Prelude to Love Read online

  "I never saw such a place," Elleri exclaimed, rolling up her eyes in disgust. "Servants knocking, requiring one to either get up and go to the door or holler like a fishwife. Leave it; we don't require anything. If they don't know enough to come in, let them go away."

  The tap was repeated, more forcefully this time, with none of the timidity of a servant seeking entrance. Vanessa clutched at the top of her stocking. She knew in her bones it was someone after the letter.

  Chapter Five

  “We should have locked the door!" she whispered to Miss Simons.

  "You had better answer it, before they knock it down."

  "Don't!" she said, holding on to the sides of her chair in an instinctive act.

  Again the door was hit, even louder than before. Elleri got up, her face set in lines of disgruntlement, and strode forward, throwing the door open wide. Expecting no more than a waiter, she blinked to observe a swarthy, elegantly-dressed young gentleman. His hair was barbered closely, but she had become accustomed to this style from the officers around home. It was rather his dark skin and dark eyes that struck her attention.

  He looked past her to Vanessa. "Miss Bradford?" he asked, in a deep voice.

  The enquiry caused instant alarm. How should a total stranger know her name? Obviously he had been enquiring after her. She considered a denial, but already he was taking a long stride forward, into their private parlor, and still speaking. "I am Colonel Landon," he said. "I hope I have not frightened you. Your father sent me to help you."

  It seemed utterly unlikely her father was intimately acquainted with a colonel of such young years; his friends were older men. She knew as well he would not send a man who was unknown to him to help on this delicate mission. And if he were a colonel, as his hair suggested, why did he wear a civilian's blue jacket? She knew the local officers too, at least by sight. She had never seen this man before.

  "Help me?" she asked, parrying for time. "I'm afraid I don't understand, sir."

  "With the letter," he said bluntly. "He was worried about your going alone. Is it safe?"

  "I don't know what you're talking about. You have made some mistake," she said, with a warning look to her aunt, who sat wild-eyed, fanning herself.

  "You don't have to pretend with me," the man went on impatiently, even rudely. "I am an officer, and a friend of your father."

  "Where did you meet him?" Miss Bradford asked.

  "At Levenhurst, this morning."

  "I mean previously, where did you make his acquaintance?"

  "I didn't know him before, except by reputation. I was sent to the coast to overlook the preparations for defense there, not only in your own area, but all along the coast. I consider the Rye-Hastings area the most likely of attack. He told me what he discovered. Its importance is so great that we decided I should take the letter to London myself, and let you and your aunt return home."

  Vanessa could scarcely suppress a sneer at this blatant effort to seize her letter. London! He didn't even know where she was going, but only guessed at the likeliest destination. "I have already told you, I have no letter," she repeated.

  "I knew how it would be!" he said, shaking his head. "I told him he shouldn't have sent two ladies to deliver it."

  His expression was a blend of amusement and impatience. Looking around for a chair, he waited for Vanessa to sit down before he did so. He seemed perfectly at ease, which was more than could be said for the ladies. Vanessa was trembling inwardly, while Elleri was ready to go into a fit of vapors.

  "It would be nice to be able to go home," the aunt suggested, with a timid, hopeful look.

  "Your father feared he had given you so strong an idea of the letter's importance that you would not part with it, in which case he wished me to accompany you," the man said, in a very businesslike manner. "But I wish you would let me guard the letter. I would feel safer if I had it in my own care. You are perfectly welcome to come along to London."

  She noticed he again gave the wrong destination, but had of course no thought of correcting him.

  "A young lady—you might be hit on the head one of these dark nights as you walk along a quiet corridor, and have it stolen. I suppose you keep it on your person, as he asked? I would not like to think it sits unprotected in your room." He regarded her expectantly, waiting for confirmation of its hiding place.

  "I am not likely to have on me a letter I know nothing of," she answered curtly. "My aunt and I are going to visit friends."

