Chapter Eleven
Adam hadn’t meant to spy – and the irony of the observation was not lost on him.
None of it had been deliberate. It was just that he happened to spot Olivia and the solicitor entering the park, just as he had left the tavern. It had been idle curiosity, that’s all.
And besides, the three of them were heading in vaguely the same direction. Olivia and Fitzgerald appeared to be in earnest conversation. Adam might even have abandoned his watch over them if not for the distinct impression that Olivia was about to faint.
Even from the distance of thirty yards, he could see the color leach from her face and the heavy way she sat down on the park bench. He’d got no further than ten paces closer when he witnessed Fitzgerald pick up her hand and kiss it.
It turned his stomach. Adam turned on his heel.
He’d headed smartly in the opposite direction and spent the rest of the afternoon pondering his visceral reaction to the scene, and the answer made him laugh out loud when it came to him.
He was jealous…proprietorial even. All because he saw a woman he had kissed fervently just a few days ago being kissed on the hand by another man. It was plainly absurd, especially considering the things he’d seen over the years in the ports of South America, but that’s what it felt like in the bottom of his gut.
He returned to the coaching house for the five o’clock coach in time to see Fitzgerald helping Olivia up into the carriage.
The fine afternoon had tempted other visitors into town and they were now going back to their homes, so the return coach was full. It ruled out the opportunity for further conversation with Olivia.
Adam acknowledged the solicitor with a nod of his head as he, too, embarked, the last to climb on board.
Olivia sat diagonally opposite by the door on the far side of the coach. She was looking out of the window on that side and did not see him get on. An elderly couple sat beside her, the husband seated opposite Adam. Next to him were two children, a boy and a girl aged about nine, squeezed in the middle, with their rather harried-looking mother sitting opposite Olivia.
When the coach started to move, Adam glanced out of his window. Fitzgerald remained there on the curb and offered a tentative wave. Not to him, he was sure.
Adam glanced back into the coach and could see Olivia’s attention remained fixed out of the opposite window. She had missed Fitzgerald’s farewell entirely. In profile, she looked pensive. Perhaps what Adam had witnessed was a lovers’ spat, not an assignation.
He closed his eyes. He was a fool for allowing himself to become distracted. And fools get themselves killed, even under the most benign circumstances. No, his mission was clear.
Adam had a meeting in two days’ time in Falmouth with Major Wilkinson and his Society. If he was being observed by a third party in the interim, he hoped they’d all die of boredom.
He settled a plain-wrapped package, the size of a large book, on his lap. He’d been given it by Bassett and told to open it in private when he returned to Ponsnowyth. No amount of good-natured pressing would force the man to reveal its contents.
The journey home was slower than the one on the way out, this time having disembarking passengers and their baggage at every stop. Eventually, it was only he and Olivia alone in the coach, a mile out of Ponsnowyth.
For the first time since departing Truro, she abandoned her vigil at the window. Adam feigned interest in the view from the window on his side, but watched her misty reflection in the glass as she straightened in the seat. She glanced his way. He wondered if she would speak to him.
After a moment, Adam stretched his arms above his head until his hands touched the carriage roof.
“A profitable day in town?”
Olivia’s eyes widened. Adam nodded to the parcels on her lap.
“Oh…yes.” She shook her head. “It was a very interesting day. I’m pleased the rain cleared.”
“So, we’re back to just talking about the weather?”
He watched her begin to pull her face into a glare before she regathered her temper.
“I am open to any other suitable subjects for discussion. The food at the White Hart is excellent. I can highly recommend it.”
“That’s good to know.”
“I see you did not leave Truro empty handed.”
Adam regarded the package from Bassett now on the empty seat beside him.
“It arrived today; a gift from Aunt Runella.”
“You never mentioned an aunt this morning.”
That was because Aunt Runella didn’t exist. That was the code name for Sir Daniel Ridgeway. Adam had burst out laughing when he learned it, but Ridgeway had not.
“I don’t recall giving an exact accounting of my family tree, either,” he told Olivia. “Aunt Runella, if you must know, is a maiden aunt who never married because she was a woman with a face like a boxer and possessed of a sour disposition. Somehow, I became a favorite of hers.”
That was enough to satiate his companion’s curiosity on the subject.
“Look, I know it’s not the White Hart, but would you consider dining with me at the Angler’s Arms this evening and do me the honor of allowing me to escort you home afterwards?”
Olivia visibly relaxed. The tension in her bearing ever since they left Truro disappeared and, indeed, if he was not mistaken, there was a renewed sparkle in her eye.
