Читать книгу Too Hot For A Spy - Pearl Wolf - Страница 9

Wilson Academy—Sunday, The Thirtieth of June

When Sir Abercrombie Wilson died without an heir, his will deeded his property to the Crown. This patriotic gift was never used during England’s Napoleonic Wars. But afterwards, when the deed came to his attention, the home secretary maneuvered Parliament into handing it over to the home office and providing funds for the renovation of the property.

Sir Sebastian Brooks, a war hero, sold out to accept the post of chief spymaster, and at once set about converting the mansion into a training center, named Wilson Academy. To the uninitiated, the property appeared to have undergone little change, causing locals no undue alarm. Indeed, none but those in the highest echelons of government knew the real purpose of the academy.

Located near enough to London for ease of communication with the home office, the academy lay hidden within some sixteen hundred acres of land. Havelshire, a small parish surrounded by rolling hills and well-tended tracts of farmland was the village nearest to the academy. And though the townsfolk did not know what took place behind the small forest of trees and high hedges that surrounded it, they were happy to supply its inhabitants with ample mutton and fresh produce. What the farmers were left with was transported to London for sale in the open markets.

St. Michaels Church stood in the center of the modest village, next to the town hall. This building held the constabulary, a rarely used jail and a large assembly hall. Various small commercial enterprises included a tobacconist, a library and The Gray Swan, an inn next to the public stables. The mail coach stopped on its way west to other destinations every day. Havelshire, at its furthest point, ended with a lovely park and a pond, well-used in summer by the local populace.

Sebastian stood peering out of the tall windows, a deep frown on his face. His office, on the first floor to the right of the entryway, faced front. When he heard the sound of horse’s hooves approaching, he removed his watch from his vest pocket to check the time.

The new trainees were returning from their first afternoon riding session punctual. He smiled to himself, knowing how rigorous his stable master, Tom Deff, a former circus rider, taught the lads his tricks. He tried to imagine his newest recruit doing circus tricks on a horse and smiled, yet his eyes remained grim.

Bloody hell. She’ll fall on her arse. Maybe that will force the chit to resign in disgust. With a sigh, he put the delightful thought out of his head and seated himself at his desk to study the reports demanding his attention. Yet thoughts of the new recruit persisted.

Why did Sidmouth humiliate him and force the woman on his operation? Why couldn’t she remain a mere clerk in the home office? What made the home secretary think she could succeed in such a rigorous training program? What reason would a sensible woman have to choose to train as a spy anyway? Heaven only knew.

Olivia was right behind her sister Helena as they proceeded out the side door of Fairchild House. She wished her brat of a brother had had the courtesy to remain at home to witness her triumphant departure. Instead, Edward had elected to ride his curricle in Hyde Park and show off his skill to the young ladies who dangled after him. Almost eighteen, the heir apparent was a handsome lad who favored his dark-skinned mother. Aside from the fortune and the title he stood to inherit, his bold black eyes, his dark hair streaked with the light of the sun and his lively disposition enhanced his popularity.

Olivia was dressed in her new blue silk morning gown, matching pelisse, blue silk shoes and a fetching bonnet that framed her face and allowed her curls to fall just so. She was alive with anticipation as she glanced to the right and noted with approval her two waiting coaches. They were full to the brim with numerous trunks packed with the new wardrobe she’d purchased in a frantic whirl through every fine London shop preferred by the Fairchild women. She and Helena had had a wonderful time shopping, but it had taken every bit of their time after she’d learned of her acceptance into the spy training academy.

“I’m more than ready, Helena. According to my last letter, a messenger will deliver directions to the secret location. He should be here at any moment.” She squeezed her sister’s hand as they watched the footmen secure the last of her trunks on top of the second carriage holding all her new belongings.

The clatter of horses’ hooves caught her attention. Startled, she glanced quizzically at Helena.

“A carriage appears to be approaching, Livy.”

Olivia’s stomach lurched. “Are you expecting someone, perhaps?”

“No, dear. It must be your messenger.”

The coach drew abreast of them and the driver swung down from his perch. He removed his hat and said, “Beggin’ pardon, miladys. Which one of you is Lady Olivia Fairchild, if you please?”

“What business have you with her ladyship, my good man?” demanded Helena.

“I’ve been sent to fetch her, milady.”

“How thoughtful, Helena. They’ve sent an escort for me,” said Olivia, pleased.

The driver blushed. His hands twisted the brim of his tri-corner hat. “As to that, milady, I’m to bring you.” He glanced at the other woman. “Alone.”

