Cynthia Bailey Pratt (16 page)

He put the thought of those men from his mind and said, “The way I see it, the government thinks that the Czar won’t be too impressed with us if we only
say
there’s a plot against his life and that those responsible have been removed. There’s been too much of that kind of plotting in Russia, considering how many of their czars have died in bed. However, if we let the assassin get close enough to His Imperial Majesty to give him a good fright, the Russians look fondly on us and we get an edge in their policies.”

“Well,” Fletcher said with a cautious glance round, “let’s just say, shall we, that it is a good thing we didn’t help the Finns when the Russians decided they’d like to have a watering place on the Baltic.”

“When was Fain going to try it?”

“Soon.” Fletcher decided to take the plunge. Though Hammond had been melodramatic about sending in his resignation, the prevailing opinion at the War Office was that he could still be relied upon. Peace put paid to Fletcher’s traveling abroad, but he remembered Hammond had been one of the men in France an agent should find if he wound up in serious trouble.

“Rather clever, I thought. He was planning to dress as a woman and attack at the Worshipful Fishmongers’ dinner on the twenty-third of June. We foxed him, though. There won’t be any women allowed. We were going to get him at the door, pistol or knife or whatever in hand, and be able to show him to Alexander.” He chuckled. “Rumor is that His Highness is glad the order’s gone out, interdicting women. He’s supposed to be getting tired of ‘em, although I think the heavens’ll fall before Prinny gives up his bits o’ bounce.”

Hammond curved his lips and then said, “You know all about me, or seem to. What’s your antecedents? Had much experience?”

“Some,” Fletcher laconically admitted. “Spent a bit of time on the Peninsula and not with Wellington, if you understand me?”

“I’ve never been to Spain.” Hammond thought for a moment and then said, “Well, since there’s nothing new about my information, I suppose I must just go and kick my heels at the War Office. They’ll likely have me guarding Princess Charlotte’s pup until they decide I’m reliable.”

He looked down at his hands and shook his head. “I’ll tell you plain, Fletcher. I want back in. I’m damned tired of charging around like a loose cannon, playing a lone game. Tell me, do you think I’m in good odor with the Old Man?”

Fletcher, ten years younger than Hammond, felt flattered to be asked advice by a man whose exploits on the Continent were legendary. “Yes, Captain. I think he’d be delighted— more than delighted—to have you back again.”

“Thank you.” Hammond looked up at the ceiling with a considering air. Slowly he said, “Is Miss Burnwell any relation to Feldon Burnwell?”

“To confess my own cowardice,” Fletcher said with a wry smile, “I was afraid to ask him.”

Hammond smiled in sympathy. “Somehow I don’t much blame you. I shouldn’t care to ask
him
a personal question when the kettle’s boiling.” He stood up. “I’ll leave for London in the morning. Do you have a horse stabled somewhere that I can take?”

“There’s a gray mare waiting at the Brass Ring just beyond Libermore.”

“Thank you. If you’d care to send your dispatches by me, you can explain about Fain and his fire. I’ll add my hapworth of tar for all the good it may do. It’s not your fault the fool got caught in his own trap.”

“Trap, sir?”

“Yes, hadn’t you realized?”

“I don’t understand.”

“A common enough trick. Burn down the place you’ve made your base. Destroy any evidence you might have forgotten or misplaced and clear out. Poor old Fain. So clever and so careless.”

Hammond had seen the love between Fletcher and Fain’s sister. If he asked for Fletcher’s help, help he could dearly use, he’d be involving the younger man in exactly the same kind of moral trap he himself had floundered in for years. He couldn’t do it.

He tapped Fletcher on the chest. “I shouldn’t worry about Miss Fain. I’ve seen this kind of thing before. You start talking to her, taking good care of her, and in two weeks she’ll forget she ever possessed a brother. Especially such a rascal.” As if it were an afterthought, he added, “You’re entirely confident that she’s not part of this plot?”

“As certain as you are of Miss Burnwell!” Fletcher answered at once, his head thrown defiantly back.

“Ah. As sure as that.” For a moment Hammond stood looking down at the clean kitchen floor. “I’ll stop by at first light for those dispatches. Good night.”

As he started for the door, Jocelyn came down the back stair, each footstep loud and heavy. Hammond paused. “Helena would like to see you, Mr. Fletcher,” Jocelyn said. “I believe she wants to break off your understanding with her.’’

