London Calling (10 page)

The cold had solidified into a lump of ice in Susanna’s chest. “And what if they hear from their superiors in France that no such person has been sent?”

“Not likely.” James did not look at her, and his shoulders moved in a brief, dismissive shrug. “The lines of communication are not so good as to allow for frequent messages. So far as we can tell, the men over here have been left on their own to stage this rebellion when the time is right. They are to contact France when the machinery is all in place, but not before.”

Susanna nodded. She bit her lip, but the next words were out before she could stop herself. “And what about Cameron Benson? He must have done something to make the men I saw tonight suspicious‌—‌they would not have killed him otherwise.”

“I assure you I plan to avoid giving them any reason to distrust me.” James’s voice was grim. But then his tone softened slightly as he turned to look at her. “Susanna, you have every right to be angry with me. I was wrong to deceive you. But I’ve got to go on with the job. There’s too much at stake for me to stop now.”

“No. Of course you must go on. I can see that. All I ask is that you let me help you.”

James stopped in mid-stride, so abruptly that Susanna was nearly thrown off-balance. He turned to look down at her. The gray early-morning light picked out the lines of strain about the corners of his eyes, the tension in his jaw. But his voice, when he spoke, was even, as though he were struggling for control. “Susanna, this assignment‌—‌these men I am dealing with‌—‌are dangerous. I cannot have you—”

Then again, perhaps it was better to give up on coaxing and simply smash into James’s walls head-on. Susanna had at any rate lost patience with an indirect approach. “No, James. What you
cannot
do is ask me to sit quietly at home and wait for you to come back, not knowing from one moment to the next whether you’re alive or dead.” Despite herself, her voice shook. “When you asked me to marry you, you promised that you would not try to keep me from danger.”

James exhaled a hard, humorless laugh. His hair was misted with the falling rain, and Susanna could see the tiny droplets of water trapped in his eyelashes. “I knew at the time that promise would come back to haunt me.” He stopped and looked down at her, his dark eyes somber and exhausted-looking‌—‌and then abruptly, he pulled her into his arms, holding her tightly against him. “God in heaven, Susanna. If anything happened to you, I would—”

“I know.” Susanna pulled back just enough that she could look up into his face. She traced the grim line of his jaw with her fingertips, her eyes steady on his. “I do know. But can you think that I would not feel the same if anything happened to you?”

For a long moment, James’s gaze met hers. Then he closed his eyes and let out another breath. He had not acknowledged defeat‌—‌but at least he had not outright refused to accept her help, either.

Susanna said, “You have not yet told me what part Mrs. Careme plays in your assignment.”

James’s eyes snapped open and he stared at her, his face momentarily blank with astonishment. “Mrs. 
Careme
? How by all that is holy do you come to be acquainted with her?”

“My Aunt Sophia saw you with her at Almack’s once, and wrote to me of it. That was what brought me to London. Then the night before last, Aunt Ruth and I went to London, and I saw Mrs. Careme‌—‌and saw that she answered Aunt Sophia’s description. My Aunt Ruth is acquainted with Admiral Tremain, so I asked her to renew the acquaintance. She and I dined at Admiral Tremain’s house last night, and I met Mrs. Careme then.”

James was still staring at her. He swore under his breath. “You dined at Admiral Tremain’s house last night. Of course you did.” His hands tightened on her shoulders. “Listen to me, Susanna. By sheer chance, you’ve managed to walk straight into the lion’s den. I have told you about the planned uprising. But that’s only half of this affair. The other half is a serious leak of intelligence somewhere in the Admiralty. Someone is passing critical information to the French Army. Our army was defeated at Antwerp. Napoleon has been winning victory after victory in Spain. It has been going on for months, and so far the War Office has been powerless to find out who is responsible. They only know, from the information being passed, that it involves someone at the highest levels of command.”

“They suspect one of their members of being a traitor?”

James nodded. “And just lately, they have been able to narrow down the field of suspects. It seems that a good many of the documents that seem to be finding their way, in one form or another, across the channel, are ones that have passed through Admiral Tremain’s hands.”

“You truly think that Admiral Tremain may have betrayed his country?” Susanna was recalling the Admiral’s weathered, pugnacious face, his bluff good-humored manner. Admiral Tremain was an autocrat, perhaps, very used to having his own way. But not, she would have thought, a traitor.

