London Calling (14 page)

Susanna gave James a look. Though she supposed he had a point. When she had followed Major Haliday out, she had not spared a thought for how she was to get back in.

Of course the injustice was that Major Haliday, being a man, could walk straight in the front door without anyone’s blinking an eye over his having been abroad in the city at night. Whereas if anyone happened to see Susanna come in—

“Come on,” James said in the same low tone. “There’s bound to be a ground-story window we can force open for you.”

James was right; a search round the perimeter of the house yielded a set of tall windows at the side, which opened into the Admiral’s library. They were low, scarcely three feet above the ground, and James surveyed the catch with a practiced eye.

“Child’s play. The Admiral would do well to improve the security of his home. But it’s a lucky thing for us that he has not.” He produced a long, thin pocket knife and slipped it between the glass and the casement. A quick twist, and the lock had sprung open. James raised the sash.

“In you get, then. Just lock the window again after you. With luck, no one will even notice that the catch has been forced.”

Susanna nodded. James offered her his hand, preparing to lift her up to the window. But instead Susanna stood still, looking up at him. His face was patched with shadow, but she could see the easy self-confidence in his pose, read the undercurrent of humor in his voice.

This was the James she remembered‌—‌as she had encountered him during their first adventure together. The man who seemed to thrive on danger, who turned even the risks he took and the dangers he faced into a kind of game, a sport to be laughed at.

In a way, she was glad to see that part of him return. It meant he had relaxed enough about her involvement to allow his innate enjoyment of the spy’s mission to surface.

The only trouble was that looking at him now in the moonlight, she had no idea of what he was thinking behind the relaxed, careless manner.

“James.” Susanna spoke quickly, struck by a sudden realization. “Where will you go now? Do you mean to return to Russell Square?”

James shook his head. “No, I fancy that particular nest is no longer safe. Our friend with the knife may decide to come back and finish the job. I shall just go back and collect a few things, and then find some bolt-hole or other. An obscure boarding house room in the East End would probably be best.”

Susanna nodded. “Will you . . . ‌will you find a way to get word to me, if you can? Just so I know that you are safe?”

She had thought that she’d managed to keep the fear from showing in her voice. But James looked at her, his gaze abruptly sober. “Susanna, I cannot think that all this‌—‌that any of this is fair to you.” He stopped, pushing a hand through his hair. “I’ve been on my own so long that I’m not used to having anyone’s feelings to consider but my own. But if it is too much for you—”

Susanna stopped him, leaning forward and pressing her lips to his, kissing him fiercely. “It is
not
too much for me. Just be careful, that is all.”

James returned the kiss, resting his forehead against hers. “I will send word to you if I can‌—‌if I am sure it is safe. But you will see me tomorrow night, in any case. I promise you.”

He lifted her easily, then waited while Susanna swung her legs through the window and dropped to the floor of the library. She lowered the sash and re-locked the catch, then looked out on the darkened street where James stood, separated from her now by a pane of glass. She summoned up a smile for him. And James raised his hand in farewell and turned away, melting like a shadow into the night.

#

It was a long time before Susanna could make herself move from the window, even though James was gone. But at last she roused herself to creep silently through the darkened, silent house up to her room. As she went in, she glanced at the door to the Halidays’ room next to her own, and wondered whether Major Haliday had yet returned from his evening’s errand. All was stillness, though. She let herself into her room and began to undress, moving softly for fear of being heard either by Ruth or by the Halidays.

When she had removed her things and climbed between the sheets, she lay for a long while, staring up at the ornately tapestried canopy. She couldn’t help but recall the wicked glitter of the blade in the moonlight, or the swift, vengeful purpose with which the man had swept down. No question but that he had meant murder. And if he should return before James had gathered his things and left Russell Square?

Susanna tried to push the worry away, but it clung, stubborn and insidious as cobwebs. The room’s silence was eerie, the tick of the clock on the mantle unnaturally loud. Susanna didn’t know she had closed her eyes, but at long last she must have slept, for she was awakened by a light knock at her door, followed, as before, by the entrance of a young maidservant, carrying a cup of tea.

