A Spy's Devotion (23 page)

“Oh, certainly, the roads are very good.”

“Julia, should you go back to bed? Are you feeling ill?”

“Oh no, I am well. I think tomorrow I shall be well enough for a short walk.”

“Oh, I shall tell Mother!” Phoebe clapped her hands. “We shall be in Warwickshire very soon, in less than a week, I am sure, and then you shall come and visit us, Leorah. Your brother promised most faithfully.”

“Of course, Phoebe.”

Julia did not miss the conspiratorial smile Leorah sent her way. She hoped Phoebe did not notice it.

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

Julia sat at her desk replying to a letter from Sarah Peck, who was sending her letters through Felicity from her new home.

A knock came at her door. Julia turned to see her uncle entering.

She hastily covered the salutation of her letter with a second sheet of paper.

“Julia. You are nearly well, I see.”

“Good morning, Uncle. I—I have not entirely got my strength back yet. But Dr. Alcott says I should make a full recovery.”

“That is very good news.” But the cold way he eyed her belied his words. “Now that you are better,” he went on, “I trust you are willing for your marriage to Edgerton to take place soon.”

“Of course.”
What day? Tell me what day.

“At the moment, Edgerton is away—that is why he did not come to visit you when you were ill—looking into an estate he is thinking of purchasing in Warwickshire.”

Julia feigned a look of pleasure at hearing he was to acquire an estate in the same county as Wilhern Manor.

“Will he return soon?”

“Yes, I daresay. Very soon.”

Good.
He would be back in time to be arrested, along with her uncle, for treason.

“When he does return, he will want to marry right away.”

“Yes, I imagine he will.”

Her uncle continued to eye her. He suddenly stepped toward her with a menacing, twisted smile. Grabbing her arm, he yanked her to her feet.

“You showed that paper to Nicholas Langdon, didn’t you?”

Aware of his painful grip on her arm, a thousand thoughts raced through her mind.

He jerked her closer. “Answer me.”

“I don’t know what you are talking of.” She tried to clear her mind of fear, to think coldly and logically. “Uncle, you are hurting me.”

“Don’t play innocent. You are the only one who could have taken it.”

“Taken what?”

He glared at her from eyes as black as night. “I am not a man to be trifled with. I will not allow you or anyone else to get in my way.” He tightened his grip on her arm, squeezing so hard she cried out.

“Be quiet,” he ground out.

Suddenly, her door opened and Phoebe entered without knocking, as she often did.

“Father!” Phoebe cried. “What are you doing?”

Her uncle released her and stepped back. “Nothing at all. Julia and I were only having a discussion about when her marriage to Mr. Edgerton would take place. Isn’t that right, Julia?”

“Yes.” Julia rubbed her arm where her uncle had so cruelly held her.

“Phoebe, leave us for a few more minutes while we finish our discussion.”

“Julia, are you well? Father, what is this?”

“Phoebe, do as you’re told,” he ordered in a harsher tone than Julia had ever heard him use with his daughter. His tone softened a bit as he amended, “You may come back in a few minutes.”

Julia kept her back turned and soon heard the door shut. When she turned around, Phoebe was gone.

Her uncle was glaring at her. “You will not speak a word of this to Phoebe. You will not leave this room until Edgerton returns tomorrow to marry you. And if you do, I shall make you rue it.”

Would he beat her the way he had beaten his horse all those years ago?

But her next thought was,
He is afraid.
He realized she had taken the incriminating paper, and he had to keep her quiet. Otherwise he never would have threatened her like that. He was afraid, as well he should be, since treason was a crime punishable by death.

“Do I make myself clear?”

“Yes, Uncle Wilhern.” She glared at him, stare for stare.

Finally, he turned away and left her room.

Julia examined her arm. It ached terribly where her uncle had dug into her soft flesh. Bruises were already appearing on the white skin on the underside of her arm, one for each of his cruel, biting fingers.

How dare he physically bully her! She closed her eyes, trying to keep the hate from overwhelming her.

