An Unwilling Spy Read online

  Mother help her, she’d really done it. But Laroche wasn’t out of action yet. He knelt on all fours like a dog, panting and groaning. Grabbing the poker from the hearth, she swung it high and brought it down hard, over his head. The poker cracked against his skull and he collapsed in a huddle on the floor, out cold.

  Her hand stung and she shook it out as she flicked a glance towards the door. The guard hadn’t come in as Laroche had ordered — a blessing that had worked to her advantage.

  To be sure Laroche couldn’t call for help, she grabbed a table napkin and stuffed it in his mouth. Then she quickly pulled off the curtain tie-backs and fastened them tightly around his wrists. That should keep him contained long enough for her to find Finch.

  A set of six keys hung at his waist and hoping they opened the cells below, she pocketed them. It was a pity the poker couldn’t be shoved down her bodice. It would have been a good weapon. Instead, she’d have to settle for the dinner knife again. She picked it up, wiped it on the back of Laroche’s jacket and stuck it in her boot.

  Giving him one last glance, she quickly opened and shut the door behind her, so the guard couldn’t see into the room.

  ‘Oh, my, what a night!’ she exclaimed, fanning her face with her hand.

  The man bristled with importance and barred her way with his pistol. ‘Lot of noise in there. What’s going on?’

  ‘A woman never tells.’ She batted her eyes at him and pouted. ‘Monsieur Laroche has a terrific appetite but alas, he’s finished with me.’

  The guard’s eyes skimmed over her messed-up hair and disarranged clothing. He obviously thought her a trollop and a leer crossed his face. ‘Fancy a bit more, eh?’

  She eyed him with a lift to her chin. ‘Monsieur Laroche would skin you alive if you fiddled with the goods.’

  The man paused, considering. Apparently her argument carried weight because his mouth twisted in acceptance.

  ‘Take me back to my room,’ she said firmly, ‘and I’ll not mention your request.’

  The guard looked as if he might argue but then he waved his pistol at her. ‘Get a move on, then.’

  At her room, she arched her brow at him. ‘Laroche asked not to be disturbed. He’s in an inappropriate state. Know what I mean?’ She winked at him. ‘And he wants you to find me a negligee.’

  ‘I see.’ The guard looked flustered and locked the door behind her, finally leaving her alone.

  Her stomach rumbled as his footsteps became fainter. Pity she hadn’t had more to eat but spies didn’t have the luxury of good timing. She quickly fixed her clothing and hair as she listened at the door. Everything seemed quiet and seizing the moment, she pulled the set of keys out of her pocket and tried them in the lock. The fourth key opened the door with a quiet click.

  She eased her head out. The corridor was empty and slipping out she hurried to the stairwell she’d seen earlier. Groans and ragged calls issued from below. Her breath stuttered and she edged down the worn steps, one by one. The smell of damp and musty earth rose up from the fetid depths below and a subterranean cold swirled around her legs.

  She clamped a hand over her mouth to stifle the smell and turned a corner. A guard sat on a chair, a flintlock pistol across his knees. It was one of the oafs who had grabbed her in the commandant’s office. He raised his gun and aimed it at her chest.

  ‘What the devil are ye doin’ here?’ he challenged. His pistol waved before her eyes and she prayed his finger stayed clear of the trigger.

  She summoned a confident smile. This must be convincing if she were to find Finch.

  ‘Monsieur Laroche has sent me to attend to my husband’s wounds. He doesn’t want him to die like Mr. Mayfield.’

  The guard considered her, his eyes running down over her skirt. ‘Got no orders ’bout this.’

  ‘I know. Monsieur Laroche is unavoidably detained, otherwise he would be here.’

  The man sucked on his teeth, clearly suspicious.

  ‘Please take me to see him,’ she said in a small voice. ‘I’m only allowed ten minutes. Monsieur Laroche will be expecting me back.’

  The guard sniffed and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. ‘Ten minutes, eh? S’pose that can’t do no ’arm.’ He stood up. ‘No funny business now. Walk ahead of me and stop at the third door.’

