A Spy's Devotion (15 page)

CHAPTER NINETEEN

Three days later, Nicholas waited just down the street from the Wilherns’ town house, hoping to see Miss Grey emerge from the house—alone for the short walk to fetch Miss Mayson or Miss Appleby for their morning constitutional—and come his way. He could not wait very long or he would look suspicious. Unfortunately, there were no shops nearby he might duck into and pretend to browse while he secretly watched her house.

He strode to a tree by the street and stood pretending to examine his sleeve. How long could he stand here without being noticed? Finally, he started down the street, passing the Wilherns’ house. He kept his head facing straight ahead but watched for any movement at the house to his left.

He kept walking until he was well past the house. But before it was completely out of his sight, he turned and walked back that way. Just as he was nearly parallel to the Wilherns’ town house again, he was rewarded with a feminine figure opening the door and walking down the three steps to the street. She wore a simple blue bonnet and a blue-and-white spencer. She turned to walk in his direction and stopped short. “Oh. Mr. Langdon.”

He bowed, tipped his hat, and offered her his arm. “May I walk with you?”

“Why, yes, I was just going to call on my friends, Miss Felicity Mayson and Miss Appleby, for our morning walk.”

“Ah yes.” Nicholas didn’t have a lot of time, as Miss Mayson’s home was very near.

“Is something wrong, Mr. Langdon?”

“I was just thinking of something Mr. Edgerton told me yesterday.”

Julia stiffened and her mouth opened in hesitation. “Mr. Edgerton? Was it something to worry you, Mr. Langdon?”

“It was only that he said he had asked your uncle’s permission to marry you, and your uncle had said yes, but that you had not agreed to it.” He waited a moment, but when she did not speak, he said, “I was concerned that you were—forgive me if I am being impertinent—that you were being coerced by your guardian.”

He leaned forward slightly to catch a glimpse of her face underneath the rim of her bonnet. Her face was pale, and she quickly turned away.

“Miss Grey, you may confide in me. I promise you I am very discreet, and I may be able to help you, if you are in need of assistance in the situation.” Though she must wonder how he could possibly help her.

They reached the street corner, and as no one was around, he stepped in front of her and faced her.

She was obviously distressed, though she was biting her lip trying to hide it. Would she open her thoughts to him? He needed her to tell him if she knew anything. His heart clenched in his chest. If only he could help her, not just extract information from her.

“I have noticed the way Mr. Edgerton singles you out,” he said gently, “but I would not think your uncle would accept him for you, since Mr. Edgerton has no fortune except what he has gambled away.”

“That is what I thought as well,” she said. He had to lean down to hear her. “But my uncle believes Mr. Edgerton is coming into a large sum of money soon, and he wishes me to marry him.”

But why push her so hard to marry Edgerton? Unless her uncle owed some sort of obligation to Edgerton. And the fact that Edgerton was supposedly coming into a large sum of money convinced him—Edgerton must be in on the spying scheme with Wilhern.

“Perhaps,” she went on, her voice a bit shaky, “my uncle is trying to do what is advantageous for me. He is trying to keep me from being . . . from being a governess.” Her lip trembled and she caught it between her teeth as she blinked rapidly.

Nicholas’s chest ached at the painful sight of her trying to convince herself that her uncle was acting in her best interests, that he was pressuring her to marry Edgerton because he wanted what was best for her.

“Perhaps,” he said, trying to say it as gently as possible, “there is some other explanation for your uncle’s wishing you to marry Mr. Edgerton.”

“What do you mean?”

He had to word this very carefully. “I do not wish to malign your uncle, but is there anything, anything at all, that you have witnessed lately, anything unusual in his behavior, that might signal you to believe that he will benefit in some way from your marriage to Mr. Edgerton?”

A thought seemed to dawn on Miss Grey; recognition spread across her face, and then she frowned. “Mr. Edgerton does seem to visit my uncle a lot at odd hours. I’ve seen him coming out of my uncle’s study. Also, I overheard them once at a party talking about a diary, but I did not think—what? Is there something significant about a diary?”