  "Yes, yes, of course you are. I know all the instructions, Miss Bradford, and know they are mere subterfuge to fool the man who might be following you. Please, trust me. I should have had Colonel Bradford write a note introducing me and my mission. I wish we had thought of it, but it was all decided in a great rush, you know. Overtaking you seemed more important at the time than convincing you of my job. How should I know all your business if your father did not tell me?"

  "You are singularly misinformed on my business, Colonel," she answered. "I cannot think of any reason anyone should hit me on the head some dark night, or bright afternoon, for that matter, can you?"

  "I hardly think he'd strike in broad daylight," he answered, "but the why of it at least must be obvious, even to a woman."

  "Yes, we ladies do have minds," she said quickly.

  "Minds of your own! The whole area along the east coast is alive with spies. Your father feared, and I agree with him, that your trip might cause suspicion. No less than three callers had been to ask for you before I arrived.''

  "Was Colonel Forrester one of them?" Miss Simons asked eagerly.

  "No, they were all ladies, I believe. They expressed a great astonishment you should have deserted home on the day of some ball. Your father's active involvement with the volunteers is well known. His position as a retired colonel subjects him and his family to a close scrutiny by the French element."

  Nessa noticed at this point that her caller was setting aside a newspaper he had held in his hand when he entered. He had shapely, strong hands, well able to knock a girl unconscious and search her. She blushed suddenly, to think what familiarity this stranger had taken with her. And he was examining her closely now too, her whole body.

  "Where have you got it?" he asked bluntly. "Don't waste precious time denying its existence. I didn't come all this way to play games." His manner was changing from impatience to bold arrogance, with even something of menace.

  She did not bother to repeat knowing nothing of the letter, but only thought how to be rid of him as quickly as possible. "My aunt and myself have had a very tiring day. We plan to go to bed now. Good evening, sir." She walked to the door and held it, with a commanding stare at the man.

  "We can't leave it like this! I must know it is safe. I wish you will let me have it."

  "You may rest assured any charge my father placed on me will be executed. Good evening."

  "Wait!"

  "If you do not leave us this instant, I shall call the manager."

  "We don't want any ruckus. I'll go along with you for protection, if you don't want me to carry it. We must arrange our plans for the morning. At what hour did you plan to leave?"

  "My father failed to tell you that, did he?" she asked satirically. There was some traffic in the hall, lending her a sense of security.

  "He said early. In the Army, if you are not aware of it, early is not ten o'clock, but the crack of dawn. Give me your room's designation, and I shall undertake to keep an eye on your door through the night. I don't have to tell you to lock the door, and make some precaution at the window as well."

  "No, and you don't have to tell us to dry behind our ears either. I doubt a locked door would keep out such a dangerous spy as you speak of."

  "I'm glad you realize it. The letter must never be left untended, with only a lock to protect it. I could open any locked door in this establishment with my clasp knife."

  "Are you a pick-lock as well as a colonel?"

  "At times. Am I to understand the letter is
on your person?" he asked boldly. Again his eyes roved over her gown, selecting possible places of concealment as they lingered on her bodice. She could not prevent a blush of embarrassment, but it was anger that lent a fiery hue to her eyes. She glared, silent.

  "We have not chosen our hour for departure," he went on calmly. "Six should be early enough to beat the crowds, and it will give us a few hours' rest. I don't believe you gave me your room."

  "I don't believe I did," she answered, then tried to push his resisting form out the door. He planted his feet apart and stood solid.

  "I must say I did not expect this treatment! You are going to have my protection, whether you want it or no, and when you return home, I shall expect an apology, Miss Bradford. Ladies." He executed a bow and strolled off at a leisurely gait, without bothering to look back when the door slammed.

  "I never saw such gall!" Miss Bradford exclaimed.

  "Shocking. But if he was telling the truth, Nessa, it would be nice to be rid of that pesty letter, would it not? We could go to London instead of Ipswich, and do some shopping."

  "He didn't even know our destination. He was not sent from Papa. That is the man who attacked me in our room. Having failed by direct means, he has invented this ruse."

