A Spy's Devotion (25 page)

“Oh. But what if—”

“Do not worry.” He grabbed her uninjured hand and held it firmly between both of his. “I shall return for you very soon. First I must make sure your uncle is arrested—tonight, so he cannot harm you or me again.”

“But you do not know who else may be out there, trying to kill you.”

“Hush, now.”

She was so aware of his bare hand holding hers. What did he mean by it? For him to hold her hand without gloves . . . it was very improper. But she suddenly didn’t care, for the first time in her life, what was proper or improper. She loved this man with all her heart.

But that was precisely why she should not allow him to hold her hand. He could not marry her, after all.

He seemed about to say something else when a knock came at the door.

“Nicholas?” came a man’s voice from behind them. “I heard you—or a lady—were shot. What has happened?”

Mr. Wilson came toward them, his eyes roving from Mr. Langdon to Julia lying on the settee.

“This lady, Miss Grey, was hit by a shot fired at me, I’m afraid.” Mr. Langdon looked down at her, his expression very serious. “But now I must go and see what I can do to have our assailants arrested. Would you stay here while I’m gone and make sure the lady is safe?”

“Yes, of course.”

Madame Bartholdy was standing over Julia, smiling. “You should rest, my dear. The surgeon said to give you a few drops of this to help you sleep.” She held a small bottle and a glass in her hand.

Julia tried to catch a last glimpse of Mr. Langdon as he walked out the door.
God, keep him safe.

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

Julia awoke to a bit of light spreading on the floor from some unseen window. Where was she? She recognized the Bartholdys’ sitting room and realized she was lying on their settee amidst a comfortable cocoon of blankets. Then the events of the day before came back to her.

Her side pained her a bit as she sat up. But it was only a flesh wound, the surgeon had said. Her finger was still wrapped in the bandage Nicholas Langdon had tied on and did not hurt at all. But she must have dropped her cross when the bullet had hit her finger. She wished she could have it back, wished she had not dropped it, but at the time, it was the last thing on her mind.

Had Mr. Langdon and the police apprehended the men responsible for shooting at him, including her uncle?

“I have to go.” Julia pushed herself up, feeling the pull of the bandage on her side and a twinge of pain.

“Where are you going?” Madame Bartholdy sat up straighter from the armchair where she sat covered with a thin blanket. She smiled pleasantly.

“Madame Bartholdy. Thank you for caring for me last night and staying with me. I seem to have slept all night. Do you know if Mr. Langdon was able to . . .”

Footsteps sounded in the corridor, and then the man in question stood in the doorway.

“Miss Grey, Madame Bartholdy,” he greeted them politely. He turned to Julia with a slight crease in his forehead. “How are you feeling this morning?”

“I am very well, thank you. Just a flesh wound.” She smiled.

“I retrieved this for you. At least, I think it is yours.” He held out her heavy iron cross.

“Oh yes! Thank you. It belonged to my parents. I brought it with me to use as a weapon, in case I needed it.”

He reverently laid it in her lap. “I thank God that you did. It saved my life.”

Julia caressed the cross. It was not decorative or beautiful, just a plain iron cross, but tears pricked her eyes at how grateful she was to it for saving Nicholas Langdon’s life.

“And you?” she asked. “How did you fare last night?”

He looked a bit rumpled and was still wearing the same clothes he’d had on the evening before.

“I was able to convince the War Office that it was time to apprehend the man behind the shooting last night. However, Mr. Wilhern was not at home when they went to arrest him. He must have fled. They will keep looking for him. But they were able to capture the man who fired the shots. They have also arrested the four men listed on Mr. Wilhern’s note, who were booked on the ship with false identification as soldiers bound for the Peninsula. Their plan to assassinate General Wellington has been thwarted, thanks to you, Miss Grey.”

His gentle smile warmed her heart. “And thanks to you, Lieutenant Langdon.”

“And I am alive thanks to you, Miss Grey.”

“I shall go check on breakfast.” Madame Bartholdy stood, smiling, and left the room.

Now that they were alone, Julia was not sure where to look or what to do. The last thing she wanted was for Mr. Langdon to feel obligated to her in some way. But how could she say so without sounding very rude?

“I need to go.” Julia threw off the blanket covering her but then remembered she was not suitably dressed, as her dress had a gaping hole in the side. She made sure the shawl was wrapped around her middle. “I do not want to be a burden to the Bartholdys.”

“You may come and stay with me—with my family, Leorah and my mother. They would be very glad for you to visit.”

“The truth is, I have been accepted as a governess for a family in Suffolk. The Athertons. I will need to travel there right away.”