“I was already planning to take a meal there so I suppose it would be no hardship to share a table with you,” she said with the barest hint of a smile, and Adam relaxed, too.
The sun cast long slanted rays of golden lights across the fields and through the cluster of buildings that made up the village of Ponsnowyth. He assisted Olivia down from the coach and accepted a squeeze of his hand. He even managed get a proper smile out of her as she entered the inn.
“There you are, you old salt! I’ve been waiting hours for you!”
Adam turned to see Harold Bickmore approach. He shook his friend’s hand with vigor.
“Good to see you. I thought the Andromeda had put out to sea days ago!”
“Not until next week – so they’ve extended furlough for another few days.”
“That’s unusual, isn’t it?”
“Word among the executive officers is that we’re to await special orders.”
Adam raised his eyebrows, silently inviting further elucidation.
Harold grinned. “I’d be shot if I revealed the Navy’s secrets to a civilian.”
Adam slapped his shoulder and urged, “Perhaps a few drinks will loosen your tongue.”
“Let’s put it to the test, eh? I’ll tell you what I know if you tell me what you know?”
Adam squeezed the parcel in his hand reflexively.
“Know about what?” he asked, keeping his voice jovial.
“First of all about that lovely young lady I saw you with.”
Adam grinned and led the way toward the inn. “A gentleman never tells.”
“Ah! You never were an officer and a gentleman.”
Once, the dig would have bothered him greatly. Perhaps, it still should, but he couldn’t muster the energy for it. His lack of reaction hadn’t gone unnoticed. Harold regarded him with a puzzled expression for a brief moment.
“For that insult,” said Adam firmly, “you’re buying drinks.”
He excused himself to go upstairs. After closing and locking the door, Adam carefully unwrapped the parcel. A slim volume sat on top of a box that was wrapped in a cloth.
Adam set that aside to open the box. He let out a low whistle.
The box contained two pistols and their accoutrements – powder flask, flints, a cleaning fluid tin, reamer, and a bullet mold. The ram and the screwdriver handle were made of ivory, as was the stopper on the wooden powder flask which had been nicely carved into the head of a hunting dog.
He pulled out one of the pistols. It was not some elaborately decorated piece. It was made for business. He thumbed back the hammer to cock it. The action was firm. He pulled the hammer back further to release it and eased it back into place slowly to prevent damage to the flint.
Adam ran his fingers over the engraved steel on either side of the action. Then he held the pistol up, sighting along it. The weapon was excellent, the epitome of the gunsmith’s art. He turned it around and looked down the barrel, observed the rifling inside the bore.
Deadly but accurate; designed to wound more than the pride of a duelist. He understood immediately the message implicit in Aunt Runella’s gift. He set the pistol back into the fitted case with its companion. While he considered where to store his prize, he examined the small booklet.
It contained two sets of semaphore signals – one in English, the other in French – helpfully translated since Adam’s command of the language was limited to ordering food and swearing. Of the two gifts from “Aunt Runella,” the code book was the more valuable.
He would need more time to study it. He’d prefer to master the signals from memory rather than having to rely on keeping the book on him.
For now, he stowed the pistol box beneath his bed. He looked around the room for a place for the code book. Constance’s writing box leapt out at him. He opened it and pulled out the drawers, knowing there was space available behind them. He inserted the book and returned the drawers, pleased to see them sitting flush.
He fashioned a primitive key from a small piece of wire in his kit and worked the writing box’s simple lock until the bolt slid home. It was a skill his father had taught him. People were always happy to part with a shilling or two for the trouble of unlocking an object rather than breaking it open.
Adam slid the writing box, lock-side to the back, into the base of the wardrobe. With its plain back, it looked like a part of the wardrobe itself and, with a pair of dress boots in front of it, it disappeared altogether.
When he returned downstairs, he found Harold at a table with Polly and Olivia. The two women were listening to him intently, then they burst out laughing.
Olivia threw her head back, a grin on her face. He caught a flash of white teeth and the pale column of her neck, and his breath caught.
She was beautiful. Too bad she belonged to someone else.
*
Olivia laughed at Lieutenant Bickmore’s humorous tale of a slight misadventure aboard the Andromeda involving him and Adam Hardacre. Then she spied Hardacre himself at the bottom of the stairs and their eyes met.
For some reason, she could not look away.
He’s a good man. The best never to have been promoted to officer.
Bickmore’s bitterly delivered words had surprised her at first. It was clear that the young lieutenant admired his older but subordinate shipmate.
Still, Adam drew no closer, so she smiled at him, hoping that would be invitation enough to join them. She got the impression he was a solitary soul, used to being on his own, even when surrounded by hundreds of people. She could identify with that – although not all of it was by choice.
