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  Letters For A Spy

  Alice Chetwynd Ley

  © Alice Chetwynd Ley 1970

  Alice Chetwynd Ley has asserted her rights under the Copyright, Design and Patents Act, 1988, to be identified as the author of this work.

  First published in 1970 by Robert Hale & Co.

  This edition published in 2016 by Endeavour Press Ltd.

  To E.M. Allcott

  Who always enjoyed a spy story.

  AUTHOR’S NOTE

  The author would like to thank the Records department of the G.P.O for supplying information about mail coaches in the early nineteenth century; also Mrs. George Bambridge for permission to reprint the lines from Rudyard Kipling’s poem ‘A Smuggler’s Song’.

  ‘Five and twenty ponies

  Trotting through the dark—

  Brandy for the Parson,

  ‘Baccy for the Clerk;

  Laces for a lady, letters for a spy.

  And watch the wall, my darling, while

  the Genlemen go by!’

  RUDYARD KIPLING

  Table of Contents

  Chapter 1

  THE TRAVELLERS

  Chapter 2

  INCIDENT ON THE ROAD

  Chapter 3

  FACE FROM THE PAST

  Chapter 4

  THE BAGMAN

  Chapter 5

  AN AFFAIR OF YESTERDAY

  Chapter 6

  SPECIAL DELIVERY FOR CROWLE MANOR

  Chapter 7

  MRS. WOOD BUYS SOME RIBBON

  Chapter 8

  LOST AND FOUND

  Chapter 9

  NIGHT OF TERROR

  Chapter 10

  AT CROSS PURPOSES

  Chapter 11

  DOUBT

  Chapter 12

  AT CROWLE MANOR

  Chapter 13

  A WALK BY THE SEA

  Chapter 14

  MISS THORNE ENGAGES A MAID

  Chapter 15

  THE HUT ON THE CLIFF

  Chapter 16

  THE SECRET AGENT

  Chapter 17

  RETURN OF LOVE

  Chapter 18

  THE BEST LAID SCHEMES

  Chapter 19

  BAITING THE TRAP

  Chapter 20

  THE END OF A SECRET AGENT

  Chapter 1

  THE TRAVELLERS

  He was decidedly the most interesting looking man in the ballroom, though not perhaps the most handsome. There was tacit agreement on this point among the young ladies who, owing to a temporary lack of partners, were obliged for the moment to sit watching the dancers. Dark brown hair carelessly swept back from a strong face, a devil-may-care smile and yet an indefinable air of decision and authority — there was scarcely one of the pretty wallflowers on the gilt chairs who did not envy the unknown gentleman’s blonde partner.

  ‘Who is he?’ whispered one of these to her companion, a very fashionable young lady with a vandyked hem to her gown and two ostrich plumes in her hair.

  ‘Oh, how should I know, dearest Marianne?’ replied the other, her eyes firmly fixed on another gentleman, who had paid her a great deal of attention when last they met. ‘I can’t know every Tom, Dick and Harry; but this much I can say, he is no one of any particular importance, or we should have been sure to be introduced to him straight away.’

  The first young lady realised that this was true, and felt sorry for it. Mama would never bother to seek an introduction for her daughter to a gentleman who was of no particular importance, no matter how many hints might be thrown at her. She sighed, consoling herself with the thought that most likely the unknown gentleman was already married.

  As it happened, he was not. Marriage did not fit into his particular mode of life, which was roving and adventurous, and required the exercise of all his wits. Only once had he thought seriously of marriage. Whenever he recalled this occasion, he smiled wryly: it had not been a success. But he was not a man to brood over past failures, especially not when the present offered him scores of pretty girls to dance with and a good supper to follow. He could look back, if he chose, on occasions when he had been forced to dine meagrely and sleep rough. He smiled down at his golden-haired partner as he reflected that for a few weeks, at least, he would be able to enjoy the pleasures of civilisation.

  His rejoicing came too soon. When the dance was ended, a footman brought him a note. It was unobtrusively given and taken, and was read in the privacy of the cloakroom.

