A Spy's Devotion by Melanie Dickerson
“Julia, do you think this is my best dress?” Phoebe flung her arms out by her sides in a desperate gesture.
The pale mint green was very becoming to Phoebe’s complexion. “It is a good color for you. You look lovely and glowing.”
“Oh, but do you think I should wear my pink one with the green sash? Or maybe my white one with the seed pearls sewn into the bodice. I want to look perfect.”
“Phoebe, you look very well indeed, believe me. I don’t think you should give your dress another thought. Besides, men don’t pay nearly as much attention to dresses as we ladies do.” Although Mr. Langdon was more observant than other men.
“Julia, you always think I look well.” Phoebe sighed in frustration.
Unable to think of anything to say that Phoebe would believe, Julia turned back to the mirror. Molly had promised to come and arrange Julia’s hair after she finished with Mrs. Wilhern. But if Molly didn’t arrive soon . . .
“Julia, do you think Mr. Langdon will think I’m pretty?”
Julia looked into Phoebe’s eyes, which were at once hopeful and anxiety ridden. They were a blue-gray color with pale lashes framing them, and her hair was fit for a princess. Julia couldn’t help but think Phoebe’s good complexion and high spirits would cause everyone to overlook any trifling faults in her appearance. She was a loyal, sweet girl, and Julia truly wanted her to be happy.
But thinking of Phoebe marrying Nicholas Langdon made Julia’s stomach churn.
“Phoebe, you look lovely, as I said before. Now stop doubting yourself.”
“It isn’t that easy.” Phoebe’s lip and chin trembled as tears brightened her eyes. “You don’t feel things the way I do, Julia. You don’t understand how difficult this is for me.”
Two tears, one from each eye, slid down Phoebe’s face as she turned to leave.
Julia tried to think of something to say, something that was both truthful and calming to Phoebe, but she could not.
The maid took so long to come that Julia began to arrange her hair herself. She gathered it up, one strand at a time, and pinned it in place.
Two days earlier, after searching her uncle’s office, Julia had calmed herself, walked quickly to the park, and found the oak tree with the knothole. She stuffed the copy she had made of the coded message she found in her uncle’s desk into the hole and covered it with the rock and then walked back home without encountering anyone she knew. Perhaps this spying would not be as difficult as she had thought.
“Oh, Miss Julia, forgive me.” Molly rushed into the room and quickly took up a handful of pins. “Mrs. Wilhern kept me so late, even though I reminded her—twice—that you were waiting for me to see to your hair. But your hair is easy. I shall have it looking presentable in no time, but I am afraid you will be late.”
“No matter, Molly.” It was better this way. Julia would not be there when Nicholas Langdon and his sister, Leorah, arrived and therefore would miss any awkwardness—and that stab of embarrassment she always felt for Phoebe when she greeted the object of all her hopes, Mr. Langdon.
Julia pictured how he would look, with his frock coat and top hat and walking stick, as he approached their door. His dark hair would be draped just so across his forehead, his snowy white neckcloth tied according to the latest fashion, and his manner and expression everything a gentleman’s should be.
Why did he have to be so perfect?
Even if he wore a tweed coat and scuffed boots and no neckcloth at all, he’d still have that breathtaking smile, those warm brown eyes.
Oh dear. She was over-romanticizing the man, just like Phoebe. After all, he was putting her in danger, asking her to risk everything to help him spy on her uncle. A gentleman never endangered a lady. Did he think less of her than Phoebe? Is that why he had asked her to spy on Mr. Wilhern instead of asking Phoebe? No, logically Julia was the better choice, as she was only his niece, not his daughter. Besides, she couldn’t imagine Phoebe being able to set aside her emotions long enough to see that England’s future was more important than her own. But that was understandable. Difficult enough to spy on your own uncle and guardian but infinitely more painful to spy on your own father.
Molly yanked one last strand of hair into place. She thrust in the last pin, poking Julia’s scalp.
“Ouch!”