“No need, my good man. My abigail and I shall follow you in my carriage. The other one holds my personal effects, you see.”

The blush deepened to scarlet. “Sorry, milady. I’ve strict orders to fetch you in this here coach. You are to bring only one portmanteau. You won’t be needin’ more.”

Olivia’s eyes widened in astonishment. “Only one portmanteau? Impossible.” She waved toward her coaches. “I cannot travel with less than…”

“Livy,” Helena said, and shook her head as if to say, “not in front of the driver.” She took her sister’s hand and led her out of earshot.

“I cannot fit everything I need into one trunk. Impossible! There must be some mistake. I’m going to find out who issued such a ridiculous order and let him have a piece of my mind. It cannot be the home secretary, can it? No, not him. He’s too much of a gentleman.”

When Olivia took a breath, her sister found the opportunity to reply. In a firm tone, she warned, “Now, Livy. Think for a moment. You are not on your way to visit friends in the country in order to dance at balls and have picnics. You are going to be trained for clandestine service. If that is what you’ve always wanted, why fuss over your wardrobe?”

“It is what I want. You know very well it is. But all my new gowns and my riding habits and my shoes and my bonnets and my pelisses and my reticules and my abigail…”

Helena clasped both Olivia’s hands in hers. “If this opportunity is indeed what you want, you must do your duty and obey orders without question. Unless, of course, you wish to change your mind and stay here?”

Olivia thought a moment, as if struggling with her conscience. “No. I won’t give up, Helena. I’ve dreamed of this for too long. You can be sure I’m equal to whatever awaits me.” She tried to sound brave, yet the fall of her shoulders betrayed her. “All right. One portmanteau it is.” She beckoned to her abigail, who hurried to her side.

“Have the footmen remove the largest portmanteau from the second coach, and fit as many of my things into it as you can.”

“There’s my brave girl,” her sister said as they returned to the driver sent to fetch her.

But his eyes were on the two footmen removing the large trunk. He shook his head. “Too big, yer la’ship. Ye’re allowed only a small portmanteau. It’s me orders, you see.”

“A small…?” She glared at him.

He raised both hands in a helpless gesture and whined, “It’s me orders.”

“Livy,” her sister warned in a low voice.

“Oh, for heaven’s sake! All right! Put the large sac back and bring me my travel portmanteau,” she called to the footmen. To her abigail she added, “Have the men return the rest of my trunks to my chambers, but don’t unpack just yet. I’m sure there must be some mistake. I’ll send for you and for the rest of my baggage just as soon as I clear up this misunderstanding.”

The sisters watched in silence as the two footmen removed her portmanteau from the first carriage and handed it to the driver, who secured it to the back of his cab.

While they waited, Helena said, “Now that you’ve decided to accept the challenge of this new position, you must promise me two things, Livy.”

“What is it you wish me to promise, dearest?”

“For one, promise me you will obey orders without question.”

Her eyes flew open in surprise. “Why wouldn’t I obey orders?”

Helena laughed. “You do have a tendency to see things differently, dear sister. Don’t try to substitute your interpretation of an order to suit yourself.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Helena. I would never do such a thing. And what is the other promise, may I ask?”

“Don’t be angry with me, Livy. The other is that you never give up, no matter how hard the task set before you.”

Olivia hugged her sister. “I promise I won’t let you down, you goose. How can I when you know I mean to be the first successful woman spy in the world?” She turned to observe the waiting driver who had already let down the steps. “Goodbye, Helena. I’ll miss you. Wish me well.” She kissed her sister on both cheeks and entered the carriage, but before the driver shut the door, she added, “I’ve left two notes, dear. One for father and one for mother. Will you see to their delivery?”

Upon hearing this, the driver shook his head. “No correspondence allowed yer la’ship. I’ll have them, if you please.”

“You exceed your authority, sir! I’ll not give them up.”

“Me orders are to leave you here, then.”

Her sister glanced from one to the other and turned to a footman. “Bring me the letters Lady Olivia left on the mail table.”

“Helena!”

“Remember your promise, Livy. Besides, it’s such an insignificant detail.”

Olivia sat back in her seat, folded her arms and fumed.

As soon as the letters were handed to the driver, he shut the coach door, nodded a curt farewell to the other woman and climbed up to his seat.

Olivia sat back in the luxurious coach, trying to calm her nerves. It didn’t take her long. In spite of her annoyance at the driver’s orders, she was on her way to becoming the first woman spy in the history of England. Perhaps in the entire world.