  ‘Hell and damnation!’ said the gentleman, softly, when he had read the curt message. Then he gathered up his belongings, made a brief and fictitious excuse to his host, and left.

  A carriage conveyed him expeditiously to a house in Piccadilly. He was shown into a quiet, elegant room on the ground floor, and immediately greeted by a man who was already waiting there.

  ‘You wasted no time, I see. I’m glad of it, for there is none to waste. You leave for Sussex at once, my friend.’

  The visitor raised his dark eyebrows. ‘And my furlough, which I believe you yourself said I had earned?’

  ‘So you had, b’God. You did splendidly over that Tilsit affair — splendidly. The present crisis touches that. Let me explain it to you over a glass of wine — but we must be brief, my dear fellow, for speed is of the essence.’

  ‘As you will, sir,’ replied the young man, with a shrug, as the other poured some wine and handed it to him. ‘But I don’t mind confessing I had other plans for the immediate future. I was at a ball when you summoned me, as you will see from my attire.’

  ‘You’ve a good leg,’ approved his host, smiling. ‘Well, if your plans wear muslin, as I don’t doubt they do, they’ll be here to greet you on your return. And now to business. The gist of it is this…’

  He spoke rapidly for ten minutes, interrupted only occasionally by a brief question from his visitor, very much to the point. At the end of it, the dark young man stood up and set down his glass.

  ‘Two females, journeying from London to the White Hart Inn at Lewes — one youngish, one in middle years. And you can furnish me with no description of either?’

  The elder man shook his head. ‘The only man who could have done that is dead. But it’s the younger woman you’ll need to watch — the other is nothing.’

  ‘And there is some connection with a place called Crowle, a hamlet on the South Coast not far from East Bourne? But there is no clue as to what exactly this connection may be?’

  A rueful shrug greeted this question. ‘I wish you luck, my boy.’

  ‘And, b’God, I’ll need it!’ replied the other with a short laugh, as he turned to go. ‘If ever in all my life I started off on such a wild goose chase!’

  *

  The handsome maroon and black coach bearing the Royal arms on its panels was just about to move off from the inn yard. The guard, resplendent in scarlet and blue uniform and with a gilt band round his hat, had planted his feet firmly on the locked mail box and raised the post horn to his lips, ready to blow a cheery call as the coach swung under the archway into the cobbled London street.

  But the notes never sounded. Even as he took a deep breath in preparation, a female figure hurtled out of the inn door, and almost flung herself at the departing coach. The coachman tightened the reins, the horses plunged then came to a standstill. The guard’s yard of tin was jerked from his hand, falling with a clatter to the ground. Swearing volubly, he dived after it.

  ‘Well, ma’am?’ he demanded loudly, bearing down on the newcomer with a belligerent glare. ‘What’s the meanin’ o’ this eh? Don’t ye know the mail runs strict to time? eh? Eight o’clock from the General Post Office in Lombard Street is our time, ma’am, and five minutes it takes me to reach there. And ‘ere it is five to eight th
is very minute, and ye no doubt expectin’ as I shall hold up the coach another five or ten minutes to let ye aboard.’

  ‘Oh!’ replied the newcomer, breathlessly, ‘Oh, yes — if you will be so good! I do apologise — I was unavoidably detained.’

  ‘Unavoidably detained,’ repeated the guard, with heavy irony — ‘Well, I must try that some time with the superintendent. Not that I think it’d be much use. Very suspicious man, our superintendent is, ma’am, ye’d never credit.’

  All the time he was talking, he had been opening the coach door and letting down the steps. He handed the tardy passenger up thrusting her unceremoniously inside and throwing after her the small carpet-bag which she had set down on the ground before mounting the steps.

  ‘Your luggage can stay inside with ye,’ he said brusquely. ‘We’re taking up no more passengers this trip, so there’ll be plenty o’ room with only the three of ye inside. Now can we get started?’

  The passenger ignored this sally, concentrating on settling herself more comfortably into her seat and placing her carpetbag beside her.