“A governess?” He was staring at her as if she had just told him she was growing a mermaid’s tail.

“I must provide for myself now.” She felt the heat rise into her cheeks. Of course, he could not be her friend, not now that she would be a governess. She would no longer be in his social class.

“But you are injured. You do not need to go today.”

“I think it is best if I do. My uncle may want revenge against me, and he could possibly try to harm me or the Bartholdys if I stay here. And he or Mr. Edgerton could easily find me at your home. No, I believe I must go.”

“Is there anything I can do to assist you?”

Julia hesitated.

“I shall retrieve your things from your uncle’s house. If you will only give me the name of the place, I shall see that your things are sent there.”

She should probably refuse, since he would have to pay for her trunks to be sent, but she felt intuitively that he would be hurt if she refused. Besides, if he did not help her, she was not sure how it might be done.

“That is so very kind of you. The direction is Suffolk, Donnerly Hall.”

“Did you say Donnerly Hall? The Athertons?”

“Yes.”

“I know them, a little. I shall come and visit you there.”

“Oh no. That would not be proper.”

The expression on his face changed.

“That is, you could not visit a governess. You . . . it is not done.” If he only knew how much it would hurt her to leave him, to think of never seeing him again. But of course, she could never tell him that.

He turned his face away from her. What was he thinking? Julia could not bear to think he was angry with her. Perhaps he was regretting that he could not ask her to marry him. She hoped it was that. But at the same time, she did not want him to feel the pain that was sitting in her chest at that very moment, like a one-hundred-pound bird with its talons digging into her heart.

“I shall very much miss our alliance,” she said, hoping to sound cheerful, “and our secret hiding place in the tree at the park.” She couldn’t help but smile. “And please do say good-bye to Leorah and tell her how sorry I am I cannot take my leave of her myself. I shall miss her spirit and fearlessness.”

Suddenly, he turned to face her. “I shall see you again. When all of this is finished—” He walked closer and knelt in front of her, lifting her injured hand. He caressed it, running his thumb over her knuckles, and then kissed it, his lips warm against her skin.

The air rushed out of her lungs. What bliss it would be to be married to this man. She reached out and touched his hair and then immediately pulled her hand back. But he snatched it and kissed it too, his head bowed over her hands.

Someone was coming. He let go and whispered, “God be with you.” He stood and left the room.

Monsieur and Madame Bartholdy both came into the room.

“What a handsome young man,” Madame Bartholdy said with a smile. “And very honorable.”

“Yes.” Julia pressed the back of her hand to her cheek. Handsome and honorable and utterly wonderful.

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

Julia had been at the Athertons’ estate in Suffolk for a few weeks and had not heard from Nicholas Langdon. When she had first arrived, she was afraid the Athertons would refuse her and send her away, if they had heard about her uncle’s treasonous acts against the British crown. But they apparently had not heard and welcomed her with a cold dignity and a bit of relief at having procured a governess at last.

Julia, however, lived in fear that they would hear stories from London that would convince them of her ruined reputation. After a week, Mrs. Atherton called her into her sitting room.

“Miss Grey, it has come to my attention that your uncle, Mr. Wilhern, is suspected of being a spy for the French and has fled the country. Your aunt and cousin are living with relatives now. Is this true?”

“I only know that he is suspected of being a spy.”

The woman stared at her. Finally, she said, “I suppose a girl cannot help her relations. I had been told your reputation was exemplary. You have not been corrupted by your uncle, I hope?”

“No, ma’am. I assure you I have not.”

This seemed to satisfy Mrs. Atherton, and she sent Julia back to the schoolroom.

Now, after three weeks at Donnerly Hall with the Athertons, Julia had settled into a routine. Mornings were filled with teaching her charges reading, writing, and arithmetic—or at least attempting to. Afternoons were for music and language instruction for the older children.

In the evenings Julia was free. She often walked about the extensive grounds of the estate or stayed in her room, reading or doing some other solitary activity. She thought often of Phoebe and prayed that she would not be too miserable and would not despise Julia too much. Julia had rarely ever been without Phoebe’s company, so it was strange not to be able to talk to her or even write to her, since she did not know with whom she was staying.

There was no one else in the house near Julia’s age, except some of the servants. But none of them would speak more than a monosyllable to her—except the children’s nurse, who was at least fifteen years older than Julia and rather coarse in her sentiments and conversation topics. However, Julia was more than willing to overlook some lack of education and niceties simply to have someone to talk to, someone who didn’t look at her as if she resented Julia’s slightly higher position, as the other servants did.