“Forgive me, Miss Julia.” Molly pulled out the offending pin and repinned it. “Do you need help with anything else? I promised Sally I would help her in the kitchen.”
“You may go, Molly. Thank you.”
There was nothing left to do except go down and join the dinner party. Julia took a deep breath, clasping and unclasping her hands. “God, help me not to pay too much attention to Mr. Langdon, and for love and mercy, please let him not pay too much attention to me.”
By the time Julia entered the drawing room, Andrews, the butler, was announcing dinner. Julia waited for her escort into the dining room as the guests were paired two by two. An older Member of Parliament was there, along with Nicholas Langdon and Leorah. Phoebe, of course, was escorted by Mr. Langdon.
Julia’s cheeks heated as Mr. Edgerton approached her. Of course. She should have known her uncle and aunt would invite him to be Julia’s dinner partner.
“Miss Grey.” He held out his arm to her. “You look very lovely tonight.”
She took his arm and allowed him to lead her to her place.
The meal seemed to last forever. She sat beside Leorah, who divided her attention between Julia and Phoebe. Mr. Edgerton sat on Julia’s other side. He was very polite and spoke to her in a more mannerly way than he had in the past. Perhaps he was actually trying to woo her instead of relying solely on her uncle’s domineering influence.
Phoebe was her usual vivacious self. Mr. Langdon seemed to listen to most of her chatter, and Leorah was frequently drawn into Phoebe’s conversation with Mr. Langdon as well. Julia made polite but very formal and reserved replies to Mr. Edgerton’s attempts at conversation.
Halfway through the courses, Julia glanced up, and her gaze was captured by Nicholas Langdon’s keen eyes, compelling her to look back. Just beyond him, at the head of the table, Julia noticed someone watching their exchange—her uncle.
Julia quickly looked down at her place setting and lifted her fork to her mouth with a dainty bite of goose liver. She chewed slowly, staring down at her plate. The goose liver felt like dirt and ashes in her mouth. She swallowed, forcing it down her throat, and then reached for her glass to stop herself from choking.
Had Mr. Langdon found her note? He said he would check the oak-tree hiding place every morning and evening. She only wished he could have told her he found it and what significance it was.
When the ladies withdrew to the drawing room, Phoebe focused her attention on Leorah, talking to her of all the things they might do when she and her brother came to Wilhern Manor at the end of the London Season.
Finally, the men joined them in the drawing room, and Julia purposely avoided making eye contact with Mr. Langdon. Mr. Edgerton sat near her. She smelled the strong drink on him, but she also smelled the mint he had chewed to try to cover it up, and he did not seem as inebriated as he had the last time he had dined with them.
Phoebe turned and scanned the faces of everyone in the room. She had that gleam in her eye as she asked, “Does anyone object to having some music and dancing?”
There were hardly enough people for dancing. Their only guests were Mr. Langdon, Miss Langdon, Mr. Edgerton, and Mr. Waterhouse, the Member of Parliament. But Mr. Waterhouse suddenly stood and said, “I shall play so that the young people can dance.”
“Oh, Mr. Waterhouse, you know how to play? How very kind of you,” said Phoebe.
He made his way to the pianoforte and began to play a lively tune.
Mr. Langdon might have known that Phoebe meant to dance with him. That must be why he asked her to dance right away. A tiny pang stabbed Julia’s chest as she illogically wished he had asked her instead. Now she’d be forced to dan
When Mr. Edgerton asked, “May I have this dance?” Julia did not bother to argue. But she managed to avoid Mr. Edgerton’s touch until the dance started. He clasped her hand in his, which somehow felt warm and moist, even through their gloves.
Mr. Langdon held Phoebe’s hand lightly, a gentlemanly distance between his body and hers.
As they moved around the room to the music, Julia tried not to show her dislike of Mr. Edgerton. When it was over, Julia said, “Do ask Miss Langdon to dance. She is sitting all alone.”