Two lamps within the carriage glowed well enough for her to take in her surroundings. She noted with approval the elegant black velvet curtains covering all the windows, yet she was eager to discover where he was taking her. She pushed the curtain nearest her aside, only to find that she could not see out the window, though it was still daylight. She removed one glove and scratched the glass with a long, well-cared-for fingernail, but nothing happened. The panes had been painted black on the outside.

Indignation stirred her sense of injustice and she banged on the ceiling of the carriage with her parasol. She banged. And she banged. And she banged. There was no response from her driver, though she felt the carriage speeding along at a brisk pace. She tried the door handle. It was locked from the outside. The truth dawned on her at last. She was not meant to know where she was being transported.

A delicious shiver ran through her. How thrilling. She recalled her solemn promise to her sister and closed her eyes. My rendezvous with destiny. Olivia laughed out loud. She had no doubt that she would learn to be a fantastic woman spy. She fell asleep with dreams of glory dancing in her head.

Olivia woke with a start when the carriage jolted to a halt. She rubbed her eyes, eager for a glimpse of her new home, at least for the next twelve weeks. There was no mirror inside the carriage. Unfortunate. She patted her hair as best she could and placed her fashionable bonnet, its colorful ribbons streaming down, on her head.

Would there be a large welcoming committee? Perhaps Viscount Sidmouth himself would be in attendance. She conjured up a vision of the staff lining the driveway very like the duke’s servants did when the family went to Heatham for the summer. Would the eager onlookers cheer resoundingly and applaud her courage at this truly historic moment? Perhaps an orchestra would play “God Save the King” as soon as she stepped down. Olivia smoothed her wrinkled blue gown and straightened her matching pelisse. She pinched her cheeks for color as she waited on the edge of her seat for the carriage door to open.

Sebastian could not focus on the words in reports sent by operatives in the field. He had to read them again and again before he managed to grasp their meaning. He went over the list of requested supplies from the quartermaster. He read the detailed reports on each of the new recruits. He reread the note Mrs. Hunnicut, the housekeeper, had left for him. She respectfully requested additional staff as well as more funds for household supplies. He initialed each report, wrote notes on some, approved the quartermaster’s requests, as well as Mrs. Hunnicut’s plea.

After the war, when Sebastian had sold out and agreed to take the post of spymaster—his official title was under secretary of security—it seemed to him to be a prestigious position full of promise. He could sink his teeth into such a grand assignment, he thought at the time. Too late he learned that his new post amounted to nothing more than being a mere drudge who trained spies for government service.

He was chained to his desk most days, doing the work any competent clerk might accomplish just as easily. It made him feel useless in spite of the fact that he was required to confer with numerous under secretaries whenever the whim took the home secretary. He still smarted over being told by that gentleman that no one was indispensable.

Why hadn’t he had the good sense to refuse the position when it was offered? He should have remained in the army where he’d been content. His poor decision cost him sleepless nights, not to mention endless hours of boredom.

Today he could not focus on anything but this latest humiliation. How on earth was he to tolerate a woman in the program? He knew only too well that she was likely to be a silly slip of a girl who valued nothing more than her own good looks. The very thought of an empty-headed, frivolous woman made his stomach turn. Bitterly, he recalled his futile conversation with Sidmouth. Nothing moved the stubborn old man. Nothing.

At the sound of Denville’s voice, he raised his eyes.

“Sir?”

“What is it, Hugh?”

“The coach has arrived. Would you like to greet the new trainee?”

“No. Send for Mrs. Hunnicut. She knows what she must do.” He rose from his desk and watched from behind the drape at his window. Welcome to Wilson Academy, Fairchild. Life as you know it is over. You are in for a big surprise.

Martha Hunnicut, a woman in her fiftieth year, hurried to greet the new trainee. She stopped a moment to examine her starched white cap under which wisps of gray hair escaped, her gray eyes scrutinizing her appearance. Satisfied that all was in order, the tall, thin woman stepped through the front door held open for her by a footman.

She clasped her hands in front of her and said in a kind voice, “Welcome to Wilson Academy, Fairchild.”

Olivia looked around at the empty driveway, disappointment etched on her face. “Where is everybody?”

The housekeeper chose to ignore the question. “I’m Mrs. Hunnicut, the housekeeper. Follow me, please. I’ll show you to your room.” She nodded to the footman who untied Olivia’s portmanteau. “Take your portmanteau along with you.”

