The Guinea Stamp (23 page)

“Ah, yes.” The tones were silky. “We are very interested in these other duties of yours. They seem to take you into some strange places—and among some strange company,
mon
capitaine
—if that is what you are.”

“Smuggling, of course, does take a man into strange places,
c’est
entendu
,” answered Jackson, with a Gallic shrug, ignoring the final thrust.

“No doubt. But does it in general lead him into assignations with young ladies of quality?”

“My private life is my own concern,” snapped Jackson.

“Assuredly,” replied the other, smoothly. “But it is all too often a mistake,
mon
capitaine
, to mix business with pleasure. In this instance, it has cost you dear.”

“What do you mean?” asked Jackson, sharply.

“Why, simply this,” said the other, speaking very deliberately, and watching his face, “that the young lady to whom you entrusted so much of your story has betrayed you.”

“Betrayed me! Impossible! You lying dog—!”

His words broke off, as some instinct warned him of someone standing behind him. He turned sharply; but it was too late.

Even as he moved, the butt end of a pistol was brought down upon his head. For a moment he tottered, not completely succumbing to the blow.

“You did that extremely well, Poindé,” approved a voice. “He was so engrossed in what you were saying, that he did not hear my approach.”

The voice was familiar, though was not using the language which Captain Jackson was accustomed to hearing from that source. As he sank into unconsciousness, he carried with him the sound of that voice, and the image of that face towering over him, its expression one of savage triumph.

Both voice and face he recognized, in that brief moment before the darkness engulfed him.

They were those of Captain Masterman.

EIGHTEEN - Joanna’s Trust is Misplaced

The next morning Miss Feniton was sitting quietly with Lady Lodge in the morning room. Kitty and Mr. Dorlais had been invited to spend the day with one of the Naval officers whose wife had obtained lodging in a cottage down by the quay. As the cottage was small, the officer concerned was unable to invite a larger party from Shalbeare House in return for Lady Feniton’s hospitality to him: Guy Dorlais was an old friend of his, and as such, the natural person to be asked.

It was always a relief now to Joanna not to be required to be in company with Mr. Dorlais, so she could not feel sorry at their absence. Lady Lodge, however, had some lingering doubts as to the propriety of Kitty’s being allowed to visit a family with whom her parents were not thoroughly acquainted, solely in the company of her affianced. She mentioned the matter hesitantly to Joanna.

“I do not think, ma’am,” replied Joanna, “that you need be in any alarms. Lieutenant Ridge was here to dine the other evening, and you found him everything that was amiable.”

“Yes, so I did—did I not?” asked Kitty’s mother, pleased at this reflection. “Indeed, he was quite the gentleman—there was nothing that one could take the least exception to, don’t you agree, Joanna? I dare say his wife will be just such another person—a ladylike, pleasing young woman, who will make a very proper chaperone for my girl.”

“Just so,” replied Joanna, soothingly. “You need have no further worry on that head.”

She felt a pang of conscience as she said the words. She was far from being completely easy herself about her friend, but for very different reasons from those of Lady Lodge. Knowing what Guy Dorlais was, how could she be certain that Kitty would come to no harm in his company? True, he loved her: Joanna was confident of that much, at least. She could only hope that his affection was sufficiently strong for him not to involve Kitty in any of his misdeeds. But it was surely absurd to imagine that any harm could come to Kitty in a visit to a cottage in Tor Quay, only a short walk away from Shalbeare House? Her mind wavered this way and that, trying to rationalize a growing unease of spirit; but there was no point in allowing Lady Lodge to share her fears.

“Such a pity our party is quite broken up!” declared the dowager, turning her mind to a fresh topic of conversation. “First Captain and Miss Masterman being obliged to leave, and now Mr. Cholcombe, too, is gone! I declare, we shall be quite dull.”

“You are scarcely flattering to those of us who are left,” said Joanna, with a little smile.

“Oh, how you do take one up, my dear. You are such a quiz, you know! It all comes of being clever, I suppose, for I never had any talent for it—but you know well enough what I meant. It is pleasant to have a good company about one during these dreary winter months—and Mr. Cholcombe was so very lively always, was he not?”

“I suppose he was,” replied Joanna. To her annoyance, a faint blush came to her cheek.

Lady Lodge gave her a penetrating look. “I rather fancy your Grandmama did not quite like it that he should leave so soon,” she said, tentatively. “Even though he did ask if he might return in a few days’ time, when his business should have been concluded.”

“No, perhaps she didn’t,” answered Joanna, shortly.

She bent her head studiously over the magazine she was holding, and hoped that her companion might take the hint. Lady Lodge was evidently not to be put off, however, for she laid her own book aside, and leaned forward confidentially.