The family members, the mother and the older daughters, all spoke to Julia as if she were too low to deserve to breathe the same air. As the governess, she seemed to be in a class all her own, as Sarah Peck had also found herself—a very lonely place, with no possibility of making a friend who would treat her as an equal.

Julia often sat in her room overlooking the stable, watching people come and go. She was not allowed to go where she pleased. She could not play on the pianoforte at odd times of the day as she had been wont to do when she lived with the Wilherns. Most importantly, she must take care to avoid the master of the house, Mr. Atherton, for he was friendlier with her than anyone else in the house—much
too
friendly.

In fact, Julia had begun to fear the sight of him, with his fleshy, flushed cheeks and his habit of prowling about the corridor near her room, obviously having overindulged in drink. He had not been bold enough to touch her, but he had been much too eager to have a private word with her in the corridors of the large house. She had always managed to escape him with some excuse or another, but she feared she would need to find a new position soon before he became bolder.

That was why Julia was writing to her friend, Felicity Mayson, to ask her the name and the direction of the school Felicity and her sisters had attended when they were younger. If she could secure a position at such a school, at least she could make friends with the other teachers and not constantly feel as though someone were either looking down on her or thinking she was looking down on them. She could live with the other teachers as an equal.

Julia had written to Felicity more than two weeks ago and told her about her situation. Felicity had written her back. Julia now read her letter again:

My dear Julia,

I have been hearing the rampant gossip going through London. How much of it do you know? Do you know your uncle has fled the country to avoid being imprisoned for treason? Some say he plotted to assassinate the Prince Regent and the entire royal family. Others say he sold military secrets to France in exchange for having his substantial debts paid off. Mr. Edgerton was taken to the Tower of London and then, a few days later, was set free. Everyone wondered if he was a traitor too, and he has not been seen in London since he was released. Julia, what do you know of all this?

Forgive me for my morbid curiosity. You only told me that your uncle is in some trouble and you must care for yourself now, and that is why you took a position as governess. I am very sorry that this has happened, but thank you for continuing our friendship. I cannot help but think your situation will change. You are the best person I know.

You asked me about Phoebe. I hear she and her mother are living with cousins in London and that Phoebe was seen walking in Hyde Park and crying. It is only too bad that she never listened to your advice to be more discreet with her emotions. But I have also heard that Mr. Dinklage has been visiting her often. Perhaps he can cheer her up. His mother died, you know, about a week after you left. Now he is free to marry whomever he wishes.

Please write to me soon, and, if you wish to enlighten me as to who is guilty of what and what might happen next, I promise not to tell another living being.

Your discreet and loving friend,

Felicity Mayson

Julia trusted Felicity not to tell anything she would not want shared, but it little mattered anymore. The truth would come out about her uncle eventually. Apparently they did not have enough evidence to punish Mr. Edgerton for his role. But that only meant that he never did get his large sum of money from the people in France who were trying to kill General Wellington.

It was actually somewhat of a relief for Julia to be so far removed from the drawing-room gossip of privileged society. As a governess, she might as well be thousands of miles away in Jamaica or Barbados or America.

Felicity mentioned Phoebe crying in a public park and not listening to Julia’s advice. But as Julia looked back on it, perhaps she was the foolish one, at least to some extent. Julia had put so much pressure on herself and on Phoebe to follow society’s rather arbitrary rules, when she should have been following “the only good and perfect law of liberty and of love,” which the rector had spoken about in church this past Sunday—God’s Word.

What if Phoebe did cry openly when she was sad? She had a right to be sad, and anyone who criticized her for it simply wasn’t being loving. Being overly emotional might be unwise, but being unloving was a failing indeed.

Julia had it at least partially wrong, trying to control Phoebe, and trying too hard to conform to the world’s views of good and bad, but God in His mercy had taken care of her anyway. She might never be married, but at least she had food and clothing and a roof over her head, as well as a few friends, including Felicity.

Julia quickly finished her letter to Felicity, asking her for the information about the school she hoped to apply to, and went downstairs to give her letter to be posted.

The sun was going down, but it wasn’t too late to go for a short walk around the gardens. As she was passing the dining room, she overheard Mrs. Atherton speaking. Julia stopped in the dark corridor, out of sight of the dining room, and listened.

“Mrs. Henrietta Tromburg, a recent widow and my old friend’s daughter, is coming for a visit. I want the red room cleaned and polished before her arrival tomorrow afternoon. And remember that she is still in mourning, and warn the maids not to be chattering and giggling away as they are so fond of doing.”