“Does your uncle know you overheard him?”

“He did not see me.” Her pretty blue eyes were wide and her lips parted. She looked frightened. He wished he could assure her she had nothing to worry about, that he would protect her.

Could he trust her? Should he tell her? Her help could be extremely valuable and could save thousands of British soldiers, including General Wellington, but it would also put her in danger.

Two young ladies and a gentleman were walking toward them. At least one private coach had already passed them on the street, so he held out his arm and she took it. They began walking as if they were out for a morning stroll. Not very many people were out this early, but he did not want to start any gossip mills churning.

When they had politely nodded to the oncoming ladies and gentleman and passed them, Julia asked quietly, “Mr. Langdon, is my uncle involved in something nefarious?” She glanced up at him, and there was a determined set to her jaw. The fearful look was gone.

They had made their way to Hyde Park. A path led them along a row of trees, with the grassy open area on their other side. He wished they could sit to have this conversation, so he could look into her eyes. But they were probably less conspicuous if they kept walking.

“Miss Grey, you may not realize it, but your uncle is in so much debt, he is on the verge of losing his estate, Wilhern Manor, in Warwickshire.”

“I had noticed there seemed to be a lot of creditors calling on my uncle.”

“That could be one of the reasons . . . it appears your uncle is involved, along with Mr. Edgerton, in a crime.”

“What sort of crime?” She turned to look at him.

Surely he could trust her. Surely she would not betray him, with that sweet, innocent, slightly horrified look on her face. But was he being gullible? If she were trying to fool him, wouldn’t she have just such a look on her face? Was she acting? Or was she really as good and kind and noble as she seemed?

He remembered her kindness to Henry and the way Miss Grey’s aunt and uncle had treated her.

“If your uncle and Mr. Edgerton were involved in espionage, in the betrayal of their country and yours, would you help me?”

Her face went white as lamb’s wool.

“If your uncle is helping France in a plot to kill General Wellington, will you join in our efforts to stop him? Will you choose your loyalty to crown and country, to England’s sons fighting on foreign soil, over your loyalty to your uncle?”

She had stopped and was staring up at him, a little color already coming back into her cheeks.

“I can give you some time to think about it, but remember, many lives are at stake. Your country—”

“Yes. I will do it.”

Her blue eyes stared into his, round and wide and luminous. Her jaw was firmly set, but her lips . . . her full, perfect lips were slightly parted in an expression that matched the vulnerability in her eyes—frightened yet determined. His heart skipped a beat, and he swallowed the lump in his throat.

He should
not
be thinking about kissing her at a moment like this.

Julia stared up at Mr. Langdon. She could barely breathe as she made the commitment to spy against her own uncle, the man who had taken her in and given her a home when she was only an orphan. Her uncle had provided her with an education and allowed her to grow up with his own daughter. But he was a traitor.

“You believe me, then?” Mr. Langdon gazed down at her with those brown eyes.

How could she not believe him? Besides, it all made sense, even why her uncle wanted her to marry Mr. Edgerton. “If I marry Mr. Edgerton, I cannot lawfully accuse him or be a witness against my husband, and therefore I would be unlikely to implicate my uncle either.”

“That is true. You are very clever, Miss Grey.” He gave her a look of admiration. But then he sobered. “Are you afraid of your uncle? Do you think him capable of . . . harming you?”

The memory of her uncle beating his horse rose up before her, followed by the look on his face when she told him she would not marry Mr. Edgerton. “I believe he is capable, yes. But I shall not let him know I suspect anything.” She did her best to give Mr. Langdon a confident smile, but the corners of her mouth didn’t quite succeed in obeying her.

What was she getting herself into?

“So as to lessen the risk of anyone discovering our alliance, we need a way for us to exchange messages without ever encountering each other or being seen in each other’s company.”