Olivia swallowed her disappointment. Greeted only by the housekeeper? How boorish. At the very least, the chief spymaster should have been here to welcome his new female spy.

“To your right is the formal dining room,” Mrs. Hunnicut pointed out as they proceeded. “To your left is the library. You will learn your way soon enough, I’m sure.”

The newest trainee followed Mrs. Hunnicut up the grand staircase directly ahead of them to the second floor. But there the wide staircase ended. “Is this the floor where my chambers are located?”

“No, my dear.” She offered no further explanation and proceeded to the end of the hall where a narrow staircase led up to the next floor. Olivia trailed behind.

At the top of yet another floor, Olivia paused, breathing hard. “Here?”

“Not yet, Fairchild.” The housekeeper led her all the way to the farthest end of the hall, through an opening and up a final narrow staircase, easily maintaining her brisk pace.

“Here is your room.” She opened the door to a room smaller than Olivia’s closet in London.

Olivia’s heart sank into her toes. “Is this not the attic?”

“It is.”

“There must be some mistake. Or perhaps this is a jest, meant to test my mettle?”

The housekeeper said, “No, Fairchild. This will be your room during your entire stay.”

“I am meant to live in this tiny room with no mirror? There is nothing but a cot, a washstand, a writing desk and a chair. Impossible! Where are my bathing quarters? Where is my clothing closet?”

“Use the hooks on the wall behind the door for the clothing you brought with you. You won’t need them while you’re here, since the academy provides appropriate attire for all the trainees.”

“But…”

“You shall have an opportunity to take up all your questions with the spymaster this evening. He has invited you to dine with him at six.” The older woman spoke in an awed tone, implying that such an honor was an extraordinary event.

“I’ll leave you to unpack your things and rest a bit. An under maid will call for you five minutes before six to show you the way to his private dining room. Please be prompt, Fairchild. The spymaster does not like to be kept waiting.”

“There’s no hot water in this washbowl. Will a maid bring me some?”

“That’s not our way at the academy. If you want hot water, you will have to fetch it yourself from the well outside the kitchen, which is in the basement. You may heat it if it doesn’t interfere with the chef.”

Olivia’s eyes opened wide as she pleaded, “Wait, Mrs. Hunnicut.”

“Yes?”

“What is this roll of…things on my cot?”

“The roll contains your bedding and your training clothes. Forgive me, but I have pressing duties to attend to. All will be made clear to you in due time. For now, make up your cot and have a bit of a rest before your dinner this evening.”

When the door shut behind the housekeeper, Olivia bit back tears of frustration. Bloody hell! What have I gotten myself into? Our under maids at Fairchild Manor live in quarters far better than this! Fetch my own wash water? I’d as soon go unwashed.

But she thought better of this and grabbed the pitcher. She trudged down four flights to the kitchen. No one paid any attention to her as she found the door to the outside at the far end of the galley. She placed the pitcher on the uneven ground under the pump. Exerting all her strength, she began to pump, but this produced no results at first. After several tries and without any warning, the water gushed out with such force, it tipped the pitcher over and soaked the hem of her gown. It took several attempts to fill the pitcher before she got the hang of it. By the time she reentered the kitchen, the staff was busy preparing dinner and all the fireplace hooks were too full for her to heat the water.

Back in her room, she took off her sodden gown and hung it on a hook, unrolled the thin mattress, lay down, curled up in a ball and sobbed her heart out.

“You!” Olivia blurted when she entered the dining room on the dot of six. She found herself facing the man who had tried to seduce her—and had very nearly succeeded—at the Hobbleton Ball.

Sebastian looked grim. “Sir, Fairchild. The trainees are instructed to address me as ‘Sir.’ You will do the same.”

“Lady Fairchild to you, sir.”

“Here you shall be known as Fairchild. All trainees are addressed thus and we make no distinctions.” He took his seat at the head of the table and nodded toward a seat at the opposite end.

He seats himself before he seats a lady in his presence? Man has no manners. She marched to her seat, took it and folded her arms in a gesture of defiance.

“We’ll dine first, after which you may speak.” They ate in silence, though Olivia was bursting with a myriad of questions.

At the end of the meal, Sebastian waited for the servants to withdraw. He raised an eyebrow and said, “Well?”

“Well what, sir?”

“This shall be your only opportunity to voice your complaints. You will not be given another.”