“My dear Joanna, I’ve no wish to be impertinent, but after all, I am a very old friend. I have wondered—did Mr. Cholcombe make you an offer? Augusta has said nothing but I know you would not object to tell me.”

Joanna winced. She had been obliged to answer the same question from Lady Feniton, and been involved in quite a scene as a result. There could be no possible harm, though, in telling Lady Lodge how matters stood. She was not one to gossip about other people’s concerns, however dearly she loved to pry into them. Besides, Joanna knew that she had a very real affection for this one-time schoolfellow of her daughter’s.

“I dare say Grandmama may have wished to wait until my own intentions are clear. Yes, Mr. Cholcombe did speak—though only to me, not to my grandparents.”

“He did? My dear, how very—” She stopped dead, seeing from Miss Feniton’s face that congratulations were not in order. The significance of Joanna’s first words gradually penetrated her mind. “Am I—am I right in thinking that you did not give him his answer on that occasion?”

Joanna nodded, unable to meet her questioner’s eye.

“Well, to be sure,” said Lady Lodge, doubtfully, “in my day, we were always taught never to assent the first time we were asked—it was considered immodest, you know, to do so! But I should have supposed that you, in particular, might have set such conventions aside. You are so very sensible, my dear—and it is always possible that a young man may not ask twice!”

“You are quite right, ma’am,” said Joanna, vigorously. “And I have no use at all for such elegant nonsense! But in this instance, you see”—her voice tailed away—“I did not perfectly know my own mind.”

“Not know your own mind? But surely it was all decided before ever Mr. Cholcombe arrived? I certainly understood—”

“I—oh, yes, it was agreed upon beforehand,” said Joanna, in some confusion. “But it is one thing, you must know, ma’am, to contemplate such a serious step as matrimony, and quite another to take it. Especially when one’s knowledge of the other party is so small as in this case.”

“You find, perhaps, that Mr. Cholcombe is not to your—not quite what you had expected?”

Joanna hesitated.

“If there is any doubt in your mind at all, my dear,” said Lady Lodge, in a burst of confidence, “do not allow yourself to be persuaded! Augusta and I have known each other for a good many years, so that it is impossible for me not to know that hers is a—somewhat forceful character. As you may realize, I myself am not a particularly courageous person: but I will undertake to lend you what support I can, should you decide that you cannot possibly accede to your grandparents’ wishes in this matter.”

At this kind speech, Miss Feniton’s eyes filled with tears. She could not wholly account for such an unusual occurrence, and was trying to compose herself sufficiently to return an answer to her visitor’s kindness, when Lady Feniton herself suddenly entered the room. It was evident that she had news to impart.

“What do you think?” she began. “Sir George has just met one of the officers on his morning stroll, and he has given him some astonishing news! A French spy has lately been arrested in Babbacombe village!”

Joanna started violently. Her first thought was of Guy Dorlais, and her second of Kitty. Lady Lodge gave a little shriek, and dropped the book she was holding.

“Augusta! So close to us! How dreadful!”

“There is no cause for alarm, Letitia,” went on Lady Feniton, “for he has been removed to Totnes, and lodged in a cell at the Guildhall. He won’t find it easy to break out of there, I fancy.”

Lady Lodge continued to make incoherent murmurs of alarm, however, and at last Lady Feniton turned somewhat impatiently to her granddaughter, with the rest of the story.

“It happened yesterday,” she said, evidently relishing her role of informant. “It seems that an information had been laid against this man, and it became known that he could be found in Babbacombe. Accordingly, some of the local Volunteers went to the village, and surprised him at the smithy. He was searched, and some highly incriminating documents were discovered concealed upon his person—treasonable matter, by what I can hear. I trust he will speedily meet the fate he deserves!”

“Babbacombe!” exclaimed Joanna, struck by a sudden thought. “Why, if you remember, ma’am, that was the word which was cut out of Grandpapa’s book!”

Lady Feniton frowned. “Why, yes, so it was! But I don’t see how it can signify: there can be no connection with this affair.”

Lady Lodge emitted a frightened squeak of protest. “For Heaven’s sake, Joanna, do not say that there are spies in this house! Oh, dear, we live in such troublous times, that one cannot feel safe anywhere!”

“Nonsense, Letitia!” reproved Lady Feniton, sharply. “You must know very well that Joanna could mean no such thing! Spies in Shalbeare House, indeed!”

“Besides, Lady Lodge, this man would be a Frenchman,” pointed out Joanna, in a soothing tone. “All our servants are English, you know.”

She was feeling easier herself now that she had been told that the man was arrested yesterday. At any rate, he could not be Mr. Dorlais.

“Nothing of the kind,” interposed her grandmother. “That’s what is so very shocking about the business. The man was English, so I am informed.”