A timid knock came at her door. Julia took a deep breath, let it out, and called, “Come in.”

Phoebe stuck her head in. “Is Father gone?” She came inside, closed the door behind her, and then hurried across the room to Julia. “What was that about? Was Father threatening you? Surely he wouldn’t . . . Is he forcing you to marry Mr. Edgerton?”

How much should she confess to Phoebe? Her cousin would despise her when the truth came out, when she discovered that Julia and Mr. Langdon, the man Phoebe hoped to marry, had conspired to put her father in prison and change her privileged life forever. Julia’s heart suddenly ached with the imminent loss of her closest friend.

“Phoebe, I . . . I am still not feeling entirely well. Your father was speaking to me about Mr. Edgerton. He believes my marrying Mr. Edgerton is for the best.” Julia kept her face turned away. Phoebe was not the most perceptive person, but Julia didn’t want to risk her reading her expression.

“I am sure that is true, Julia. Mr. Edgerton is handsome. At least you won’t have unattractive children.”

Was that truly Phoebe’s first thought?

“Uh, yes. Will you do something for me, Phoebe?”

“Of course.”

“Will you let me know when Mr. Edgerton arrives back in London, if you hear anything? Or if you hear anything of him?”

“I will, Julia. But don’t worry. Mr. Edgerton is a gentleman, and Father told me he truly loves you. You will be content with him, and Father also said he is buying an estate in Warwickshire. We can visit each other every day, nearly, and everything will be as it always was.”

A sudden attack of tears had Julia blinking rapidly and nodding.

“It will all be well,” Phoebe said, squeezing her arm comfortingly.

Julia gasped in pain, as Phoebe had squeezed the place where Mr. Wilhern had bruised her.

“What is it?”

“Nothing.”

“Marriage to Mr. Edgerton will not be bad. You will see.”

A lump in her throat suddenly choked off her air, but Julia fought it down and simply nodded, trying to smile.

“Will you come down to dinner?”

“No, I think I need to rest.”

“I shall have your dinner sent up to you, then.”

Julia nodded, not trusting herself to speak.

After Phoebe left, Julia walked to her window and looked out on the street below. If only she could get a note to Mr. Langdon. He might be in danger. After all, they were ridding themselves of Julia. Forcing her to marry Mr. Edgerton would prevent her from testifying against him, and, consequently, Mr. Wilhern. Now that he knew of Mr. Langdon’s involvement . . .

But it was much too dangerous to try to write to Mr. Langdon, and even if her uncle had not forbidden her to leave her room, someone might follow her.

Just then, a man who was slightly hunched approached their front door, looking quickly back the way he had come and then over his shoulder, as if trying to see if anyone was following him. Then he disappeared into the house.

Surely this man was meeting with her uncle. What if he were bringing information that Nicholas needed?

Julia slipped out of her room and hurried down the stairs to the floor below. As she reached the corridor that led to her uncle’s study, she heard male voices. She stood still and listened. They were coming from farther down the corridor, near the front door.

Julia might only have a second or two. She ran the few feet down the corridor, which felt like a few hundred feet, and darted in through the open doorway of Mr. Wilhern’s study.

Quickly, she swung open the door of the wardrobe and stepped inside, squatting and closing the door behind her. She closed her eyes and tried to calm her breathing and her pounding heart while she waited.

She heard footsteps coming closer. Two men passed by the crack in the door of the wardrobe. One was her uncle and the other was the man who had approached the front door just moments ago.

Julia kept her eye up to the crack as her uncle pulled a folded piece of paper out of his pocket.

“Take this,” he said, “and deliver it to Nicholas Langdon. I’ve forged his friend John Wilson’s signature and handwriting, asking him to come tonight to the Children’s Aid Mission at eight o’clock to help him with something urgent. Then you must be at the corner of Bishopsgate Street and Halfmoon Alley no later than seven thirty. Wait on the opposite side of the street and shoot him from there.”

Shoot him.

The breath rushed out of Julia’s lungs, but she focused on not making a sound.