Julia quickly sat down. Happily, Mr. Langdon broke his own rule by standing up again with Phoebe, while Mr. Edgerton danced with Leorah. Now Phoebe could not say that the only person Nicholas Langdon had danced with more than once in one evening was Julia.
For the next dance, Mr. Edgerton asked Julia again, and Mr. Langdon continued to dance with Phoebe, who looked as happy and simpering as Julia had ever seen her. There was no doubt she was enjoying herself and that she felt the significance of Mr. Langdon’s attentions toward her.
Finally, when that dance was over, Mr. Langdon excused himself from Phoebe as Mr. Waterhouse began playing yet another dance tune. He came toward Julia and Mr. Edgerton.
“Pardon me, but I should like to dance this one with Miss Grey, if she is willing.”
Julia was almost afraid to look him in the eye, afraid everyone could see their secret in the way they looked at each other.
But when they faced each other on the floor as the dance was starting, he said in a low voice, “I took your message to our mutual friends. They were very pleased.”
“It was helpful to them?”
“Yes, indeed.”
They started to move through the dance and were no longer able to speak. Julia forced herself to behave exactly as she had with Mr. Edgerton. She kept her expression bland and did not meet his eyes any more than was necessary, but she could feel his gaze on her quite often.
When that song was done, her uncle said to Phoebe, “That is enough dancing. You will wear out our guest, Mr. Waterhouse.”
Phoebe said, “Julia can play for us. You don’t mind, do you, Julia?”
So Julia spent the rest of the night playing, while Mr. Langdon danced the rest of the evening with Phoebe, and Mr. Edgerton danced with Leorah. Mr. Waterhouse conversed with his host, Mr. Wilhern.
When their guests were finally leaving, Mr. Langdon said his farewell to Julia. “Thank you for playing so beautifully for us.” He squeezed her hand as his brown eyes delved into hers. “Good evening, Miss Grey.”
“Good evening, Mr. Langdon.”
But Phoebe grabbed Nicholas Langdon’s arm and drowned out Julia’s farewell as she exclaimed, “Mr. Langdon, do not forget that my father has invited you and Miss Langdon to sit with us in our box at the theatre in three nights. You will be there, will you not?”
Phoebe’s voice trailed off as she walked with him to the door.
Of course, she supposed Mr. Langdon was only paying attention to Phoebe to make sure her father continued to invite him to his home. She should not feel attacked by jealous thoughts of whether Nicholas Langdon actually preferred her to her cousin.
The following day, Julia hoped Mrs. Wilhern would sleep until midmorning and not make an appearance until the afternoon. Mr. Wilhern had left early on a trip to the country and wasn’t expected back for a few days.
Julia made ready to go to the Children’s Aid Mission to speak with Mr. Wilson. With the aid of Providence, neither her aunt nor her uncle, nor even Phoebe, would ever find out. She would leave early, walk down the street and fetch Felicity, take a hackney coach, and be back before anyone knew she was gone.
Her heart beat hard against her chest as she thought about what her aunt and uncle would do if they knew. When she and Felicity had ventured far enough away from her home, she approached a hackney coach and driver and asked him to take her to Bishopsgate Street in London’s East Side.
The driver held the door for them as they climbed inside, and then he closed them in.
“Why are we taking a hackney coach, Julia?” Felicity’s eyes were wide as they sat inside the strange coach.
“Because I’m not supposed to be going to the East Side.”
Felicity stared hard at her in the dim light of the closed vehicle.
“Aunt discovered that I had been going every Tuesday to visit the Bartholdys, and she forbid me to go again. She said it was not a respectable place for her niece to go. But I am not going to the Bartholdys’. I’m going to the Children’s Aid Mission to speak to their director about a place for Sarah. You do not mind going with me, do you?”
“Of course not. My parents are not as fastidious as your aunt.”
She only hoped Mr. Wilson would be in and she could speak with him right away. She shouldn’t even run across Mr. Langdon, since it was an hour earlier than her usual Tuesday run-ins with him. She should be able to talk with Mr. Wilson and depart again in a matter of minutes.
