The Moonless Night (5 page)

“Who can it be?”

“I don’t know. Let me tell you the rest—the best part. They went on talking, saying not much of any account but enough to give the show       away. Then one of them said, ‘Handy having the money right here. Wouldn’t Henry stare if he knew there was ten thousand pounds in gold sitting on his doorstep the whole time;’ then they went on to argue a bit about it not being handy but a demmed nuisance to try to get ahold of such a sum in a hurry, and he wondered what Cicero was thinking of, to make him do it. One of them put up the whole sum. And the other said that if Cicero said ten thousand was needed, then ten thousand was needed, right enough, for there wasn’t a better brain in Europe than Cicero’s.”

“Who is Cicero?”

“It ain’t Cicero the old Roman scholar they meant. It’s a code name is what it is for the ringleader, so they don’t have to use his real name. Cicero is certainly the fellow in charge of the whole—they said enough to make that clear. Gad, but I’d love to discover him. I decided to nip down to the saloon and sneak outdoors and circle around to get a peek at them, but when I got there, they’d gone. Not a trace of them. I went outside and looked all around, right down to the dock, but there wasn’t a mouse stirring.”

“You have
no idea
who it was?”

“Just an idea one of them wore a uniform. There was something glittering in the moonlight, and I think it was brass buttons. Not big brass buttons like some of the chaps wear at school, you know, but two rows of smaller brass buttons, like a soldier or sailor—an officer, I mean.”

“You didn’t recognize the voices?”

“No, they were whispering the whole time. It changes the timbre of the voice. I couldn’t tell a thing but that they were men. Oh
Englishmen
, not foreigners as I thought it would be when I first tumbled to it they were spies.”

“Are you sure it was Bonaparte they were talking about? Did they use his name?”

“No, they never used a single name except Cicero, but they talked of ‘rescuing him’ and a hundred thousand pounds reward—they might have mentioned the
Bellerophon
. Who else could it possibly be, in Plymouth at such a time? There are no famous criminals on the loose. What should I do?”

She sat thinking what course to take, but before she came up with an idea, David had reached his own conclusion. “I must tell Papa,” he decided.

Marie was aware of a dull return to earth. It was of course the proper thing to do. Their father was in charge of all operations at Bolt Hall, but it was somehow an anti-climax to this incipient adventure to go dragging Papa into it, to write a letter off to London, and set up a petition, when what she really desired was to be listening at keyholes, lurking about the shadows late at night, following dangerous suspects, and capturing the spies.

“I’ll let you know what he says,” David said, already walking to the door.

“You won’t rouse him out of bed!” she asked, horrified.

“Deuce take it, this is an
emergency
!” he told her, and went to do just that.

He was back within ten minutes, crestfallen. “He already knew,” he said.

“He knew that and didn’t tell us!”

“Had orders to keep mum. Heard all about it from the Admiralty yesterday. That is to say, he don’t know a thing more than we do, but he knew there were people planning something of the sort right enough, and they’ve sent down an agent to Bolt Hall to look into it.”

“They would never have told Papa. Why should they? He was only in charge of ordering the uniforms.”

“He was the supplies officer for the whole Peninsular Campaign. Wellington depended on him completely. Then they saddled him with the American war, too, and it was too much for him—for any one man to handle. Why, they said when he had to leave that it was of the utmost importance for him to be here at Bolt Hall, just in case of such an emergency as this. That’s why they’ve sent the agent down here to us.”

“I wonder who the agent is.”

“He is under orders not to say, but it stands to reason it must be Benson”

“Of course!” she agreed at once. “He didn’t come to look me over at all. I didn't believe it when Biddy said so.”

“She don’t know a thing about it. Likely that’s what Father told her to keep her quiet. He says we’re to keep out of the agent’s way, and not to go interfering with him.”

“We must help him!” she objected at once. She had not yet managed to quite fall in love with Benson, and was ready to accept his alternative reason for being here. Of course his being a spy need not invalidate him as a suitor. Quite the contrary, who more romantic and lover-like than a spy, engaged in daring deeds of national importance?