“What?” Mr. Fletcher said, standing up, horrified.

“Take a firm line with her, old man,” Hammond said with a wink and a nod. “Remember what I said.”

Mr. Fletcher left so fast that Hammond said, “They’re teaching them to run better these days.”

“Mr. Hammond,” Jocelyn began.

With his charming, sad smile, Hammond said, “Please remember, I’m just Hammond.”

“I believe Mr. Fletcher called you Captain?” Jocelyn said sweetly. “Whoever you may be, would you be so good as to step outside?”

Hammond’s eyes went to the small door beside the stove, hanging open from Mr. Fletcher’s flight. Very quietly, he said, “Yes, I remember that little stair. Remarkable acoustics, I could hear every word you and Miss Fain said before. How much easier life would be if every house had one. Outside is better.”

Once there he took control of the conversation by saying, “What is it, Miss Burnwell?”

“How did you know Helena Fain jumped out a window tonight?”

“I saw you jump.”

“And you did nothing to help us,” she demanded, “although we were in there?” Her dark gray eyes, previously shy when with him, stared into his, revealing plainly the depth of the blow he’d inflicted.

It was one of the risks of his profession, this wounding of the innocents. He’d accepted it a long time ago, but just at that moment it seemed too much to ask of him and of her. He explained, “I knew you were there. However, I didn’t know Fain’s servant soaked the place with oil until I saw him throw in the lantern. The house went up at once. I could do nothing to save you. I went after him. I lost him in the dark. He knows the country. I don’t.”

He did not tell her about holding Cocker in the church. He’d been cruel to the man, justifiably he thought, but Hammond could not be sure that Jocelyn would see it that way. Besides, he did not want her to believe in him again because he’d captured Cocker. It would be pleasant, for once, he thought, if someone would care for me despite the things I've had to do.

“Cocker burned the house?”

“On his master’s orders.”

“No,” Jocelyn said, overwhelmed by the callousness of the action he spoke of so calmly. “Mr. Fain never would have condemned his sister to such a dreadful death. I have never noticed any particular fondness he held for her, but surely no one could kill so mercilessly.”

“You understand very little of the world, Miss Burnwell. The history of man is full of such incidents as might have taken place tonight were it not for your bravery.”

He saw she did not soften at the compliment and continued. “I don’t believe that Fain intended to murder you or Miss Fain. But tell me, does Cocker wish you harm?”

“No, of course not. I don’t like the man. He is impossible to like. Not because he is a servant. His manner is ... he is nasty. You saw him.”

“I doubt you troubled to conceal your revulsion.”

“Both Helena and I... oh, I see.” Jocelyn felt sickened. She seemed to hear again Cocker’s whisperings and brushed her curls away from her ears. To hear Hammond continue to speak, calmly and rationally, was like taking another bath.

“He is the kind of man who demands slavish politeness from those he considers his inferiors. Such as women. I’ve met a few like him before. They become violent when treated with less than deference. He decided to combine his master’s plan for the destruction of his house with his own revenge.”

“He must be mad!”

“No,” Hammond said. “Not mad. Just a little too certain of his own superiority. I imagine, however, should Fain ever find out about tonight. Cocker will be very surprised when Fain kills him for it.”

“You don’t think that Fain is dead, either, do you, Hammond?” When he shook his head, surprised by her matter-of-fact tone, she said, “I never cared much for him as a vicar, but I never thought he was a fool.”

“No, he’s not.”

Jocelyn looked down and thought of Mr. Fain standing in the pulpit on Sunday mornings, preaching of the abiding love and peace of God. “Do you think Fain capable of killing?”

He was startled by the directness of her question. It was not the one he’d expected. Nor was the tone that of the simple country-raised girl he’d taken her to be, despite the times she’d proved herself more than that. He answered her just as directly, perhaps with some notion of discovering how much she could take. “Yes. I can think of five men at least that he has murdered. He never, however, sends another to do his work. I imagine Cocker did not tell Fain of the attempt he bungled on my life.”

Once again her reaction surprised him. “Did Cocker attack you? He saw you tonight? Could he have recognized you?”

“No, it was dark when we met before. I remembered his voice and recognized him. He had no such advantage.”