The children would be much more likely to disturb Mr. Langdon’s former fiancée than any of the servants, who were terrified of Mrs. Atherton. Besides, by now Mrs. Tromburg would only be in half mourning.

“I am planning a small house party for her, and I have invited several guests. They should arrive a week from today, so we will need all of the extra rooms aired and cleaned by then. And I must try to send the new governess away. She is far too handsome and elegantly dressed. Everyone will mistake her for a guest instead of the governess.”

Julia’s heart thumped hard against her chest at hearing herself spoken of.

“I don’t know if she has anywhere to go, mum,” the housekeeper, Mrs. Farnsworth, replied.

Mrs. Atherton made a grunting sound. “Well, then, I will warn her to stay out of the way when the guests arrive. But if I had known she was as fair of face as she is, I never would have taken her on.”

Julia moved as quietly as possible the rest of the way down the corridor, her knees a bit wobbly at the thought of being caught eavesdropping. She made it to the door and went out into the pale light of the waning day.

She walked around the garden, enjoying the cool, clean air and the soft sounds of nature, trying to clear her heart of the unsettled feeling that had lodged there after hearing that Nicholas Langdon’s former fiancée would be arriving the next day, and that a whole houseful of guests would be here in a week.

Julia shook her head. It hardly affected her. But she couldn’t help but wonder if Mr. Langdon would be interested in renewing his offer of marriage to the woman he had fallen in love with years ago, now that she was a widow. Didn’t people always say that first love was the strongest? And if Mrs. Tromburg had only a small jointure to live on after failing to produce an heir, then perhaps Mr. Langdon would marry her out of pity—and because he still loved her.

These thoughts weren’t making Julia feel any better. Since it was growing quite dark, she went back inside and up to the safe haven of her room.

Julia’s young pupils stood at the window, staring down at the carriage below, as Mrs. Tromburg alighted and made her way to the house.

“May we please be allowed to go and greet her?” little Elizabeth, the six-year-old, asked.

“No, I’m afraid not.”

“Oh please, Miss Grey!” The older girl and even some of the boys joined their voices to Elizabeth’s.

“Your mother would not be pleased at all with that, I am sure. Now, if you are good girls and boys, I shall allow you to have extra gingerbread at teatime, and I will ask your mother’s permission to let you go down, in an orderly and genteel fashion, to greet Mrs. Tromburg then. She will be tired from her journey, and you had much better greet her when she is rested.”

“But it is
three hours
until tea!” Elizabeth said it as if it were three years.

“No need to worry, Miss Elizabeth. You will still be alive and well in three hours.”

When teatime came, Julia walked the children toward the drawing room. The boys hung back, seeming shy at the prospect of meeting a young lady, but the girls started to run. Julia couldn’t get their attention without yelling. No matter. They wouldn’t want their mother’s guest to think they weren’t ladylike, and they would slow down when they reached the drawing room.

“Come along, boys.” Julia shooed the boys in front of her.

Julia entered but stood near the door, knowing she was only wanted to watch the children, not to join them for tea. The young widow was sitting near Mrs. Atherton and smiling at the girls. She greeted each of the children formally but pleasantly.

The children seemed awed by her, even the boys. Julia had to admit, Mrs. Tromburg was quite beautiful. Her hair was a vibrant blond, her eyes bright blue, and her skin was clear and fair. Her hair was perfectly arranged and her dress immaculate. She didn’t look the least worse for having traveled most of the day.

While they had their tea, Julia found a book and sat near the door, observing their visitor discreetly while the children entertained her with their stories and questions. Julia was impressed with their good behavior. They normally weren’t nearly so well mannered.

When tea was over, the nursemaid came to fetch the children, as their instruction was over for the day. Julia stood to leave as well, but Mrs. Tromburg called out, “Won’t you stay a few moments, Miss . . . ?”

“Miss Grey,” Mrs. Atherton supplied.

The two women looked completely comfortable as they waited for Julia to approach. She made her way toward them, feeling dowdy in the dress she had taught in all day.

“I know you as the Wilherns’ ward. You were at a ball I attended, I am sure of it. How do you like being a governess?”

Julia tried not to notice the snide look in Mrs. Tromburg’s eyes. “I have very worthy young pupils, I thank you.”

Mrs. Tromburg smirked. “And I see you were able to regain your health after Mrs. Dinklage prevented you from marrying her son. It is always a shame when young love is thwarted.”

“I am sure I don’t know what you mean. I was never in love with Mr. Dinklage.” Julia pretended a coolness she did not feel.