“Not necessarily,” James said. He released her and started walking once again, shoulders hunched against the damp air. “It could as easily be a member of his household.”

Susanna drew in her breath in dawning understanding. She thought of the various members of the Tremain household. Mrs. Careme . . . ‌Marianne . . . ‌Miss Fanny . . . ‌the Admiral himself.

“Mrs. Careme seems the most likely,” she said at last. “And I suppose you know of her connection with France? That she spent nearly the whole of her childhood there?”

“I do. That was part of what drew my attention to her.”

Susanna turned, putting a hand on his arm. “James, I can help. I can foster the acquaintance with the Admiral’s household‌—‌speak to his family, search for clues as to Mrs. Careme’s guilt. It will not be difficult‌—‌Admiral Tremain’s daughter and sister-in-law thoroughly dislike her. If they suspect anything at all to Mrs. Careme’s discredit, I am certain I can persuade them to tell me.”

James’s brows were drawn together. “It could still be dangerous.”

“And I will be cautious. I will not take unnecessary risks,” Susanna said. “But, James—” She stopped walking and looked up at him, willing him to understand. “My father tried always to shelter me, to keep me away from unpleasant truths. I knew he was troubled about money‌—‌but until he died and left me penniless, I had not a notion that his debts were as severe as they really were. I know Father meant it for the best‌—‌he sheltered me out of love. And I allowed myself to be coddled and sheltered‌—‌I did not question him as to his finances, demand to be told more. But I cannot go back to the girl I was then. And”‌—‌she swallowed‌—‌“I cannot marry you if you mean to shield me in the same way.”

For another three beats of her heart, four, James continued to look down at her. Then abruptly he bent and kissed her on the mouth, his hands framing her face. “Just promise me that you will be careful,” he said at last.

Susanna wound her arms around his neck and tugged his lips back down to hers. “If you will promise me the same.”

They walked in silence the remainder of the way back to Aunt Ruth’s house, and when they were in sight of it, Susanna stopped. “There.” She gestured. “That is the place. You can leave me here‌—‌better you are not seen with me if any of the servants are up and—”

Susanna stopped. “James, what is it?” James had stopped short and turned to look behind them. His eyes were scanning the misty darkness and his every muscle had tensed.

He shook his head, though, in answer to Susanna’s question. “Nothing. I thought I heard something just now. A sound‌—‌as though someone were following us. But I don’t see anything there. It must have been just a stray passerby. Footsteps echo strangely in the fog.” He turned to look down at her. “You had better go in now.”

Susanna nodded. “I know.”

James still held fast to her hand, though. “Susanna—” He stopped, then ran a hand lightly over her hair. “I love you,” he said at last.

“And I love you.” The words came out as an unsteady whisper.

Susanna managed not to cling to him as he bent and kissed her one last time, managed not to run after him as he turned and walked away, vanishing into the misty shadows of the half-darkened street.

She only wished that those last words they had spoken had not sounded so much like a final goodbye.

Chapter 10

Ruth eyed Susanna closely as Susanna joined her at the breakfast table.

“Good morning, my dear. I trust you slept well?”

“Very well. Thank you, Aunt Ruth.” Susanna glanced at the maid, Rose, who was setting a fresh plate of eggs and curried ham on the sideboard.

She had, in fact, been asleep for no more than an hour when Rose had come in with a morning cup of tea. But Rose had looked curious enough at the sight of Susanna’s cloak, still damp from the walk home in the rain, thrown over the hearthside chair; Susanna did not want to give her any more reason to question where she might have been last night.

Susanna waited until the door of the breakfast room had closed behind Rose, and then she said in a rush, “Aunt Ruth, I need to visit Admiral Tremain’s house again‌—‌as soon as possible.”

Ruth’s eyebrows lifted slightly. “I see.”

There was a gentle enquiry to the words, and Susanna said, “I know I have promised to tell you everything. But I am afraid . . . ‌I am afraid that it may be safer for you if I do not.” Her lips twisted in a grim smile. “It is always easier to maintain a truth than tell a convincing lie. And the less you know, the fewer lies you will have to tell to the Admiral and the rest of his family.”