“Are you sure you will remember all that?” her uncle asked.

“Of course.” The man repeated all that Mr. Wilhern had told him, ending with, “and I’ll shoot Langdon from across the street and then run like the hell hounds are at my heels.”

“Good. And don’t come back here. I’ll come to you.”

“Yes, sir.”

Just at that moment, Julia’s foot slipped, and she caught herself with her hand, making a slight noise against the side of the wardrobe. Had her uncle heard her? Her heart seemed to stop beating as she waited.

“I’ll walk you to the door,” her uncle said, and their footsteps retreated out of the room.

She waited another moment and then opened the door and stepped out.

“Julia.” Her uncle stood in front of her, his lip curled in an angry smile. “So that is how you found my note.” He grabbed her arms with both hands and drew her forward, within inches of his dark eyes. “Who did you tell about the note? Nicholas Langdon?”

“No, no!”
God, forgive me for the lie.

“Did you write it down? Did you write down anything that was in the note?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Shall we change our plans?” The man who had met with her uncle was still standing there, and Julia noticed the deep pockmarks on his cheeks.

“No.” Her uncle turned his head to address the pockmarked man but did not loosen his grip on her arms. “It’s more important than ever to kill Langdon tonight.”

“But why?” Julia cried. “He doesn’t know anything. And Phoebe will be heartbroken. She might even do herself harm.”

“She is young and silly,” Mr. Wilhern said harshly. “She’ll fall in love with the first man who smiles at her. We’ve come too far to let you and Langdon ruin all our plans.”

“Please. You do not need to kill Mr. Langdon. He doesn’t know anything. You’ll be found out if you do.”

“If Edgerton were not about to marry you to shut you up, I’d kill you myself. That is how ruthless I am, Julia Grey.” He ground out the last few words through his clenched teeth. “You will not stop us, do you hear?”

He shook her back and forth until her vision grew blurry. When Julia blinked and was able to focus again, she saw he had let go of one of her arms and was holding a knife.

“Go.” He nodded at the pockmarked man. Turning back to Julia, he pressed the point of the knife into her side.

“Let’s go. If you make a sound, I shall stab you and leave you to bleed to death. Edgerton can marry you tomorrow, if you’re still alive.”

Julia could do Mr. Langdon no good if she were dead, so she walked silently while her uncle forced her up the stairs to her room. She saw no one the entire way. He pushed her inside and locked the door from the outside.

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

Julia put her hands to her head. If only she had not made that noise and her uncle had not found her. But it did no good to regret that. She had to think. There had to be a way out, or a way to get a message to Mr. Langdon.

She ran to the window. She could always watch and wait for him to pass by and yell out to him. But her uncle could catch her and do harm to Mr. Langdon without waiting until tonight. Besides, he might not walk by at all.

Perhaps Phoebe would find her locked in her room and help her escape. But that was unlikely. Her uncle would have thought of that and was probably at this moment telling Phoebe a lie about Julia. Maybe he was sending Phoebe somewhere on a visit that would keep her out of the house until at least tomorrow. Once he’d had Nicholas murdered and could get Julia officially married to Mr. Edgerton, he’d make sure Julia and Mr. Edgerton were sent far away on their honeymoon, so that Julia could not tell Phoebe anything until much later.

No doubt her uncle had plans to move his family to the Continent as soon as his plot was completed. But what about Wilhern Manor in Warwickshire? Would he abandon it? Nicholas had said her uncle was greatly in debt and would probably lose the estate to creditors.

Julia walked to the door and tried to open it. It was locked, as she knew it would be. Was there a way to open it? Perhaps she could force it open. But with what?

She went back to the window and opened it. Three floors off the ground, she’d be killed or badly injured if she jumped. She couldn’t climb down, as there was nothing on the façade of the building to hold on to.

Perhaps she could get a message to someone.

Quickly, she scribbled a note that read,
Please open the door. Julia.

She ran to the door that connected her room with Phoebe’s. They had both agreed, several years before, to keep the door between their rooms locked, for privacy’s sake. The problem was that Phoebe had the only key.