  "Could we not slip the letter into the post?"

  "Papa trusted me to do this job, and I come to realize now how important it is. He's probably listening at the door. Let us go to our room to discuss it. We'll take the valises up ourselves."

  Elleri heaved herself up from the chair, picking up the discarded newspaper to read in her room before sleeping. Together they went into the hallway. The man who called himself Colonel Landon was at the desk, in conversation with the clerk. He turned to speak to them as they passed. "I shall be keeping an eye on the Three Cygnets," he said in a low tone. A triumphant glitter sparkled in his eyes.

  Vanessa's bosom swelled with indignation, but she said not a word till they were beyond his hearing. They entered their chamber, locked the door and checked to see the window was bolted. "Auntie, we must leave here this very night, at once," Vanessa said.

  "I doubt I'll be able to make it to the bed, much less the carriage. Every bone and joint in my poor body aches. Gretch rattled us along at a merciless pace, no matter how often I pulled the check string. It is all Henry's doings. And where should we go? He would only follow us to another inn. I do think we should post the letter."

  "There is no post leaving at this hour of the night. If we left it here, it would sit unprotected in some box where anyone might pick it up. Papa would have mailed it if he trusted the post. There are often robberies from the mail coach. No, we shall deliver the letter in person, but to succeed, we must be rid of Landon. At least he does not know our destination."

  "He'll soon know it's not London we're headed to, when we pass by it, won't he?"

  "All the more reason to leave at once."

  "I was looking forward to a quiet read of this paper I picked up downstairs," she said, looking down at it. "Bother, it is all in French. After studying it for ten years, I still cannot make heads or tails of it."

  "French!" Vanessa squealed. "Where did you get that?"

  "That fellow left it in our parlor. Oh, my goodness!" she gasped, sinking down onto a chair. "Nessie, you are right! Colonel Landon is a French spy! Imagine, they have infiltrated our army."

  "He's no more a colonel than I am. Colonel Landon indeed! Monsieur Ladonnée is more like it."

  "I confess I thought you were making a mountain of a mole hill, as young girls will always do. The fellow was casting such sheep's eyes on you, I thought he was only trying to scrape an acquaintance, but it begins to seem ..."

  "Wolf’s eyes is more like it. He was positively frightening. Certainly he is a spy." The French paper confirmed in her mind that her attacker was Landon. It also inclined Miss Simons to see the advantages of an immediate remove from the White Swan. The next decision was where to go instead. Any inn would be equally precarious. Their carriage's leaving the stable would be reported to the spy, and he would be after them.

  "Do we know anyone close by we could go to? He could not follow us to a private home if we got away before he saw us. What we must do is take our cases downstairs on tiptoe, and have Gretch bring the carriage around as quickly as possible. We'll be safe standing in the lobby."

  "The only soul I know within ten miles is the Raffertys, and I would prefer being assaulted to going near them," Miss Simons said, her face falling in chagrin. "We would do better to dart to London—the Halfords or Staceys ..."

  "No, he thinks we are going to London. That is the direction he will take. What is amiss with these Raffertys?"

  "They are Methodists, my dear. We would have a perfectly wretched time. They do not believe in drink, or music or any of the refinements of life. Mrs. Rafferty was a Featherstone before her marriage, and a friend of mine years ago. But she married a Methodist, and there is no doing anything for her now. I made the wretched error of stopping there once on my way from London to Levenhurst, and vowed I would never darken her door again."

  "You will darken it tonight, Auntie, and so will I. It is not refinement we are after, but safety. How far away is it?"

  "I remember there were lime trees in the orchard," Elleri stated unhelpfully.

  "Yes, but where was the house?"

  "It cannot be far from Tilbury. The highlight of our visit was a dart into this pokey place to look at a church, in the rain. About three miles away, I think, but I cannot recall in which direction precisely."

  "Ring the bell. We'll send a servant to the stable to have our carriage readied and brought around before the colonel gets to our keyhole. Can't you remember the direction? Try."