  The other two passengers in the coach, both ladies, eyed her with well-bred caution. It was unusual to find a lady travelling unaccompanied. A governess might sometimes be obliged to do so, but she would be more likely to choose the stage rather than the more expensive Mail coach. This lady did not look at all like a governess. She had an air of assurance that would surely be a poor recommendation to most prospective employers, and her clothes, though not ostentatious, were good. Elizabeth Thorne, the younger of the other two passengers, found herself speculating about the newcomer’s age. She might have been anything between twenty-five and forty; it was difficult to say. Evidently she did not reciprocate the interest shown in her by her fellow-travellers; for after a cursory glance, she turned her head away to stare out of the window.

  Elizabeth, too, looked away, picking up the book which lay in her lap.

  ‘I am glad you thought of this, Margaret,’ she remarked to her companion. ‘A guide book is just the very thing we shall require.’

  ‘It’s rather an old one, I’m afraid,’ replied Miss Ellis. ‘And it’s incomplete, because there should be a map in the pocket at the back, and it seems to be missing. The book belonged to my father, and came to me with some other of his things when he died. He was a very methodical man, so I can only suppose that the map was lost in transit. However, I have seen similar copies on sale in several bookshops, so it should not prove too difficult to buy another, if you wish. This one will serve for the moment, perhaps.’

  ‘Oh, yes. It might even be more amusing,’ said Elizabeth, turning the charm of her gentle smile on her friend, ‘to try and do our exploring without the aid of a map.’

  ‘No doubt we shall have enough to do at first setting the house to rights,’ replied the more practical Margaret.

  ‘The housekeeper, Mrs. Wilmot, seemed to have everything in order when we first came down to look over it,’ demurred Elizabeth.

  ‘That may be. But there are bound to be changes you wish to make.’

  Elizabeth shook her head. ‘Not if everything is running smoothly. As far as possible, I intend to allow the staff to carry on exactly as they did when my uncle was alive. We shall all be more comfortable in that way. Although I shall like having an establishment of my own at last, Margaret, I don’t mean to let it take up so much of my time that I haven’t any left over for the things I most want to do. You know what they are. I would like to go out a great deal in the fresh air, and explore that part of Sussex, whenever the weather is suitable. And when it is not, why, then I can go on with my writing.’

  She said the last sentence with a slightly self-conscious air which had nothing, as Miss Ellis knew, to do with conceit.

  ‘You will certainly be able to work more at that than you have done in your sister’s home,’ agreed Miss Ellis, dryly. ‘Poor Anne! She doesn’t really approve of it, you know.’

  ‘I can’t imagine why not. Writing is a perfectly proper occupation for a gentlewoman. Of course, it is more usual to copy out elegant extracts, or else keep a journal; but there can be no harm in your making up little stories, if it gives you more pleasure. After all it isn’t as if you meant to publish them.’

  ‘Don’t I?’ asked Elizabeth, a little wistfully. ‘No, I suppose you are right. But even if I did, Margaret, what possible harm could there be?’

  ‘My dear Elizabeth! You can’t be serious!’

  ‘I know — you will say no lady would do such a thing,’ said Elizabeth, laughing. ‘But what about Fanny Burney and Mrs. Radcliffe? And there was that delightful lady we met in Bath last year, a Miss Austen, if you remember. I was told by our hostess on that occasion — as a great secret — that Miss Austen has written several novels and they have been sent to a publisher, but so far he has not printed any of them. I am sure he’s making a great mistake, for anyone who can be so entertaining a companion as Miss Jane Austen must be able to write a simply splendid book.’

  ‘Well, so you are an entertaining companion my dear, if that is the only qualification needed for succes as a writer.’

  ‘Entertaining to you, perhaps. But you are prejudiced. I’m afraid Anne often finds me an irritation to the nerves.’