She shoved the note through the crack under Phoebe’s door and then knocked softly.

There was no sound. She knocked again. Still nothing.

Of course her uncle had known she would knock on this door and try to get help from Phoebe.

Julia leaned against the door.

“What are my options,” she said softly to herself. “I can sit here listening for someone to come into Phoebe’s room and then knock on the door and beg them to open it. Or I can wait and listen at the other door, the one to the corridor, and knock on the door when I hear someone walking by. Or I can open the window, call down to whomever is passing by, and hope they will be willing—and able—to come inside and save me.”

The first option seemed unlikely to work, since probably no one would be entering Phoebe’s room. The last option seemed likely to fail, as her uncle would hear her, or would intercept the person coming in to save her. The second option seemed the best of the three.

Julia stood and walked to her own door. As she did, she passed the bell pull.

Of course! She could ring for a servant. Could it be that her uncle had forgotten such an easy and common way of getting assistance? A servant would hear the bell and come to see what she wanted. It was not often—very rare, in fact—that she ever rang for a servant.

Should she try it now? Or wait until her uncle had decided she was being docile and would accept her fate?

It was now two o’clock. Still pondering, she sat down against the door to the corridor and laid her head against it to catch any sound she could.

After a few minutes of sitting, dwelling on what would happen to Mr. Langdon if she did not warn him, she was overcome with nervous energy and jumped up. There had to be another way. There must be something she wasn’t thinking of.

She wandered over to her old trunk, which she had brought with her after her parents had died and which had contained all her possessions at that time. She had not looked inside it in years.

She opened it and rummaged around inside, finding a Bible, a
Book of Common Prayer
, and several other items, including baby clothes and a black iron cross.

She picked up the cross, having never paid much attention to it before, and turned it over in her hand. The cross was heavy and seemed very old. It was a little larger than her hand and would make a good weapon if she had to defend herself. And now that she thought of it, she could probably use it to break the lock on one of the doors.

Walking over to the window, she sat down and stared out at the street below, cradling the cross in her hands.

So now she had a fifth option—break through the locked door herself. The thought gave her a feeling of power.

But it would be best to wait until closer to eight o’clock before trying to escape. If she escaped too soon, her uncle might discover it in time to find another way to kill Mr. Langdon.

Footsteps approached on the other side of her door. She hid the heavy cross in the folds of her dress, against her outer leg, and covered it with her hand.

A key scraped in the lock. The door swung open and her uncle entered.

“Julia. I am glad you are taking this so well. You always were a very sensible girl.”

“What do you want?” She turned her face away from him, unwilling for him to see her feelings in her expression.

“I came to tell you not to try to ring for a servant. I have disconnected your bell. Also, I have sent Phoebe away. She thinks you went riding with Leorah Langdon without her. She is furious with you and so has gone on an outing with her mother. They will spend the night at her cousin Dorothea’s tonight. I just wanted to let you know, so you wouldn’t hope for Phoebe’s intervention.”

His voice was hard and cold, his face expressionless.

“If you cooperate, I shall encourage Mr. Edgerton to treat you well once you are married. If you do not cooperate . . . Mr. Edgerton listens to everything I tell him. He is quite swayed by me. If I tell him you are an obstinate, stubborn sort of girl, it will be easy for me to persuade him that treating you with kindness is a mistake, that he should be harsh in order to secure your love and obedience. Do I make myself clear?”

Julia refused to even look at him and made him no answer.

After a long pause, he said, “Everything will turn out all right for you. Edgerton will have a fortune, and you and Phoebe will be settled near enough for frequent visits. What more could a girl of no fortune and no parents hope for?”

Heat rose into her face.
What more could a girl like me hope for? Marriage to a man I could never respect and friendship with a spoiled, selfish girl like Phoebe?

Was that truly what she thought of Phoebe? Had Julia’s feelings for her cousin changed so drastically?

Soon—very soon—Julia would be free of Phoebe, for good or ill, but she could never hate the one person she had grown up loving.