He walked over to an old gnarled oak tree beside the patch. Its trunk was enormous. Mr. Langdon glanced all around. It was still so early that the only people around were grooms exercising the horses, and only a few of those in this one corner of the park. He stepped up to the tree, so close to it that Julia could only see what he was showing her by stepping quite close to it herself.

He stuck his hand in a knothole in the trunk of the tree and pulled out a rock about half the size of his fist.

“Whenever you need to get a message to me, put it in this hole and cover it with this rock. I shall check it every morning and every evening. This should be safer than using servants to carry our messages for us or coming to each other’s homes to deliver them.”

Julia nodded. “I always take my morning walk before any of the family is awake.”

“Perfect. Now let us go before anyone sees us.”

She took his arm and they started back through the park’s entrance, which was only a few steps away, and back onto the street.

“If you ever feel yourself to be in danger,” he said, “do send me word or come to me.”

“I shall be careful not to give my uncle cause to be suspicious of me, and in the meantime, I shall listen for any information I can discover.”

“Yes, try to intercept any messages your uncle might receive, and see if you can eavesdrop when Mr. Edgerton comes to visit your uncle. But be careful.”

Again, Mr. Langdon stopped and his intense eyes gazed down at her. The concern in them nearly stopped her heart. Did he truly care what happened to her? Did anyone care about her, orphan girl that she was? Phoebe cared, but . . . if she knew Julia was spying on her father, even Phoebe’s love would grow cold. Julia could lose everything, the only things she had—her uncle’s support, her cousin’s love, and her own good standing in society—if her uncle were to be found guilty of treason.

But how could she not give Mr. Langdon her help? How could she not do all she could for her country? If many of her countrymen’s lives depended on her, she would do whatever she had to do to save them. How could she not?

“You are not having second thoughts?” he asked as they continued walking down the street leading them back to her home as well as Felicity Mayson’s.

“No. I am willing to do what I can.”

There was a crease in his brow.

“What are you thinking?” Julia asked.

“This could be very dangerous for you. But if you find yourself in danger, you will tell me, will you not?”

“Of course.” Julia imagined her uncle’s fury if he should ever discover that she was plotting against him. Her heart skipped a beat.

“The messages you encounter will probably be in code.” Nicholas Langdon spoke quickly. “They will look like words, but the words will not make sense. Whenever possible, copy down the letters exactly and then leave the original where you found it. If you need to leave me a direct message, or I you, the War Office will be known as ‘our mutual friends.’ The traitors will be spoken of as ‘the relatives in Kent.’”

Julia imprinted this information in her mind.

“You understand?”

“Yes.”

They made their way back to Grosvenor Square and passed right by her Uncle Wilhern’s town house. As they began meeting up with other people on the street, Julia deliberately made her expression one of polite calm, even smiling at passersby. Mr. Langdon appeared perfectly calm himself as he stopped in front of Felicity Mayson’s door.

“Good day, Miss Grey.” He tipped his hat to her.

She nodded and knocked at her friend’s home as she did nearly every morning.

Julia and this man shared a secret now, a dangerous secret. But even if the secret were not discovered, neither Julia’s nor Phoebe’s lives would ever be as they had hoped, because her uncle and guardian, and Phoebe’s father, was a traitor to England.

CHAPTER TWENTY

It was Tuesday. Julia sat writing another letter to Sarah. The risk of her aunt’s wrath was too great to try to sneak away to keep her regular visit to the Bartholdys. Sarah, in her last letter, had spoken of her fear as her small amount of money dwindled. Julia wrote to say she hoped and believed she would be able to find a safe place for her soon.

Once, during her first Season in society, Julia had hoped a certain gentleman was on the verge of proposing marriage to her. When she heard he had proposed to a widowed lady nine years his senior because of her fortune, Sarah had held Julia’s hand and cried with her. Phoebe had gone to bed, but Sarah had sat up with her, assuring her she was too lovely and sensible a girl to be passed over for very long. She was sure Julia would find a worthy match and would then be glad that this unworthy gentleman had thrown her over for someone else.

