The Moonless Night (27 page)

“You think she is over her brief infatuation?”

“Certainly she is. And as I have given him the hint no offer from him will be welcome here, he has stopped showing her the least partiality. Really, I cannot think why he hangs around.”

“I bet he’ll be gone the day after the ball,” Sanford comforted her, then they went upstairs to change for dinner.

There was little enough to complain of in Benson’s being with them. He appeared at the table for breakfast and dinner, but for the rest of the day and the entire evening he absented himself. If only he had been a little pleasant during his brief hours with them, no one would have begrudged him the bed and board, but he had become downright surly, particularly to Sanford, which was very odd and rude as Sanford had become as pleasant as may be with Benson. He would often relate to him some little joke Madame Monet had cracked, which angered Marie almost as much as it maddened Benson. Dinner was no sooner over than Benson was off again. David, having switched allegiance to Adrian, let him go without even observing which direction he took. He was eager to have some activity for the night, however, and turned to Sanford.

“Are you calling on Madame tonight?” he asked.

“No, I’m giving Benson a turn.”

“Well if that ain’t a low trick! Your chick, and he there making up to her every time your back’s turned.”

“Truth to tell, I am becoming a little bored with Madame,” Sanford said.

Marie sat two yards from the gentlemen, ostensibly sorting through cards of acceptance for the ball, but in truth listening as hard as she could to every word spoken. She peered up when Sanford made this statement, to find his blue eyes resting on her in a quizzical way. Her attention, or at least her eyes, went back to the cards.

“Shall we jog up to the Point and have a look through the telescope?” David tried next.

“My groom is there. He will let us know if anything happens. I don’t think the telescope features prominently in the case any longer, David—if it ever did.”

“My own opinion as well,” David agreed knowledgeably, wondering why this should be so. “What do you say to a dash into Plymouth, to hear what’s being said at the inn. See if MacKenroth managed to get his writ served.”

“He didn’t. Keith has been smuggled aboard the
Prometheus
and will hide out there a while,” Sanford told him.

Here was a spy who knew what he was about! “How the deuce did you find out that, Ade?”

“I asked his wife. Sent her a note asking her to let me know and she sent an answer back with my man. She is a good friend of my mama. Keith will take to the sea and await orders to transfer Napoleon to the
Northumberland
. Sir George Cockburn, its captain, has been standing off the Isle of Wight, and is en route here now for the trip to Saint Helena. Of course you realize this is told in confidence, David.” he added, to give an air of importance to his words, though they were no secret to anyone really interested in the case.

“Oh, certainly! Secrets of this sort are not to be spoken of in front of just anyone.” He lowered his voice, deeming it time to return tit for tat with his favorite spy. There were whispered words regarding Cicero, ten thousand pounds, a set of brass buttons, accompanied by many knowing nods, narrowed eyes, and sharp looks around the room, lest he be overheard by Marie, who knew the whole.

Sanford didn’t turn a hair. “I’ve taken care of all that,” he said. “The only matter that bears watching now is your winch and chain. Shall we go and see it hasn’t been tampered with?”

“What—you mean all along you have wanted it left intact, and have just let on otherwise to fool the enemy into leaving it alone?” David asked, a smile of approval at such chicanery as this.

“Exactly,” Sanford agreed, and went with David to the winch room, to raise the chain to the surface, then lower it, just to make sure it was all right, and in good operating condition.

“You’ll leave
Seadog
here, won’t you. Ade?”

“Yes, I see no reason to move her. She’ll be required very soon.”

“Why did you take her to Sinclair’s then?”

“To make sure our enemy was convinced I was serious about wanting the chain cut. That I wouldn’t trust my own yacht here was good evidence of my seriousness. And you see how well it worked. The chain is intact. If only we could be sure no one sabotages it tonight. I think we should have a guard set on it. Which of your men do you trust implicitly? A good, sharp, wide-awake lad.”

“I’ll guard it myself!” David volunteered obligingly, thus ridding Sanford of his dogged presence. He hinted strongly to know where the chest of gold was, but was fobbed off by being told that “just in case he was captured and tortured” it was better for him not to know. This thrilled him to the core. He bitterly resented the days spent in ignorance of Sanford’s doings. Of course, Sanford was the London agent, despite Papa’s protest to the contrary.