Ruth’s eyebrows rose further, but after a moment’s pause she nodded. “Very well.” She reached across the table to touch Susanna’s hand. “Can you at least tell me this‌—‌is your young man James alive and well?”

Susanna reached for the cup of coffee that someone‌—‌Rose, she supposed‌—‌had set down by her plate and took a swallow. “Yes. He is alive.” She closed her eyes a moment as the image of James, surrounded by Philippe and the rest of the band of cutthroats rose unbidden to her mind. Then she looked back at Aunt Ruth. “Our job is to ensure that he remains so.”

Aunt Ruth regarded her steadily. And then she smiled, picking up a spoon and tapping the top of her boiled egg. “Well, then. Since Admiral Tremain was so kind as to have us to dinner last night, I believe it would be only courteous of us to call round at his house this morning and reciprocate the invitation?”

* * *

The servant who opened the door to them at the Admiral’s house informed Susanna and Ruth that both Miss Marianne and Miss Fanny were at home, and showed them into the morning room.

Marianne was sitting curled on the settle near the fireplace, wearing another shapeless gown of some dull rust color. She appeared to have been engrossed in a book, though she set it aside and glanced up as Susanna and Ruth came in, her gaze half curious, half resentful.

Miss Fanny was wearing a morning dress of dull grey and a shabby grey shawl, and was stitching at some equally drab piece of embroidery.

She rose to greet Ruth and Susanna. “How kind of you to call, Miss Ward, Mrs. Maryvale. I trust you are both well?”

She invited Susanna and Ruth to sit. Ruth chose a place near Marianne, and began to talk to the girl about the book she had been reading‌—‌and in the face of Ruth’s kindness of manner, Marianne actually answered and became quite animated.

Susanna was left to converse with Miss Fanny, and after what seemed an interminable length of polite conversation on the weather and the gossip of the Season, there was at last a momentary lull.

Susanna took a sip of the fruit cordial Miss Fanny had insisted on serving and asked, “Is Mrs. Careme not at home?”

Miss Fanny sniffed, and her long, white face looked disapproving. “She is not even yet out of bed, if you can credit it. Nor is this an unusual occurrence. She never comes down to breakfast, but insists on having a tray brought up to her in her room. It makes for a good deal more work, of course, but she is hardly one to trouble herself about that. As you know, we now have Major and Mrs. Haliday staying with us for a few days, and you might think that Mrs. Careme would lend a hand. But she sits in her room as idle as ever, expecting everyone to dance attendance on her.”

Susanna murmured sympathetically. Then said, “Tell me, how did Admiral Tremain meet Mrs. Careme? I mean, where did she come from?”

Miss Fanny sniffed again. “You may well ask that, Miss Ward. The plain fact is, no one seems to know anything about her. And she’s not one to give anything away. She is supposed to be a widow, but does she ever mention her husband or say one word about him? She does not. I asked her once, straight out, who Mr. Careme had been and when he had died, and she flatly refused to answer.”

Miss Fanny’s long nose twitched. “If you want my opinion, I do not believe there ever was a Mr. Careme. I have seen women of her type before. An adventuress, that’s what she is. Moving from one man to the next, always out for what she can get. And now she has latched onto poor Charles. He is completely taken in by her. Completely. You know what men are‌—‌he is blind to what she really is.”

Miss Fanny broke off, her voice quivering.

Susanna wondered whether she could risk another question without making it obvious that she had her own private reasons for enquiring about Mrs. Careme. But Marianne was still speaking with Aunt Ruth. “I think I heard Mrs. Careme comes originally from France?”

“My point exactly,” Miss Fanny agreed wrathfully. “A foreigner. What can you expect?”

Before she could reply, Susanna was interrupted by the opening of the door and the entrance of Admiral Tremain. He wore his navy uniform, and his face, above the blue and gold coat, was troubled.

“Fanny, have any of the servants been in my office, do you know?”

Fanny looked a little alarmed. “I do not think so, Charles. I’ve given the maids strict instructions to keep away. I know how you dislike them disarranging your things, and . . .”

“Quite so, quite so,” the Admiral cut in impatiently. “But I’d some papers on my desk, and when I came in this morning, it seemed to me someone had been messing about with them. They weren’t as I’d left them.” Admiral Tremain frowned. “Dare say it was only one of the servants, but still . . . ‌it’s not the sort of thing one likes to take chances on.”