Julia couldn’t let someone as kind as Sarah down. She must try to sneak away tomorrow and make her way to the children’s mission to speak with Mr. Wilson.

A light knock sounded at her door, and Julia looked over her shoulder to see Phoebe clutching a letter.

“Julia, did you know about this? Can it be true?” She stared at Julia with a look of astonishment.

“What? Can what be true?”

“It’s about Sarah.” Phoebe came toward her, holding out the letter.

Her heart in her throat, Julia took the letter from Phoebe and saw that it was addressed to her aunt. “Do you have Aunt Wilhern’s permission to read her letter?”

“She gave it to me.”

Julia’s heart beat faster as she read aloud, “I am sorry to tell you—you probably have already heard it from someone else—but Robert Smitherman’s son has run away with their governess, who is none other than Miss Peck, whom you employed until recently, if I am not mistaken.”

Julia’s stomach felt sick. She glanced at Phoebe, whose lips formed a thin line. “Keep reading.”

Julia swallowed and then continued. “Miss Peck and their son, Mr. William Smitherman, went to London more than a fortnight ago. The governess took everything she owned without any explanation at all, and now poor Mrs. Smitherman is frantic to find a new governess. And as for the son, he still hasn’t come home but has been persuaded to leave the girl and go back to Eton and resume his studies. His mother is very put out with him, but boys will have their mischief. I do hope, for the sake of your precious daughter, Phoebe, and Miss Grey, that no one will think she had been a bad influence on your own young women. Phoebe and Julia are such good girls, to be sure, most proper and agreeable, and should weather this little squall with no lasting damage. We shall hope no one else hears of it.”

Julia skimmed the rest of the missive, which spoke no more of Sarah and what had become of her, as if she didn’t matter. It was signed
Mrs. Brumley
, whom Julia remembered as the doughy wife of a country gentleman in Derbyshire.

The fact that Mrs. Brumley knew of these events only proved to Julia that the news of it had no doubt reached enough people to prevent Sarah from being able to find another respectable post, either now or in the future.

“Julia, did you know about this?” Phoebe crossed her arms and stared at Julia.

“I am afraid I did.”

“Why did you not tell me? I am not a child, you know. I am only two years younger than you.”

Her words made Julia recall something Sarah had once said several years ago.
Phoebe may be only two years younger, but you were born older than she will ever be.

“Sarah didn’t give me permission to share her situation.” Julia handed the letter back to Phoebe. “I am sorry. It is not a happy event, in any case, and I would have spared you if I could.”

“You needn’t have
spared
me. Besides, Mother is incensed. She says neither of us is ever to see Sarah again or even correspond with her.”

Julia lowered her voice to a whisper. “Did she have you tell me this?”

Phoebe nodded.

So Mrs. Wilhern was using Phoebe to tell her not to associate with Sarah. Did she think she could turn Phoebe against Julia too, to cause the two of them to disagree about Sarah? Would her aunt intercept Sarah’s letters? Would she discard them before Julia could read them?

Julia would have to use another way to communicate with Sarah. Her heart pounded at the thought of her aunt and uncle finding out that she was defying them, that she was sending Sarah letters against their direct wishes.

But how could she turn her back on Sarah when she had no one else? Besides, she was already defying the Wilherns by agreeing to spy on her uncle.

Julia glanced over at her desk and saw the letter she had been writing to Sarah. Quickly, she pulled her blotter paper over it so that Phoebe wouldn’t see. Would Phoebe betray her to Mrs. Wilhern? Probably not, but she didn’t want to put her cousin in a position where she might be tempted to lie to her own mother.

“Julia?”