The same girl had brought her water for washing the night before. Susanna made an effort, and her sleep-dazed mind produced the maid’s name: Polly.

“Thank you, Polly.” Susanna sat up and took the cup. After a few sips, her mind began to clear, and it was only then that she noticed Polly’s round face was pale and subdued, and her eyes swollen as though she’d been crying.

Susanna hesitated. The maid being upset was no business of hers, of course. But there was always the chance that whatever had distressed her might have some bearing on the secrets of this household.

Susanna felt the same prick of guilt she had felt in questioning Miss Fanny. Did a kindness’s going hand in hand with another agenda make the kindness any the less sincere?

Susanna did not feel capable of puzzling the answer out just then. But the prick of conscience made her voice warmer than usual as she said, “Polly? I know I am a stranger in the house. But is there anything the matter?”

Polly seemed to have been longing to confide in someone. She gave a great, gulping sob and burst out, “Oh, miss. I don’t know what I’m to do.”

“What is it?” Susanna asked.

“It’s Mrs. Careme, miss. She said this morning as how a diamond brooch of hers had gone missing. And I’m afraid she thinks I took it.” Polly dragged the sleeve of her uniform across her teary eyes.

Susanna frowned. “But why would she think that?”

“I dunno, miss. But she kept asking me questions about whether I’d noticed the brooch, and if I’d moved it or touched it at all when I was doing the dusting. She didn’t come right out and say I’d taken it, but I could see it was what she thought.”

Polly hiccuped another sob. “And I wouldn’t do a thing like that, miss. But if Mrs. Careme gets to believing I did, she’ll have me sent away. I’ll never get another job‌—‌not if I’m suspected of stealing.”

Susanna thought rapidly. She could not see a scenario in which Mrs. Careme’s missing brooch fit into Major Haliday’s treason. But then‌—‌she recalled the uncomfortable dinner the night before‌—‌had there not been something odd about Major Haliday’s behavior towards Mrs. Careme? And hers towards him, come to that.

Mrs. Careme had seemed almost . . . ‌almost afraid of Major Haliday. And this from a woman who feared very little, Susanna would have thought. Could Major Haliday have threatened Mrs. Careme? Made her give him the brooch? If he could stoop to treason, Susanna would believe him capable of blackmail, as well.

Polly was still standing before her, miserable and afraid, though, and Susanna shook her head. Speculating was useless until she knew more. “Mrs. Careme did not say she suspected you,” she told Polly. “And besides, perhaps the brooch has only been misplaced.”

Polly looked doubtful. But she did nod. “It’s possible, miss. She’s got that many jewels, you wouldn’t believe. Stands to reason she’d not be able to keep track of ’em all.”

Susanna nodded. She hesitated, then asked, “Polly, were there . . . ‌were there any messages for me this morning?”

“Messages?” Polly looked surprised. “No, miss. Nothing like that. Just the morning post, and that was half invitations for Mrs. Careme.”

“I see. Thank you.” Susanna tried to contain the disappointment that welled up inside her. It was early‌—‌too early to expect that any message James had sent could have already arrived. It was only that she wished with an almost physical ache that she could know that James was safe, that he had found another place of lodging before there could be a second attack.

Polly bobbed a curtsy and went out. And Susanna rose, forced herself to drink the rest of the tea and choke down a bite or two of the toast Polly had also brought. She had nearly finished dressing when there was a tap at the door.

“Come in.”

She had been expecting Ruth, but it was Miss Fanny who came in, dressed in a morning gown of pale grey, with an unfortunate pattern in green, like leaves of cabbage. Her grey hair was untidy, her manner, as usual, slightly flurried.

“Ah, Miss Ward. Good. You are awake. I have just been speaking to your aunt about this trip to Vauxhall tonight. It is to be a masquerade, you know, and if we are to attend, you will both need costumes of some sort.”

Susanna looked at her blankly a moment. Her thoughts had been so far away from masquerade costumes that it was a moment before she could clear her throat and say, “No, I did not know. I do not think either of us brought anything suitable.”

Miss Fanny nodded. “But you need not worry. We have several things from previous years that might do. Why do you not come to my room have a look through them? There are several very pretty gowns my sister wore.”