Still, he cheered up to consider himself a year hence, his face bearing a scar, by no means disfiguring, but rather an enhancement of his phiz—a line on the left cheekbone he thought might be effective, or possibly just at the upper corner of the eye. It provided just that little dash, that air of mystery a face a fraction too round demanded. People would whisper about duels and intrigues, but no one would ever quite know the truth—that he had been tortured. Actually being cut across the face, or even bumped on the head, never once entered his mind as he sat, rapidly falling to sleep, in the dark, silent winch room. It had been a tiring day, spent on the water, and a good bit of wine had been consumed, too. Champagne—so much more elegant than brandy. He ought to have known a real spy would drink champagne. How could you court a lady like Madame Monet with brandy? You’d be flat on your face in half an hour. Some pleasant reveries of courting her with champagne followed.

Sanford returned to the saloon to find Marie alone, awaiting him. That it was his return she awaited must not be suspected for a moment, so she made a great show of counting up cards, and wondering whether Aunt Biddy realized the Stantons had accepted, and the deVignes declined, due to a bout of flu in the family.

“Certainly she knows it. You heard her say she was sending over some medication. Did Madame Monet send in an acceptance?” he asked, thus bringing up the real matter of concern between them.

“Yes, you must not fear you will be deprived of her company,” Marie snipped.

“Good.”

This sent her reaching for a book, which he summarily lifted from her fingers and laid beyond reach. “No looking at Latin for you tonight. We must talk.”

“I can’t think what we have to talk about.”

“I’ll give you a little hint. Monique Monet.”

“Your favored subject of conversation is of little interest to me, you must know.”

“I disagree. You never look half so animated as when she is under discussion. It was business between us yesterday in the orchard. I was only trying to discover if she knows of any plans to rescue Napoleon.”

“Was it indeed business you spoke of? What a strange way you go about it. Your solicitor will be amazed if you try conducting your other business affairs in that way.”

“He certainly would. He don’t speak French.”

“The language presents no barrier to you, obviously.”

“Nor to any educated person. I like to be able to say what I think.”

“And do what you please. You mustn’t let me stop you.”

“Thank you, I won’t,” he said, and reaching across the sofa, he put both his arms around her.

“How dare you, sir!” she cried in alarm.

“Shades of Mrs. Radcliffe!” he laughed. “Where outside of a bad novel would you have come across such a missish expression?”

This, laughing at her, was no way to conduct a romance, and she pokered up in mingled embarrassment and anger. Her alarm was chiefly lest they be discovered, and she glanced fearfully towards the doorway.

Sanford did the same. “The dragoons didn’t hear you. I expect they are the standard rescue team.” With no rescue in sight, she went in hope of further indignities, that were not long in forthcoming. He tightened his grip and went on to embrace her, a surprisingly gentle embrace considering what she had witnessed in the orchard. She had hoped for worse from him. She was obliged to make a good show of disliking even this light kiss, however, and pushed him off. With a disheartening swiftness, he allowed himself to be disengaged.

“You have just told me I must not let you stop me from doing what I liked, and I would like to kiss you without having my jacket torn from my back,” he pointed out reasonably. “Now, did you mean what you said, or do you really want me to stop?”

“Yes!” she said angrily.

“Yes what, you meant what you said?”

“Yes—no! Oh, don’t be so stupid!” she said in vexation.

“I deserved that,” he answered, but as there was some ambiguity in the matter, he chose the answer he wanted, and went on to embrace her in a much more accomplished way, fondling her neck and back with his fingers, while his lips burned on hers. For a long moment she submitted to this outrage, then felt impelled to object.

She disentangled herself and pulled away primly. “You will please remember I am not Madame Monet,” she said.

“You don’t have to remind me. The lack of reciprocation makes it obvious.”

“I don’t have the French flair for it, is that what you’re telling me?”

“I wouldn’t say that, love,” he answered, patting her chin with a finger in such a manner that she found if difficult to go on being angry. “Lack of reciprocation was the phrase I used.”