“There’s one thing father didn’t know, anyway. I asked him about the ten thousand pounds, and he hadn’t a notion what I was talking about. Said I was foxed—imagine, and I only had half a dozen ales,
small
ales. What we must do is get searching tomorrow and find it. The money is to be used to get Boney away safely, you see. Must be it, and if we could find it and take it away, they’d be dished. Jove, but it’s going to be an exciting day.”

“I'll help,” Marie volunteered at once.

“I might be able to use you,” he allowed with condescension. “You could strike up a friendship with Madame Monet. She’s in on this, or my name ain’t David Boltwood. I’ll take Benson around to the telescope at the Point and out in the yacht, if that dashed keel is dry. He mentioned wanting to go out, you recall. Funny they’d send down a chap that don’t know how to sail for a job like this. Daresay he’s a topnotch sailor, but is only pretending he ain’t to lull our suspicions.”

Miss Boltwood was ready to believe him not only a prime sailor but an admiral, a general, a demi-god. “And the winch and chain. You must teach him how to use that, in case of an emergency.”

“I’ll show him everything. No need to worry your head, my dear.”

“He is very handsome, isn’t he, Dave?” she asked a little shyly.

“A regular out-and-outer. I bet he’s no kin to Mama at all. I never heard of him before, did you? Mama’s whole family were stumpy, platter-faced people, like you.”

“You have a more platter-shaped face than I have! And Mama’s mother was a Benson before she married. Biddy said she has heard Papa mention Mr. Benson before.”

“You don’t think his name is really Benson!” David asked, amazed at her naiveté. “No such a thing. It’s what’s known as a cover, for him to have an excuse to be battening himself on us. Whole countryside knows we never have a soul visiting us because of Papa’s nerves, and this is to explain it away. He’s letting on he’s Benson, and come here to give you a gander. If you look lively, you might set up a flirtation with him, but we’ll be pretty busy, Benson and I.” David’s shoulders went back a little straighter as he spoke, somewhat in emulation of the spy who called himself Mr. Benson.

“He would hardly need any special excuse at such a time as this. Everyone has the house full of guests.”

“You didn’t see any at Bolt Hall, did you? Madame Monet hinting as hard as she could to come to us, and that skint of a Papa... Of course, I realize he is not at all well,” he added leniently.

“David, do you mean to say you want that vulgar hussy here?”

“There’s not a vulgar bone in her body. That’s Biddy giving you such antique ideas. She’d pass for a stylish woman in a city. It’s just here in this place she ain’t appreciated. Why, she’s French, and you must know the French are famous for their elegance. I mean to mention it to Benson when I get to know him a little better tomorrow. See what he has to say about it.”

“We must try to get Biddy to stop pestering him, too, about the mole on his cheek.”

“Has she been at him with her leeches and nostrums already?”

“She talked about leeches for ten minutes. I was ready to sink with embarrassment.”

“Lord, what a bunch of flats he’ll think us! But I’ll drop him the hint she’s crazy. Well, I’d better get to bed. Tomorrow is going to be a busy day. Maybe I should just drop in and see if Benson is comfortable.”

“It’s after one o’clock,” Marie pointed out.

“You don’t think a spy is in his bed at one o’clock! He'll be working over a secret code or sending a message off to the Prime Minister,” he told her, amazed at her lack of percipience.

When David tapped at Mr. Benson’s door, there was no reply. A careful peek into the room showed him an empty bed, which was just as it should be. Mr. Benson knew better than to go to bed at one-thirty in the morning. David assumed he was burning the midnight oil in the library, with a decanter of brandy at his elbow to aid concentration, but when he got there, there was no sign of Mr. Benson. If the master was busy, obviously his assistant must not retire either, and for an hour David rummaged noisily through the house looking for ten thousand pounds. He was still at it when Mr. Benson came slipping in at the library door, which he had cunningly left on the latch before leaving. Mr. Benson acted not only mystified at oblique offers of help, but embarrassed to be caught returning to the house of his host after two without having said he was leaving.

“I decided to pop down to the inn to see what was going on,” he explained, unaware that Mr. Boltwood had done the same, and knew it was some more hair-raising adventure that had lured the spy out of doors.

“A wise precaution,” David said, nodding his head wisely.

“Tomorrow I'll take you to the Point and show you the winches and...”

“Miss Boltwood has offered to show me the telescope,” Mr. Benson answered, rather enlarging on her offer to point out to him the way.