  She nodded at him, not wanting to push her luck, and walked down the dark tunnel. Candle scones, placed every few yards, threw pools of yellow light on the floor. Elongated shadows danced up the stone walls, and under the light, the stone glistened with damp. Green mold grew in patches and the overriding smell of decay and death hung in the air.

  The third door had heavy iron straps studded with bolts across its width. It creaked as the guard unlocked it and shoved her inside. For one wild moment, she thought time had spiraled backwards.

  Finch stood against the wall, his hands tied to stanchions embedded in the stone. The rope around his wrists had pulled tightly and underneath, his skin was red and swollen. The area around his left eye looked bruised and he hunched a little, as if he’d taken more blows to the stomach. Her heart ached at the sight of him but she moved forward, intent on playing her role.

  ‘My darling,’ she said with a genuine tremble in her voice. ‘How are you?’

  Finch watched her with hooded eyes. Once she would have thought his demeanor showed a lack of interest but after weeks with him, she knew better. He subtly shifted his weight onto the front of his feet and faced her with a neutral expression. ‘I could be better.’

  Her stomach flip-flopped as she stood up on tip-toe and kissed him thoroughly, as a wife would do. His eyes flared under his ragged black hair and he leaned into her and nuzzled her chin. ‘Sophie.’

  It nearly broke her.

  ‘Stand back from the pris’ner,’ the guard ordered.

  She turned with a frown. ‘I can’t treat my husband’s wounds when he’s tied up.’

  The guard sneered. ‘Think I’m dumb? You treat him as he is.’

  This man seemed more experienced than the guard upstairs and would need further persuasion. She closed the distance between them and gave the guard the benefit of her best smile. ‘I understand, truly I do.’ She leaned forward, giving him a good view of her breasts. ‘But as a senior guard you must know that a little something might come your way if you untie him.’

  Out of the corner of her eye she could see a slight curve to Finch’s mouth and felt a small flash of pride. He wasn’t the only one who could act.

  The guard ogled her cleavage, clearly tempted, then regretfully shook his head. ‘Nice, very nice. But it’s more than me job’s worth. The pris’ner stays tied up.’

  Damn. Perhaps it was time for something more drastic. Maybe something a little painful.

  She ran her tongue around her lips and leaned in towards him, using the same line that had been successful with Laroche. ‘Just a kiss, then?’

  The guard looked at her lips and on a smirk, lowered his head. She kneed him in the groin. He doubled over with a groan and came within reach of Finch, who kicked out, landing a cracking blow on the man’s head. The guard went down like a shattered lantern. His pistol flew out of his fingers, and she dived on it and whirled to face him.

  ‘He’s out cold,’ Finch said.

  Just to make sure, she prodded the guard with her boot. When he didn’t move, she pocketed the gun and closed the door.

  ‘Thought you’d never get here,’ Finch said. ‘Although your performance was worth waiting for.’

  He gave her a ragged smile and her thoughts tumbled as she stripped off her shoes. ‘Too bad you didn’t give me lessons in flirtation. I might have got you untied.’

  ‘Remind me to teach you later.’

  She glanced at his bruised face. As usual it bore no trace of his real feelings. Did he mean to teach her as a mentor? Or did he mean …?

  On an inward breath, she pulled off her stockings and tied the guard’s arms tightly around his back. This wasn’t the time to analyze
Finch’s meaning. ‘Stay still while I get your ropes off.’

  A smile curled his mouth.

  ‘What?’ She dug into her boot and pulled out the dinner knife.

  He eyed it with interest. ‘I’m not actually going anywhere in case you haven’t noticed.’

  ‘This is not the time to joke.’

  His smile widened. ‘I apologize,’ he said, not sounding the least bit sorry. ‘You did well.’ Then the light in his eyes dimmed. ‘Did you have a rough time?’

  A smile of satisfaction crossed her mouth. ‘He asked me to dinner in the commandant’s dining room.’

  ‘And?’ A tic had started at the corner of his eye that couldn’t hide the fear.

  ‘The first course didn’t go well. Laroche is out cold, trussed like a chicken with the curtain tie-backs.’

  ‘That’s creative —’ Finch stopped as she attacked his constraints with the knife. ‘I hope that’s sharp.’