  Miss Ellis gave the nearest thing to a snort that she could ever allow herself. ‘The shoe ought to be on the other foot,’ she said, with the Yorkshire forthrightness that still showed through on occasions, although she had spent twenty-five years now in the South of England, where manners were milder. ‘You could be pardoned for being irritated by Anne, I am sure. She had taken advantage of your good nature ever since the unfortunate death of your parents left you in the guardianship of your elder brother, Mr. Edward.’

  ‘We were so much alone,’ said Elizabeth, gently. ‘And you know we were not altogether happy in my brother’s house. Edward, of course, meant to be kind, but unfortunately he married a difficult woman. I suppose there’s something to be said on her side, though. It can’t be agreeable to have two girls of sixteen and nineteen thrust on you when you have been married only a few years.’

  ‘You always find something to say in defence of everyone,’ said Miss Ellis, glancing indulgently at the young woman who had once been her pupil.

  ‘Isn’t it tiresome of me? But I suppose a novelist — or an aspiring one, anyway — has to see both sides of a question, and try to understand contrasting points of view. But I do think that both Anne and myself will benefit from seeing less of each other. Now that she has a husband and a young family, she no longer has need of my protection. I fear I sometimes forget that. Perhaps it was a mistake for me to have agreed to go and live with her and Philip; but they both pressed me so hard at the time, and I must confess the thought of continuing with Edward and his wife when Anne had gone, was too much. I allowed myself to be persuaded because I couldn’t see anything else to do. It wasn’t until my uncle left me this house in Sussex that it so much as crossed my mind to set up an establishment of my own. And even now I think Anne and Philip believe me quite mad to do so.’

  ‘Well, it is a little unusual, perhaps, for a female of five and twenty to live alone. But it will only be for part of the year. You won’t wish to stay in such an isolated spot during the winter months. I expect you will return to the Horleys for the winter?’

  ‘I’m not certain.’ Elizabeth hesitated. ‘I half-promised Anne that I would, and yet — I don’t wish to plan too far ahead at present. We’re only just into July, and I hope to be fixed at Crowle Manor at least until the end of September. Time enough to decide then.’

  As she spoke, she allowed her glance to wander idly towards their fellow-traveller. A certain stiffening in the other woman’s attitude, a sudden, alert look which she directed at Elizabeth and withdrew at once when she saw she was under observation, made Elizabeth wonder.

  Up to now, Elizabeth and Miss Ellis had been talking together in low tones, their conversation amply covered by the clopping of hoofs and jingling of h
arness from their own coach and from passing vehicles. But the words which Elizabeth spoke as she looked towards the third passenger in the coach must have been audible. What else could have caused that sudden, unmistakable awareness on the lady’s part?

  Elizabeth frowned and fell silent, thinking over what she had said. As far as she could see, there could be nothing in it to draw the attention of a complete stranger. Even an active imagination like her own could not suppose that her plans for the rest of the summer could be of the slightest interest to the lady in the opposite seat. Why should she care that a female whom she had never met before was to spend the next few months at Crowle Manor? Elizabeth puzzled. Yet something had drawn her attention, some word —

  Crowle Manor! Of course, that would be it, thought Elizabeth triumphantly. People reacted in just that way when they heard a name that was familiar to them. Perhaps the unknown female lived in that part of Sussex. She might even know the house well; perhaps Uncle Giles may have been a friend either of herself or her family. It so, what an extraordinary coincidence, reflected Elizabeth; and how full of coincidences life was after all. She sighed; what a pity that the conventions forbade her from striking up an acquaintance with this lady, and putting her surmises to the test.

  It would have been interesting to talk to someone who had known Uncle Giles really well. He was a man who had been least known by his own family. Giles Thorne had been a rover all his life, travelling widely in every accessible, and not so accessible, part of the globe. It was fortunate that he had never married, for at intervals his wife and family would have been forced to endure absences of several years. He had bought the house in Sussex on the twin recommendations that it was isolated, so that he need never bother with neighbours; and that it was close to the coast, so that he could put ashore or board ship again as his fancy happened to dictate, with the least possible delay. When ashore, he had seldom bothered to visit his relatives, and had never issued any invitation to them to stay at Crowle Manor.