Harold shifted in his seat.
“Ah, there he is!” the lieutenant announced. “You were gone so long, I thought you were making yourself pretty for the ladies here!”
Polly giggled and blushed as if she were a debutant and not a married woman approaching her fifth decade. Adam didn’t seem to take offense at his friend’s ribbing.
The innkeeper’s wife rose from the table, and gestured Adam to take her seat. Bickmore rose also, his perfect manners second nature.
“It’s time for me to get back to the kitchen and finish makin’ tonight’s meal before the hordes come in. Stargazy pie it is tonight,” she said.
“I remember the first time I saw a Stargazy pie,” said Olivia. “I couldn’t stop staring at the pilchard heads poking out of the crust. I thought their beady eyes were reproving me every time I cut a slice.”
“So how did you overcome your fear?” Adam jumped in before Harold could make a remark. As much as he liked his friend, he did have a habit of monopolizing the attention of attractive women.
Not this time.
“I was hungry,” she said dryly. “And once I’d tasted it, I decided that, dead-eyed stare or not, no pilchard was going to come between me and a hearty meal.”
She hesitated a moment, suddenly unsure of what to say next. She glanced to Lieutenant Bickmore. “The lieutenant here was kind enough to keep me and Polly entertained with stories of life aboard your ship.”
The two men exchanged a look. After a second, Adam responded. “Don’t believe half of them, and that half you do intend to believe will be full of exaggeration, no doubt.”
Harold laughed. That was one of the things Olivia liked about the lieutenant. He seemed to be as happy being the butt of jokes as much as he was prepared to have a tease of others.
She rose from the table. Adam and Harold did likewise.
“Forgive me, gentlemen, while I rest and repair for an hour before dinner. It’s been quite a long day. Are you staying for dinner, lieutenant?”
“If I won’t be too much of an imposition.”
Adam gave an exaggerated roll of his eyes and folded his arms.
“You’re always an imposition, you pup, but I put up with you anyway,” he said, but leavened the words with a grin of his own.
*
Adam watched Olivia leave. He couldn’t help but like her even more after seeing her reaction to how he and Harold behaved together. Olivia had brothers, so that could be the reason she was at ease with their banter. In his experience, few women appreciated the push and shove of male relationships.
Of course they were rough with one another. Onboard ship, their very lives depended on it. A man needed to be tough. He needed to know his weaknesses and overcome them – and sometimes it took another man to reveal them to him.
“Shall we take a stroll?” suggested Harold, interrupting his reflections.
There was something in the simple words that suggested something more than just a pre-dinner constitutional.
Outside, the sun had dipped down behind the trees and hills, giving the sky a lilac hue. Lavender-colored shadows cast before them.
He let Harold set the pace, a slow unhurried amble past the mudflats on which small fishing boats were beached until the rising tide made them usable once more. Adam had felt like that for some years – able but marooned. It had fueled his resentment, and more than once had him butting heads with his commander.
Now he had purpose.
“So what has you in the mopes?” he asked his friend.
Harold’s shoulders straightened, but he didn’t answer.
“Go on, you tuss, spit it out.”
“I’m thinking of resigning my commission.”
Adam accepted the declaration with a mere raise of his eyebrow. They carried on walking in silence a few more yards. Harold wanted to talk, but he didn’t want to talk.
“Why would you want to do that?”
More silence. Adam stifled his impatience and waited.
“It’s not just me, you know,” Harold said after a while. “And it’s not just the lower ranks either. You have a lot of friends on the Andromeda still. You’d be welcomed back, you know.”
“But only as a bosun.”
Harold shrugged, and Adam continued the struggle to keep his patience. But it was wearing thin.
“I can’t be that much beloved,” Adam offered, “otherwise Captain Sinclair would have sent to see me – and he hasn’t.”
More yards fell behind them in silence. Their shadows disappeared as the sky deepened to an inky blue.
“Sometimes I wonder whether it’s all worth it, you know.” Harold continued to speak his thoughts aloud. “Whether England should just leave Europe well enough alone, and then again I think of England and her empire. That’s something to be proud of.”
Harold stopped at a crossroads. He propped himself up on a stile in a roadside fence.
“Look, I’ll tell you the real reason I came here tonight. I need your advice.”
Ah-ha! That was beginning to make more sense, Adam thought.
“I’ve been approached by some kind of correspondence society.”
Adam felt a chill that had nothing to do with the approaching night. “Really? Who?”
“They call themselves The Society for Public Reform.”