  ‘Sharp enough to stab Laroche in the hand.’

  He gave a low chuckle. ‘I’d better not move then.’

  She rolled her eyes and went to work. The knife wasn’t as good as her normal knife. Adrenalin however, gave sharpness to the blade and in a short time the ropes fell from Finch’s hands.

  A red welt circled each wrist and he massaged them.

  ‘Are you in pain?’ She wanted to lean down and kiss the marks away.

  ‘I’ll get by.’ He pocketed the knife. ‘I suppose you have a plan in mind?’ He arched a brow.

  She dug out the keys and held them up. ‘A little prison riot.’

  Finch shook his head with a grin. ‘You’re becoming one hell of a spy.’

  Chapter Seventeen

  Her pulse raced as they divided the keys. They didn’t have much time before the guards would be alerted. They sneaked out of Finch’s cell and opened the others one by one. At first the thirty or so prisoners couldn’t believe they were free but word spread quickly and soon there was a throng of men jostling and pushing along the corridor.

  They joined the fleeing crowd up the stairs. The entire prison was in revolt, the noise deafening as men shouted and swore. When they reached the landing, three guards came running from the back rooms, their muskets raised.

  ‘Keep down,’ Finch urged as they raced for the gaol door.

  Shots rang out. Two prisoners running in front of her fell and she nearly tripped over them. Yanking out the pistol from her pocket, she crouched behind the fallen bodies. Down the hallway another guard frantically reloaded his musket. A third held a white negligee in one hand and a pistol in the other.

  ‘Stop!’ he yelled. Then he fired.

  The ball whistled past her ear and landed in the wall. Undaunted, she fired back. Her round whipped to the left — and smashed into the mounted stag head. The head wobbled and fell — crashing on the guard’s skull. The negligee flew through the air and came to rest on the man who lay crumpled under sixty pounds of deer.

  ‘Good heavens,’ she whispered. ‘Is he dead?’

  Finch nodded with a smirk. ‘I’ve always liked venison.’

  They dashed for the front door as another lead ball ripped into the timber door frame. The guard who’d been reloading his musket had taken aim and splinters of wood rained down on them. Gunpowder filled the air as more prisoners streamed out behind them. In the melee they pelted towards the lane that led to the inn. Over the shouts she heard a brown owl hooting in the night.

  ‘Come on,’ she called to Finch. Swerving to the right, they ran hard behind the church. In the shadows of the tower they stopped and sank into the dark recess of a side door. Wooden boxes, loose stones and market rubbish covered the threshold. It smelled but it would hide them well.

  ‘What are you doing?’ he panted.

  ‘That owl is Eugene.’

  ‘Are you sure?’

  He frowned and she had a moment’s misgiving. The call had sounded like Eugene’s tone but his calls were so life-like she might be mistaken. Yet somehow she knew she wasn’t.

  ‘Yes, I’m sure.’

  Finch huffed out a breath. ‘He should have stayed at the inn.’

  ‘Clearly, he hasn’t.’

  Guards poured out of the prison. Muskets at the ready they charged across the square. Their boots thundered on the cobblestones as they ran into the dark, spreading out in all directions. Shots rang out and men screamed as they were hit. Candlelight flickered in the windows of the tavern and the terraced houses. Dogs barked behind locked doors and two drunken louts jeered where they had fallen.

  ‘Down to the river men,’ one guard called. ‘Check each and every side street. We must stop them before the bridge.’

  The bridge! They’d never be able to leave here if the guards patrolled the only exit point. And how were they going to get back to Eugene? She drew in deep gasps of air, her breathing ragged. The soldiers hadn’t stopped at the church. They’d fanned out down the streets, shooting at fleeing prisoners.

  ‘I don’t know about you but I think we should move,’ Finch murmured. ‘It won’t be long before they’re back.’

  ‘Agreed.’

  Finch inched out of the recess on his stomach and peered around the corner of the tower. ‘There’s still a guard outside the prison.’

  She peered around his shoulder and squinted. ‘Why would they need one now?’

  ‘I don’t know but it makes getting out of the square bloody difficult.’