“English!” repeated Joanna, sharply. “Pray, ma’am, do you recollect what his name was? Or were you not told?”

Lady Feniton pondered for a moment, then looked a trifle annoyed. “La, the name has gone right out of my head, child! I fear my memory is not what it used to be. However, Sir George will no doubt be able to tell you, though I fail to see what it can possibly benefit you to know.”

She continued to speak further on the subject, though there was little to add to what had already been told. Joanna was only half listening, and presently made some excuse to leave the room.

She quickly ran Sir George Lodge to earth in the library, where he and her grandfather were deep in the morning’s newspapers. Sir Walter was never anxious to have the privacy of the library invaded by the female portion of his establishment, and this particular hour of day had always been considered sacrosanct. He looked up in faint annoyance as his granddaughter entered.

“I do not mean to keep you from your newspaper,” she said, in apology. “I have just this minute heard from Grandmama of the spy who was taken yesterday in Babbacombe, and I thought that you might possibly be able to add something to her account.”

“Oh, yes,” said Sir George, who had risen reluctantly at her entrance. “A smart piece of work on someone’s part, though no one quite seems to know who was responsible for laying the information.”

“Was the man concerned—the spy, I mean—a local man?” asked Joanna.

“According to what I heard from Smythe, no one appears to know much about the fellow at all. It seems that he will have to answer charges on two accounts—there is evidence that he has been engaged in smuggling, as well as spying for the enemy. But his confederates are not known, nor his previous history—apart from his traitorous activities, that is to say.”

Joanna’s heart gave a painful leap during this speech: a dreadful conviction was growing in her.

“I suppose you did not think to ask—that is to say, you were not told his name?” she asked, trying hard to keep all expression out of her voice.

Her grandfather had long since returned to his newspaper, and Sir George still held his copy, glancing surreptitiously at it from time to time while he was answering Miss Feniton. He looked briefly down at it now as he spoke.

“His name, you say? Oh, if my recollection serves me it was—let me see—Jackson. Yes, Jackson, that’s it.

She nodded, not trusting herself to speak, and turned towards the door as though all her interest in the subject had been satisfied. But the indefinable sympathy which exists between two people who hold each other in affection told Sir Walter, preoccupied as he was, that something was amiss with his granddaughter. He looked up, and exclaimed at sight of her bloodless face.

“Joanna! What’s wrong, child? Do you not feel well?”

“I—it is nothing—”

She stumbled a little. Sir Walter went to her and put an arm about her waist, while Sir George thoughtfully pulled the bell rope to summon a servant.

Hardly knowing what happened, Joanna was guided to a chair. A short while later, Lady Feniton herself had, her granddaughter in charge, and was settling her into her bed.

“Upon my word,” she chided, as she tucked the covers around Joanna, and dispatched a maid for a warm beverage, “you are as poor a creature as Letitia, it seems! All this talk of spies appears to have quite overset you! I had thought better of your stamina, my dear, I must confess. But there, young ladies are often in the megrims on the slightest excuse—you will grow out of it in time. Lie there quietly, my love, and I promise that no one shall come near you until it is time for dinner, when you may get up again, if you are recovered.”

Joanna made no reply to this, nor did she attempt to resist or aid anything that was done for her. She meekly drank the hot milk when it arrived, and lay down upon her pillows as though composed for sleep. She watched her grandmother and the maid tiptoe from the room without any change in her set expression of vacant misery.

She must try to think. Captain Jackson had been taken at last, and she must find a way to free him. The idea of his not being saved sent a pain through her heart that seemed almost to stop her breathing. For a while, she could go no further than this—in her thoughts—that it might not be possible to save him, that he might have to pay the penalty.

She
must
think. There was a way, there must be a way, to bring him safely off, if only she could use her wits to find it. But her wits seemed no longer at her command: they ran hither and thither, following now one, now another, useless train of thought. There were—there must be—people in authority who knew of his real activities, who were aware that he was innocent of the charges made against him. Who were these people? He had never mentioned them to her, and she could not conjecture who they would be. Mr. Pitt, perhaps, she thought vaguely, and let her mind wander over the other members of the Government who might be supposed to make foreign intelligence their business. How was she to reach them? Through her grandfather, or Sir George? She could not convince herself that either gentleman would hear her tale with any credulity. At best, they would suppose her to have been imposed upon by this French agent. It would take time—perhaps a long time—to persuade them to act: and by then, it might be too late for Captain Jackson. Even if she could speedily win them over, there would be the inevitable delays attendant on any Governmental proceedings. Captain Jackson’s life could not be allowed to rest on so doubtful a scheme as that: she must think of something more speedy, more certain of success.