were slightly disarranged from his incarceration, but they righted themselves once he was free. Snoad reached in his trousers pocket and drew out a handful of grain. He placed it and the bird on the corner of the dresser and let Caesar peck at it while he removed the message. It came off easily, as he knew the trick of unfastening it.

“When did he get in?” Snoad repeated. He slid the capsule containing the message into his pocket.