  "I've got it now! It is north, the right direction for us. We weren't coming from London but from Cambridge, when Jane's son was ..."

  "Good," Vanessa said, to interrupt the tale before it began. "Now let us invent an excuse for barging in on the Raffertys at such a farouche hour."

  "We'll be lucky if they're not in bed with the doors locked. There can be no excuse for rousing folks up out of their beds at night. Really, it would not be at all the thing, dear.''

  “Sickness is always an excuse for doing the inexcusable.''

  "That is true, and it would give me an excellent excuse not to have to sit down and talk to them. I shall say we were going to Cambridge, but developed a sick stomach from Gretch's cow-handling of the ribbons. Excellent! There will be no need for you to stay chatting more than half an hour. Claim fatigue and join me. Now all we require is an excuse for going to Cambridge. Jane's son is no longer there."

  "It doesn't have to be Cambridge. We'll say London was our goal."

  "But we would not have gone to London via Tilbury, my dear. They are foolish, but not at all stupid. They know their map as well as anyone."

  This reminded Vanessa that Landon had certainly followed them by sight, for had he been told London was their destination, he would not have been on the right road. It was odd he had made such an obvious blunder, when she considered it a moment longer.

  They took up their cases, slipped silently along the corridor to the stairs and made it to the clerk's desk without seeing their spy. While Vanessa looked out for the carriage, Elleri went to the desk to settle their reckoning and try her hand at getting a lower rate owing to their early departure. She thought it grossly unfair to pay a whole night's lodging when they had not even mussed the bed, but was too anxious to spend long arguing.

  "Would you happen to know how to get to John Rafferty's place?" she asked, as an afterthought. "It is called Oakdene—an old stone place three or so miles away."

  The clerk was familiar with it, and gave her exact instructions to reach it. She was able to tell Gretch how to get there, which surprised Vanessa, pleasantly so. She did not question it, however. It did not so much as cross her mind her aunt had left word behind where they were headed.

  "I think Papa would be proud of how well we are manag
ing matters," she said with satisfaction, "I had not realized I had a flare for deception, till I tried it."

  "Women are born with a knack for deception," she was told. "How else should they ever get husbands to marry them? There is a deal of deception in nabbing a parti. Take Miss Fischer, now, letting on her hair is naturally curly, and her sly mama, inviting Forrester to dinner."

  Vanessa hardly listened to this topic that would normally engage her full attention. She felt through her skirt to see the letter was still resting in the top of her stocking, then sat back to devise excuses for landing in on the Raffertys so late at night.

  Chapter Six

  It was not at all a long drive to Raffertys. Though the road was dark and lonesome, causing much concern for highwaymen or spies who acted as such, they arrived in safety at the front door of a moldering stone mansion that looked large enough to house them without inconvenience. They were greeted by a disapproving butler, much put out to have to announce callers at nine-thirty in the evening. The lady of the house was equally displeased to have to make them welcome.

  It was hard to credit this lean-cheeked woman with thin gray hair pulled severely back from her forehead was of an equal age with Aunt Elleri. Her gaunt frame was covered in a very plain gray gown, unadorned by so much as a collar, or inch of lace. Her spouse was equally austere. They had been sitting in state, the two of them, in a pair of wing chairs before a cold grate, with no cards, no books or magazines and no conversation.

  The feeble excuse for stopping was put forth, causing some confusion when Elleri mentioned Cambridge as their destination and Vanessa simultaneously said Colchester. A sort of tepid welcome was preferred, soon followed by equally tepid tea. After one small cup, Miss Simons sighed and explained her head would split wide open if she did not place it on a pillow at once. Vanessa was left alone with two aging strangers, who were not adept at small talk.

  There was really only one subject of conversation in any house at this time. The name of Napoleon soon arose, allowing a brief respite from the silence while Miss Bradford related what facts she remembered having heard her father mention. "Who is in charge there, anyway?" Mr. Rafferty demanded.