“Yes, Phoebe. This is a lesson for us both. We cannot be too careful. We must . . .” Julia recognized that she was on the verge of either saying things she didn’t mean or saying what she really thought—the former would be hypocritical and the latter would be unwise. Phoebe looked aghast. “Julia, neither you nor I would ever do something like that! But Sarah . . . Sarah always did wish she were not a governess. You are not so poor as Sarah, and we are both sure to get eligible proposals, maybe this very Season. I shall marry Mr. Langdon, and you shall marry . . . I don’t know who, but someone worthy, I am certain. Perhaps Mr. Edgerton.” Phoebe looked at Julia out of the corner of her eye, rather slyly.

Had her father influenced Phoebe to try to persuade Julia to marry Mr. Edgerton? Julia stared at Phoebe. “You know I have no wish to marry Mr. Edgerton. And I will have but two hundred thirty pounds if I marry, and there is certainly no guarantee anyone will—”

Julia stopped herself and turned away, taking a deep breath and attempting to force down the anger that was creeping into her voice. “Perhaps everything will work out the way we both hope.” She forced a small smile.

“I was just speaking to Father. You must know that Mr. Langdon is coming to dinner on Thursday.” Phoebe became more animated as she spoke, her eyes growing rounder with each word. “Father shall ask him to come to Wilhern Manor when we go back to the country when the Season is over.”

Julia suddenly remembered the other important matter she needed to turn her attention to. “Phoebe, where is your father now?”

“Father? I believe he was about to leave to go to his club.” Her smile stretched across her face again. “I must go speak with Molly about how to arrange my hair for Thursday.” She took a few steps toward the door and then turned and smiled at Julia. “Don’t worry. Once Nicholas and I are married, one of his friends will do for you, Julia, I am sure of it!” Then Phoebe rushed out of the room.

Julia shook her head and turned her mind back to her more immediate concerns. She would wait a few more minutes until she was sure her uncle had left to go to his club.

Her mind went back to Sarah and her dilemma. Julia sat back down at her desk and stared at her letter. She must speak with Mr. Wilson at the Children’s Aid Mission. Julia might have spoken to Nicholas Langdon about Sarah’s situation, but it seemed an awkward subject to broach with him. Mr. Wilson, however, must be accustomed to seeing such problems, and therefore he was her best hope of finding a safe place for Sarah. She could write him a letter, but when he replied to her, what would her aunt think of Julia receiving a letter from a strange man? Mr. or Mrs. Wilhern might even open it and read it.

No, she must speak with him in person. Tomorrow she would take the risk.

Julia went into the hall and listened for her uncle’s voice or footsteps. Not hearing either, she walked downstairs to the small room where her uncle kept his riding crop, walking stick, and the hat he wore when he rode his horse. All three were missing.

Julia went back up the stairs, hoping not to encounter anyone who might ask her what she was doing there.

She hurried back toward her uncle’s study. Voices came from behind her, two of the servants talking, so Julia kept walking until she reached a sitting room. She went inside and then waited for the servants to pass.

Her heart was hammering in her throat as she stepped back out into the corridor and walked as soundlessly as possible to the door of her uncle’s study. She tried the doorknob. It was locked.

What could she do now? Would the key that fit her own room also fit her uncle’s study? Probably not. If he would take the time to lock his door, and if there were incriminating documents in his study, then he would take care that the lock and key were unique from others in the house.

Where did he keep the key?

His valet, Rogers, would probably have it on his person. But since Mr. Wilhern was away, might the valet leave his key ring in his room while taking his leisure elsewhere?

Julia hurried up the stairs to the top floor. She vaguely remembered someone saying that the male servants’ rooms were at the west end, while the female servants slept at the east end. What would she say if someone saw her here? What excuse could she possibly give? She would say she was searching for Betsy, the upstairs maid, because she had misplaced something and thought Betsy might know where it was.

The corridor was bare and did not look like the rest of the house. The floor sagged in places, and the walls were dull and bare of wallpaper or paint. Which door could be Rogers’s?