The hired coach smelled of stale smoke and body odor. But dwelling on the possibility of a way to help Sarah made it bearable.
“You are such a good friend to come with me,” she said to Felicity, who squeezed her hand.
The small closed carriage came to a stop. Julia didn’t wait for the driver but opened the door herself and climbed out, just as he was stepping down from his driver’s perch. They were only a hundred feet from the mission.
“Shall I come back for you, miss?” The driver tipped the brim of his hat up. Then he eyed Julia up and down.
“If you could wait for me I’ll only be a few—”
“No, miss.” He shook his head.
Julia handed him his fare for the ride there. “Could you come back in ten minutes?”
“I’ll be back in half an hour.” He nodded as if this was the time she had requested.
Julia frowned, but the man was already hopping nimbly onto his seat and setting the horses in motion again.
They walked briskly toward the narrow alley where she knew she would find the Children’s Aid Mission’s redbrick building. She stepped up to the door and knocked.
A girl of about twelve opened the door. She was wearing an apron and holding a bucket in one hand. “May I help you, miss?”
“Yes, thank you. I am looking for Mr. Wilson. Is he in?”
“Not at the moment, miss.”
Julia’s heart sank. What was she to do now? “Is there someone else I might speak with, someone in charge of the mission?”
“You mean Mr. Wilson. There’s no one else in charge.”
“Do you know when he might return?”
“No, miss. He didn’t tell me.” Her eyes suddenly brightened. “Perhaps you might speak with Mr. Langdon.”
“Good morning, Miss Grey. Miss Mayson.”
Julia spun around. She pressed her hand to her chest in surprise. “Good morning. I wasn’t expecting to see you.”
She was standing so close to him she could see the thickness of his black eyelashes, the warm brown of his eyes, his perfect features, and his squared chin. There was a strange intimacy between them, as if they knew each other’s thoughts.
Was it her imagination or was he leaning toward her? His smile was truly heart-stopping as he focused solely on her. It was almost like looking into the sun—blinding and overwhelming.
Then his eyes clouded a bit as he asked, “May I be of assistance?”
“I came to speak with Mr. Wilson, but apparently he isn’t in.”
“Is it a matter you could discuss with me?”
“Oh no.” Julia had no wish to explain Sarah Peck’s situation to Mr. Langdon. “I am sorry, but I had a question that only Mr. Wilson might be able to answer.”
“I see.”
But it was clear that he did not see. After all, what business could she possibly have with his friend, the poor clergyma
“Please forgive me, but . . .” Julia fought to think how to explain. “I wanted to ask Mr. Wilson about a way to help a friend.”
He gestured toward the door. “Won’t you come inside?”
Julia glanced at the open doorway. The young girl had disappeared. “No, we can’t stay.”
“Can I walk you to the Bartholdys’?”
“We’re not going there today.”
He fixed her with a penetrating gaze.
“Our hired coach won’t be coming for us for almost half an hour,” Felicity reminded Julia.
Julia winced inwardly at the confused look on Nicholas Langdon’s face. But if she could trust him with her life, perhaps she should trust him with Sarah’s secret.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Nicholas couldn’t help staring at her. What strange business was this? Miss Grey was his contact with the Wilherns, risking her life to spy on her own uncle, though there could hardly be any benefit in it for herself. And now she was here, wanting to speak to John Wilson, a man she hardly knew, on behalf of a friend. What could she want with Wilson that she would not want to tell him about?
“Shall we take a walk, then, while you wait for your coach?”
Miss Grey took one of his arms and Miss Mayson took the other. As they walked along the alley toward the wider, cleaner Bishopsgate Street, she suddenly stopped and faced him.
“I have a request to make of you, Mr. Langdon.”
The back of his neck prickled as he saw desperation in her eyes. She blinked and it was gone.
“You may ask anything of me.” The polite words were what any gentleman might say to a lady in such a situation, an almost rote response. But in this case, with this particular lady, he was afraid he meant them.