“When I have a small fraction of Madame’s infinite experience I shall do better.”

“Very likely, but I haven’t got twenty years to wait. You’ll have to start reciprocating faster than that.”

Into the arena stepped Sir Henry, to request a private word with Lord Sanford. Marie could have killed him. She refused to be caught twice sitting waiting for Sanford, and went with the greatest reluctance to her room.

It was much later, about one a.m., when Benson returned, and he began a scouting about that took him to the winch room, where David was discovered fast asleep, rolled up in a blanket. Benson nudged him awake.

“Oh, Ev, what are you doing here? I am guarding the chain. It as safe as can be. Not a soul has been near it all night.”

“It is not the chain I wish to talk about, David,” Benson said in a significant tone. “It is the money. You know I have been looking for it. I thought I had a line on it, but it came to nothing. I have discovered in town Sanford may have been influential in raising that money. It is he who has it, hidden somewhere. We must discover where he has it.”

Just what part Benson played in this whole affair was by no means clear to David. At one point he even thought he might be Cicero, but in any case he was no longer the favorite. He played his close game, giving away nothing. “What do you suggest we do?”

“He has taken you a little into his confidence. Has he said anything about the money? Do you think he knows where it is?”

He hesitated, pondering a cunning reply, but in the end answered truthfully enough, “He didn’t tell me where it is.”

Benson sighed wearily, and put his face in his hands. “I have a dozen things to do tomorrow, David. I want you to dog his every step. Try if you can find out where it is, and let me know at once. It is extremely urgent.”

“How will I let you know? Where will you he?” he asked, thinking to discover the man’s whereabouts in this tricky way.

“I have various things to do, but I’ll check back with you from time to time.”

“I could leave a coded message in your room,” David suggested.

“Yes, an excellent idea. Just say you want to see me, and I’ll know what it means, and find you.”

David was disappointed that the code should be so simple. He had thought to be let in on secret combinations of letters and numbers whose figuring out would require a secret code book, of which only two copies—three at the outside—existed anywhere in the world. Benson left and David returned to his sleepy vigil, pondering just what Benson’s game was. He had very little intention of looking for the money, none of telling Benson if he should find it, but dogging Adrian’s steps he had already determined on, and would have been happy to find the gold for his own satisfaction. Couldn’t think where in the dickens it could be.

Chapter 18

The fifth of August, the day of Boltwood’s ball, dawned cool and cloudy. It was no more than anyone expected. Biddy was prophesying howling wind and lashing rain by nightfall. A mere squall would not put off the ball, however, and soon she was busy working out her list of preparations for rooms and food, greenery for the ballroom, mentioning to Marie those areas where she could be useful. Benson sat silent at the table, looking surreptitiously to Sanford to hear what he planned.

“I ought to have a look at my leeches, too,” Biddy said, as she set down her cup.

“Let me do it for you, Biddy. You have too much to do today to burden yourself with that,” Sanford said, “whereas I have not a thing planned. I have left my day free to be of help to you.”

A visitor under her feet promised little help, but in this one matter he proved useful. To the disappointment of David and astonishment of Benson, Sanford meant just what he said. He spent a quarter of an hour at the leech reservoir, then entered the house and took up a book—Dr. Heywood’s excellent treatise on leeches, it was. Later in the morning he also condescended to give advice on the arrangement of ferns and flowers in the ballroom.

Lunch had come and gone, with every one of the young males still cluttering up the house, waiting and watching each other, but when Lord Sanford then took the idea of having his seafaring chef in to mix up a batch of rack punch to regale the guests, Benson and David gave up on him, and found more amusing pursuits. The storm had blown out to sea, and with the weather improved, Benson went into Plymouth, while David went down to the dock to have all the neighbors’ yachts moved about to make space for the naval vessel,
Phoebe
.

So busy was he in giving commands and personally taking over the helm when the actual move of six or eight yards was to be negotiated that he failed to observe a figure, clad all in gray much the color of the rocks, clambering along the cliff across the bay where the Bolt Hall chain ended.