When Susanna entered Miss Fanny’s room, she found Ruth and Marianne already there, sorting through a pile of brightly colored silks and satins on the bed.

Ruth looked up. “There you are, Susanna. I hope you slept well last night?”

She spoke lightly, but her eyes looked a question, and Susanna gave her the briefest of nods before replying, with equal carelessness, “Yes, thank you.” Ruth studied her face a long moment, but she said no more, instead turning back to the pile on the bed.

“Come and help me. I am trying to persuade this child”‌—‌she nodded to Marianne‌—‌“that she ought to wear this Guinevere. Would she not look wonderful?”

Ruth held up the Guinevere costume, a high-waisted gown of deep crimson velvet, cut in the medieval style with flowing sleeves and a trim of gold braid.

“Oh, no. I couldn’t.” Marianne’s face was sullen, her voice gruff. “I should look a fool.”

“No, you would not.” Ruth spoke crisply. “It is high time you started dressing like a young lady, instead of an awkward schoolroom miss. You could be quite handsome, if you tried. And you would make a perfect Queen Guinevere‌—‌you have the height for it.”

Marianne opened her mouth, but to Susanna’s surprise, she closed it again and then said, quite meekly for her, “Very well. I suppose . . . ‌I suppose I could try the costume on.”

“Excellent. Come along. I’ll help you.” Before Marianne could change her mind, Ruth swept her out of the room, carrying the red dress over one arm, and leaving Susanna and Miss Fanny alone.

Susanna turned back to the pile of costumes on the bed, and selected one, a satin Pierrette, with the characteristic black and white diamond pattern.

“How pretty.” She held it up, shaking out the folds of the full skirt.

Miss Fanny looked at the costume, her face all at once reminiscent. “My sister Julia wore that for the ball to announce her engagement to Charles. He was Pierrot, of course, and everyone said what a handsome couple they made. Julia was always very pretty. That is a picture of her, there.”

She gestured to the wall, where there hung an oil painting of a young woman dressed in blue satin, with a black ribbon tied about her throat. She was certainly very handsome, with dark hair and a fine, clear skin. But Susanna thought that there was something a little arrogant, as well, about her face. Her mouth had a proud tilt, and the painted eyes looked down with something like disdain from the framed canvas.

Miss Fanny looked from the portrait back to the dress in Susanna’s hands. She touched the satin folds with the tip of one finger. “We all knew Julia would be the one to marry well. My parents had very little money, but they made sure to give her a coming-out ball, and furnish her with all the gowns and such for a London Season.”

“And what about you?” Susanna asked. “Did you not have a chance at a London Season?”

“Me? Oh, no.” Miss Fanny looked up, her pale eyes startled. “My parents could never have afforded to launch both of us into society. And of course it had to be Julia, for she was the one most likely to make a good match. And it worked out, you see, for Julia married Charles, and I was able to come and live with them.”

Her voice was flat‌—‌resigned rather than resentful. But Susanna, looking at the older woman’s face, still wondered. What must it have meant to Miss Fanny, always forced to take second place to her beautiful sister, denied even the chance at a home and family of her own, forced to be forever dependent on her brother-in-law’s charity for the very roof above her head?

She glanced up again at the lovely, proud face of Julia Tremain on the wall. It could not have been easy to accept a position of dependence in this woman’s home.

Before she could reply, though, the door opened and Ruth and Marianne reappeared, Marianne now dressed in the red Guinevere gown.

Despite herself, despite the knot of worry in her chest that seemed a constant companion this morning, Susanna felt herself smile. “Oh, Marianne, you look lovely.”

And, indeed, she did. The dress accentuated the graceful curves of her figure, making her appear tall, and somehow regal. Ruth must have had a hand in arranging her hair, for it was now drawn smoothly back from her brow, and held in place by a simple circlet of gold.

Marianne actually smiled. With the usual surliness of her manner fallen away, she looked slightly shy. “Do you like it?”

“It’s lovely,” Susanna said again. “Turn about and let me see you.”

A little awkwardly at first, then with increasing ease, Marianne spun and turned. She paused before the full-length mirror and stared at her reflection wonderingly.