“Which complaint, sir, would you like me to address first, sir? How do I like my quarters, sir? How did I enjoy the warm welcome I received, sir? How did I feel about leaving my wardrobe and my abigail at home, sir? How did I like lugging my own icy cold wash water up four flights of stairs to my tiny cell, sir? How did I like my cot, which I was forced to make up on my own, sir?” She sat back, her eyes blazing.

Sebastian sipped his wine, put the goblet down, wiped his mouth and asked, “What did you do to come to the attention of the home secretary? He was most impressed with your credentials. Kindly furnish me with them.”

“I was employed in the home office, sir.”

“And what work did you do there, may I ask?”

“I handled sensitive materials.”

A light dawned in Sebastian’s mind. Of course! This was the clerk he knocked down when he left Sidmouth’s office in a blind temper that day. Does she know it? He thought not. His lips twitched when he recalled his glimpse of her derriere. But he didn’t let on.

“You were a file clerk, then. You may not find the rigors of Wilson Academy to your liking, Fairchild. If that proves to be the case, inform me and I will arrange to have you escorted home at once.”

Don’t celebrate my departure too soon, spymaster. I’m not a quitter. And you, sir, are far too eager to be rid of me! Defiance bubbled up within her. She raised her chin and said, “I am up to the challenge, sir. Have you no more answers to my questions, sir?”

Sebastian shrugged, thinking it a great pity he couldn’t take this sassy bit of skirt in his arms and make love to her once more. Too bad. She had such delicious breasts. The thought roused an involuntary response. He hoped he could rise from his chair without embarrassing himself. “You insult me with your foolish questions, and since they amount to nothing more than mere petty grievances, I have no intention of responding.”

“Then why have you invited me to dine? Sir?” The word took on the color of an insult.

“I did so in order to outline our rules. For one, there is no favoritism shown here. For another, the high standards our instructors set for you will be no different from the ones they set for all trainees. We run a tight, efficient operation here, Fairchild. If you cannot keep up, you will be dismissed. Is that clear?”

“Perfectly.”

“Perfectly, sir.” Sebastian said. “Forgetting to address me or your instructors as ‘sir’ is a serious offense and will earn you a penalty.” He could not fail to see the fire in her eyes. “Though you may find it difficult, Fairchild, your most pressing task is to learn to obey orders. Do you understand me?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good. Breakfast is served at half past four, calisthenics begin promptly at five. Wear the regulation training clothes we have provided.”

“Do you mean half past four in the morning, sir?” That last word constricted her throat.

He had already risen from his seat. Pleased that his erection had subsided, he allowed himself a smirk. “Pleasure to meet you once again, Fairchild.” He reached the door, and added, “Don’t oversleep. If you miss breakfast, you won’t be fed again until lunch is served at half past noon.”

Olivia remained at the dining room table after the spymaster left, lost in the misery of her thoughts. This was not turning out as well as she had hoped. She hadn’t touched any of her wine during dinner. Now she reached for it, removed the stopper and guzzled it directly from the decanter. She rose un-steadily and trudged up to her room, disheartened, dispirited, disillusioned.

Her eye caught an unfamiliar sheet of paper on her desk that hadn’t been there before dinner. She picked it up. Tomorrow’s schedule. It read:

She shivered. Could she do all these things? All in one day? She had to. She couldn’t fail. She wouldn’t fail.

She sat on the chair at her desk and slowly pulled the pins from her hair, allowing her lengthy tresses to fall in confusion. She’d never combed her own hair before when she’d gotten ready for bed, but she took up the brush and gamely tried to untangle the knots, wincing at each pull.

Bloody hell! I’ll brush it in the morning. She put the brush down and began to rise when a vision of her sister Helena floated before her eyes.

Don’t fail me, Livy. Pick up that brush and finish the task or you will have the devil of a time untangling the jumble in the morning. She heard the words in her mind, as clear as if her sister had spoken them aloud. Olivia picked up the brush once again and counted the strokes. One. Two. Three…

When she reached twenty-five, the strength in her arms failed her. She braided it as best she could to prevent morning tangles, tied it with a ribbon plucked from her bonnet, rose from her chair and turned to the cot. Her body yearned to drop down without another thought. Again, Helena clouded her vision and shook her head from side to side.

An exhausted Olivia sighed, unfolded the sheet and tucked it around the thin, lumpy mattress as best as she could manage. She stuffed the pillow into its case, wrapped the thin blanket around her shoulders and lay down on the cot. Seconds later, she fell into an exhausted sleep.