As soon as she escaped and was able to warn Mr. Langdon of the attempt on his life, Julia would take the post chaise to her new position. She had been accepted as a governess by the Athertons in Suffolk. They had younger children who had been without a governess for some weeks. Mrs. Atherton was quite eager for Julia to come to them as soon as might be.

The terrible fate of becoming a governess, which Sarah Peck had so dreaded for Julia, seemed infinitely better than staying and marrying Mr. Edgerton, even though he would have a fortune after helping to arrange the assassination of England’s best general.

Her uncle finally interrupted her thoughts.

“I shall leave you now, Julia. You never should have interfered in my business. But it shall all turn out well in the end.”

He closed the door behind him.

Julia had been in her room for hours. No one had come to her rescue. She had run out of water and had not eaten anything since breakfast. But she felt strength—nervous energy, more like—running through her limbs and emboldening her. She was ready to escape, however she might be able to.

It was now nearly six thirty. She wanted to give herself enough time to reach Mr. Langdon before he left his home to make his way to the East Side and Bishopsgate Street.

Suddenly, she heard the scraping of metal in the lock on her door again, and it opened. Her uncle stood balancing a tray of food. “I did not want you telling Edgerton I mistreated you, so I brought you something.”

He looked almost cheerful as he set the tray of food and drink on her small table.

Julia said, “That is kind of you,” in a bland voice. She was becoming quite good at this espionage thing, disguising her feelings and such.

She walked over and pretended to be interested in the food. She even lifted a piece of bread to her lips and took a tiny bite so he could see her chewing.

“I shall leave you to eat. But I am nearby . . . if you need anything.”

Of course, they both knew he wasn’t nearby in case she needed anything, but rather, in case she tried to escape. Julia nodded and watched him leave, hearing the key grating in the lock as he once again locked her in.

Julia took a larger bite of the bread to try to settle her stomach, but it only made her feel more queasy. She put it down and took a sip of tea—and realized how thirsty she was. She drank the entire cup and then poured herself another and drank it as well.

“Thank you, Uncle.”

She could do this. Her uncle thought she was a “good, sensible girl” and that all she could wish for was Mr. Edgerton as a husband. If he did not yet realize it, then he was about to discover that she was not the timid six-year-old he had brought home to be a companion for his own overindulged little girl.

Julia went and picked up the heavy iron cross. She went to the door that separated her room from Phoebe’s, since he might be watching her door, raised the cross, and whacked at the lock. It made a loud sound.

“God, please don’t let him hear. Please help me.”

She struck the lock again. Nothing happened. The lock was also made of iron, apparently, and her striking it with the cross was not having much of an effect.

Perhaps she could pick the lock.

She hurried to her dressing table and found a hairpin. She ran back to the door and stuck the hairpin in the lock. After jiggling it and forcing it past something that clicked, she felt the lock give way, and the door opened.

Her heart soared. She took the heavy iron cross with her and hurried through Phoebe’s room to her door. But when she tried to open it, it was also locked.

Again, Julia went to work on the lock with the hairpin. But after several minutes, she put down the cross so she could work the pin with both hands. Still, it did not open.

How late was it getting? Would she be too late to save Mr. Langdon? Her hands were sweating and she wiped them on her muslin dress.

Julia could feel her composure slipping as she worked more frantically at the lock. “God,” she whispered, “I know I rarely pray except in church. Perhaps it is wrong to only pray when I am in trouble, but I need help. Please, please do not let Mr. Langdon die.” She bit her lip as she kept working at the lock. She whispered in desperation, “Please help.”

An idea came to her to use two hairpins instead of one. Julia sprang up off the floor and ran to her dressing table to grab a second pin. She rushed back and continued working at the lock, this time using two pins. In less than a minute, she heard the telltale click as the lock opened.

She grabbed the iron cross off the floor, jerked the door open, and ran out into the corridor. Thinking to take the servants’ stairs at the back of the house, she turned to her right and saw her uncle standing just outside her door, his eyes wide.

“Get back here,” he growled.