  The owl hooted again. The sound came from behind her, near the tavern. She touched Finch’s arm. ‘We need a distraction. The guards could come back at any moment and we have to get to Eugene.’

  ‘I know but I’m out of ideas. That guard keeps looking this way.’

  ‘Well, we’ll have to change that.’

  She slithered back into the recess and picked up one of the loose stones.

  ‘Adeline, wait,’ Finch hissed, seeing her wind back her arm. ‘That’s too risky.’

  ‘I think it’s a risk we’ll have to take. We don’t have much time.’

  ‘All right but you’d better aim well. I think we’ll only have one shot at this.’

  She threw the stone hard across the square, away from them. The guard’s head swung towards the noise. ‘Stop. Who goes there?’ He leveled his musket and advanced into the shadows on the far side of the square.

  ‘Come on,’ she whispered, quietly breaking cover.

  Finch followed her, slinking over to the low-roofed tavern and squatting under a side window.

  ‘We can’t stop here,’ he whispered fiercely, under cover of the bawdy noise inside. ‘We’ll be seen.’

  She put a finger to her lip and slipped under the window ledge towards the back of the inn. Deep shadows stretched behind a pile of stacked barrels and, creeping around them, they found Eugene with all their belongings. She gave him a quick hug, relieved to see him.

  ‘Did you like my call?’ Eugene asked softly in delight.

  ‘Very realistic,’ murmured Finch, shooting him a glance of admiration. ‘Had me fooled.’

  ‘But why are you here?’ she added. ‘We told you to wait at the lodging.’

  ‘I got worried.’ His little shoulders slumped. ‘You were gone a long time.’

  ‘I know but it couldn’t be helped.’

  ‘Do you have my knife?’ Finch asked.

  Eugene nodded and dug into his saddle bag, bringing out a wine bladder. ‘I found this behind the barrels. I put my sketchbook and the knife in it to stay dry.’ He pulled out the oily rag that stoppered the neck and withdrew the blade. ‘I looked after it, Finch.’

  ‘I knew you would, lad. Good job.’

  Eugene beamed as Finch picked up their bundles and shoved hers into her arms. She retied it tightly and slung it over her back. They crept to the corner of the inn and scanned the square. A group of soldiers had returned, shouting and knocking on doors, demanding that the townsfolk open up for searches.

  ‘It’s too late to leave the way we came,’ she whispered, her
heart sinking as the guards moved closer. ‘We’ll have to find another way around the square.’

  ‘How?’ Eugene’s gaze latched fearfully on the men hammering on the doors. ‘We’ll get lost in all the streets.’

  ‘You are going to run back to the lodging,’ Finch said. ‘The men don’t know about you and I’m sure the landlady has need of a boy.’

  ‘I’m coming with you,’ Eugene said flatly.

  She exchanged a glance with Finch. The time had come to tell Eugene who they really were. Only she quailed at what he would think.

  ‘Eugene, we couldn’t tell you before but we’re actually English spies and must return to England,’ she said softly. ‘And you belong in France.’

  He stared at them for a heart-stopping moment. ‘I belong to you. Please don’t leave me here.’

  His desperate voice stung her like a hundred bees. She glanced at Finch with beseeching eyes and he looked at her for a long second before he turned back to Eugene, his eyes gentling.

  ‘You’re sure, lad? There’ll be no chance to change your mind.’

  Eugene nodded, his face determined. ‘I’m sure.’

  Finch glanced at her, a smile lurking in his eyes. ‘Looks like we have a permanent assistant.’

  Eugene grinned and tears stung her eyes. In that moment she knew they’d made the right decision. If they made it home, maybe Peregrine would allow Eugene to remain at the Nest. She hoped so with all her heart and blew on her crossed fingers for luck.

  A loud noise came from the front of the inn and they drew back into the shadows of the barrels.

  ‘Have ye any prisoners,’ called a voice. ‘Bring ’em out and no-one gets hurt.’

  The guards. They must have entered the square from the opposite side.

  Finch glanced swiftly behind him at the stone wall that circled the town. ‘If we follow the wall we should get to the bridge.’

  ‘That’s your plan?’ She eyed him in dismay. ‘To get across the bridge?’