Three of the doors were the same distance apart, with a fourth and fifth closer together. Could the closer doors be single rooms instead of for multiple occupants?

Julia stepped forward, listening at the first door. Her heart was beating so hard it seemed to affect her hearing. Still, she didn’t hear anything, so she tried the doorknob. It turned freely and opened, creaking slightly.

“Anyone there?” Julia said softly.

No one answered. She entered the room. It was very neat, with everything in its place. Surely this was Rogers’s room, as he seemed like such an immaculate and meticulous person. And there, on the wall near the small, narrow bed, was a metal ring of keys.

She could hardly breathe, her chest was so tight, but she walked toward the ring, reached out, and took it carefully in her hand, trying not to rattle it too much. She held it tight to her breast and turned to hurry away. She stepped out into the corridor and closed the door behind her and then scurried toward the stairs.

Still no one was around as she made it safely to the first floor with the keys in her hand.

She reached the door and quickly tried the first key. It did not fit. Her hands shook as she tried the second one, the metal keys rattling against each other.

Someone was coming. Footsteps sounded from the back stairs.

Julia hid the keys in the folds of her skirt and turned to walk down the corridor. She met Betsy, who dropped a quick curtsy.

“Good morning, Betsy.”

“Morning, miss.” Betsy continued down the corridor.

Julia slipped into the sitting room, closing her eyes and pressing her hand against her chest where she could feel her frantic heartbeat. When she had caught her breath, she stepped out into the corridor and made her way back to the door. Not sure which keys she had already tried, she fumbled until she managed to insert one into the lock. It wouldn’t turn. She tried another and another. Finally, after the fifth one, she was able to turn a key in the lock. It clicked and unlocked the door.

Julia pulled out the key, held the ring close to her, and entered the room, closing the door behind her.

Her knees were weak as she pressed her back against the door, peering around her in the semidarkness of the room. Even though it was morning, this room faced west and the windows therefore let in very little light. But Julia’s eyes adapted quickly, and soon she was moving toward his desk.

Several papers lay stacked there. Julia looked at them, but mostly they were receipts for household items and lists of recent expenses. Nothing looked important.

She opened a drawer and began looking through it, lifting out ledgers and loose papers, but nothing resembled a secret message or code. She did her best to put things back the way they were. Finally, she remembered that desk drawers sometimes had false bottoms where one might conceal something thin, a few sheets of paper, for instance.

She opened another of her uncle’s drawers and felt around the bottom of it. Suddenly, her finger touched a tiny knob, which she pressed, causing the bottom of the drawer to swing down. When it did, a paper fell out, folded into fourths.

Julia picked up the paper and unfolded it. She tried to read it, but it did not make sense. There were letters on the page, but they only formed nonsense.

Julia sat down and took a sheet of her uncle’s paper. She picked up his quill pen and dipped it into the ink and began copying the sheet as quickly as possible. She forced her hand to steady and her mind to concentrate. After what seemed like a very long time but was probably only a few minutes, she finished.

Julia folded the original piece of paper and put it back in its hiding place in the drawer. She quickly folded the copy she had made into a very small square and held it in her palm. Too nervous to look anymore, she closed the drawer and stood up, grabbing the keys off the desk. She strode to the door and listened. Not hearing anything, she carefully opened the door.

She looked both ways in the corridor and then stepped out and closed it behind her. She still had to take the keys back to the valet’s room. She started toward the stairs and then remembered she ought to relock the door.

Her heart pounded as she went back and started fumbling with the keys, making them jingle in the stillness of the empty hallway. Finally, she found the right key and locked the door and then hurried away, clutching the keys against her thigh to keep them quiet.

On the top floor, Julia moved quickly to Rogers’s room, hung his keys where she had found them, and turned to leave. If anyone found her now, she’d never be able to explain what she was doing in her uncle’s valet’s sleeping quarters. She hurried to the door and stepped out, closing the door behind her.