Hammond took a turn up and down the yard, looking at everything save her. Then he took her hands in his. “I can’t thank you for all the good you’ve done me, Miss Burnwell. I realize I’m not appearing in the best light at the moment. Do try to think of me kindly. Nothing’s important but the job at hand, you know.”

“Yes, I understand that.” How she wished he could forget it. Anger still bubbled inside her that he would rather care to capture Cocker than save her and Helena. To show she saw through his lies, she asked, “Can you find your way to Oxford from here?”

Hammond dropped her hands. “What!”

“The French must be very stupid, Mr. Hammond. The letter you want is in Oxford. You’re going to get it. Then I imagine you will go to London and try to stop the assassination, yourself.”

He shook his head, not to deny her assumption, but to clear it. Even knowing what he did of her background, Hammond was startled and amazed by her astuteness. With such a woman only the truth would suffice. Intently he said, “I must. You don’t realize how far I’ve fallen. If I’m ever to recoup, to be again an honorable soldier in my country’s cause, I have to do something as great in its way as the crime that caused my fall.”

“What precisely did you do?”

In a low voice Hammond said, “I had a friend—who was no friend. He betrayed me. It was my fault to have trusted—”

“Mr. Fletcher said—”

“He’s a boy! What does he know about honor?”

Her anger disappeared. If he felt like that, then everything he’d done from their meeting had a reason behind it. A reason she could understand and respect. Jocelyn touched Hammond’s shoulder gently. “I see. I can tell him you are sleeping in the barn.”

“I do owe you a great debt. Miss Burnwell. I promise to repay . . .”He thought excitedly about the job ahead. First, a long ride on whatever animal he could find, pushing it and himself onward, first to Oxford and then to London. Once there, he’d think about what direction his life might take. There were errors of the past to be rectified, and if he failed, then he’d think again. The moonlight fell on Jocelyn’s face, silvering her tumbled hair. He noticed and smiled. “I don’t see her.”

“Who?” Light badinage was all she could have expected, though she’d hoped for more.

“The plain girl they say lives with the Luckems; I’ve never seen her.” The light was bright enough to show a dimple, unsuspected until now, come and go beside her mouth. Prey to a sudden impulse, Hammond stopped and kissed her cheek as he would a sister’s. He felt her start, and straightened at once. Setting his hat at an angle, he half-laughed and said, “Good night, Jocelyn.”

Springing over the garden wall, he waved his hand. She heard him whistle as his footsteps faded.

Overwrought, Jocelyn sank down on the garden steps. A sigh escaped her. Her fingers pressed to the spot where Hammond’s lips had brushed her cheek; she wondered if all the kisses she’d receive in her life would be only brotherly. For an instant, as he came near, she had thought. . . Tears cooled her cheeks. Sternly she told herself what a relief it was not to be involved any more in mysteries and confusions. And yet, hearing his whistle fading on the still air, she felt as though some part of her went with Hammond and would always be his, though he thought of her as no more than a pleasant, helpful girl. Jocelyn cried, but not for very long. Her family needed her. She had much to do.

Chapter Ten

Many weary hours later Jocelyn went to bed. Between lugging tubs of tea and hills of rolls to the fire fighters, wrapping minor burns and looking in every now and then to see if Helena still slept, Jocelyn used up all of her energies. Although three hours of rest was insufficient, she felt refreshed enough to get Arnold and Granville’s breakfast when they finally returned early in the morning, after the fire had been totally extinguished.

“Three times the church roof seemed sure to catch. Once I climbed up to dump a bucket of water on it. I was the only one of the boys not too scared to climb up.” Arnold yawned as though about to swallow the table. “They couldn’t use a man ‘cause the branch wouldn’t support much weight.”

Both the boys were smoke-blackened and sweat-streaked. Granville, all pretension stripped away in a night’s valiant effort, sat drowsing in his chair. Mr. Quigg refused any food, pleading a great desire to drink away the smoke with something stronger than tea. He retired at once to his small house.

Languidly Jocelyn said, “Please wash under the pump in the backyard before you go. ... Please, Arnold. I don’t want to have to wash all the sheets tomorrow.’’

To her surprise, Granville also protested the bath. The boys were interrupted by a knocking at the back door. Jocelyn felt as if she could not face visitors after her exhausting night, but politeness drew her to her feet as the door opened.