“She’ll be tickled pink to tag along.”

“I would appreciate your showing me the secret of the mysterious winch and chain, however.”

“Be happy to. And don’t forget we’re going out in the
Fury
.”

“Delightful.”

“Er, would you care for a glass of brandy, Mr. Benson?”

“Brandy? I cannot think your aunt would approve. She mentioned to me it ought to be avoided at all costs.”

“Ha ha, poor old Biddy. You must overlook her odd ways. Crazy as a loon. She’ll stick half a dozen of her speckled leeches on you if you give her half a chance.”

“I was afraid it was my mole she had designs on,” Mr. Benson replied, smiling.

“No, she don’t operate. Yet.”

“Good. Now, what was that you were saying about brandy? I would like to take a glass to my room.”

David was immensely disappointed that they two were not to drink together, but as drinking alone in one’s room was a spy’s way, he took a glass up with him, and by diluting it with twice as much water managed to get the nasty stuff down before he passed out entirely.

Chapter 5

Even one guest can seriously upset the routine of a whole household. The next morning Bolt Hall’s schedule was sadly awry. Biddy, scampering through her library for a chapter on moles, human variety, let her niece sleep until an insalubrious eight-thirty, thus missing her morning constitutional. After his late night activities, David did not come to the table till nine, and Sir Henry had succumbed to an attack of gout as a result of all his arduous petitioning, or possibly as a result of the customary glass of wine served at several of his stops. He hobbled to the breakfast table but was in a bad skin. The lines that ran from nose to mouth were etched deep, and the furrows between his eyes pronounced enough that David mentally applied the term “Roman frown.” He didn’t know exactly what it meant, but it was the phrase used to describe old Romans with similar wrinkles in his textbooks. He had hoped to find his father in better humor, that he might jolly him into a full account of his correspondence regarding the spy. No matter, he’d have to get it out of Benson himself.

Only Mr. Benson sat at the table without being aware he had shattered the day’s beginning. “I am looking forward to our ride to the Point to see the telescope, Miss Boltwood,” he said pleasantly as soon as he had bid them all good morning.

Having missed her walk, Marie was eligible for a ride. Not even Biddy could deny that, much as she would have liked to. David, of course, immediately volunteered his services in the viewing of the telescope as well, which, removing any hint of fast behavior from it in providing a chaperone, made it acceptable to Biddy.

“We had better wait till Lord Sanford takes his coffee, and see if he would like to go with you,” Sir Henry told them.

There wasn’t a closed mouth at the table except for Sir Henry’s and Mr. Benson’s. Who was Lord Sanford, and what was he doing at Bolt Hall?

“Who?” David asked, being the first to recover.

“Lord Sanford. Bathurst’s godson. He arrived last night,” Sir Henry said with an air of satisfaction.

“Arrived here?” Biddy goggled. “I didn’t hear anyone arrive.”

“He came late. Very late,” Sir Henry said, with a hint of disapproval at such irregular behavior.

“What on earth is he come for?” Biddy inquired.

“He was caught in Plymouth with no place to stay, like Mr. Benson, and remembered that I live nearby.”

“Are you acquainted with him then, Henry?” Biddy asked, fully expecting more signs of displeasure that a man should be so careless of the proprieties as to come barging in in the middle of the night, unannounced.

“Certainly I know him well. Met him any number of times in London when I was with the Admiralty. Of course we are not close friends. He is a young fellow, a Whig in fact, but Bathurst’s godson. I could hardly turn him away in the middle of the night. He is to stay a few days. We must show him some hospitality—an earl, after all.”

Any cohort of Sir Henry’s from the Admiralty promised to be a dull dog, and the youngsters immediately lost any interest in him. Their only impatience for his arrival at table was due to his holding up their trip to the telescope. For half an hour after they had finished eating, they sat sipping coffee that became increasingly bitter as it aged. Biddy could not abandon her avocation for so long. There were preparations to make for her brother’s latest attack of gout, and there were her leeches to be seen to. She went to the reservoir, but the rest of the party was still intact when Lord Sanford sauntered to the table at ten o’clock, yawning into a carefully manicured hand, and bowing almost imperceptibly to everyone.