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Spy Another Day
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Spy Another Day
(The King’s Rogues Book 3)
by Elizabeth Ellen Carter
© Copyright 2020 by Elizabeth Ellen Carter
Text by Elizabeth Ellen Carter
Cover by Wicked Smart Designs
Dragonblade Publishing, Inc. is an imprint of Kathryn Le Veque Novels, Inc.
P.O. Box 7968
La Verne CA 91750
Produced in the United States of America
First Edition February 2020
Kindle Edition
Reproduction of any kind except where it pertains to short quotes in relation to advertising or promotion is strictly prohibited.
All Rights Reserved.
The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.
License Notes:
This eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This eBook, once purchased, may not be re-sold. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it or borrow it, or it was not purchased for you and given as a gift for your use only, then please return it and purchase your own copy. If this book was purchased on an unauthorized platform, then it is a pirated and/or unauthorized copy and violators will be prosecuted to the full extent of the law. Do not purchase or accept pirated copies. Thank you for respecting the author’s hard work. For subsidiary rights, contact Dragonblade Publishing, Inc.
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Additional Dragonblade books by Author Elizabeth Ellen Carter
Heart of the Corsairs Series
Captive of the Corsairs
Revenge of the Corsairs
Shadow of the Corsairs
King’s Rogues Series
Live and Let Spy
Spyfall
Spy Another Day
Father’s Day (A Novella)
Also from Elizabeth Ellen Carter
Dark Heart
*** Please visit Dragonblade’s website for a full list of books and authors. Sign up for Dragonblade’s blog for sneak peeks, interviews, and more: ***
www.dragonbladepublishing.com
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Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
Publisher’s Note
Additional Dragonblade books by Author Elizabeth Ellen Carter
Acknowledgement
Author’s Note
Epigraph
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
Chapter Thirty-Three
Chapter Thirty-Four
Epilogue
About the Author
Acknowledgement
Thank you always to my beloved husband, Duncan, who is always happy to discuss the intricacies of character developments and to help me untangle plot knots. Thank you to Scott Moreland, the world’s best editor (even he says so) and Kathryn Le Veque, the world’s best publisher (who doesn’t say so, but is). And to Shawn and Kris for keeping me on track.
Author’s Note
On long road trips, my husband and I play a game – the alternative view of history.
In this game, we pick a pivotal moment and unpack how the future of the world might change as a result.
What if the South had won the American Civil War? How would that have affected the mills of Manchester, the expansion of the British Empire, and the growing of cotton in Australia?
What if Edward VIII had not abdicated? How would that have influenced the British response to Hitler’s expansion across Europe?
That brings me to The King’s Rogues.
The series started after coming across the fact that Napoleon actually did canvas the idea of an airborne invasion of England by hot air balloon. There were real attempts at such an incursion, the belief being that once a small detachment of troops landed, the citizenry would rise up and overthrow the monarchy and the government.
Funded by the Louisiana Purchase, Napoleon could throw money at any scheme to conquer England. And by all accounts, he did. There is an amazing etching of a three-windmill powered paddle wheeler said to be able to carry thousands of troops. There was a plan to tunnel under the Channel. And then there were hot air balloons.
In the end, Aeronaut Sophie Blanchard warned him of the impracticality of the scheme (no one had successfully flown from France to England, but there had been a successful balloon crossing from England to France a decade or so earlier).
Finally, the outcome of the Battle of Trafalgar put paid to invasion plans as Napoleon concentrated on taking Europe instead.
But what if plans for a troop insertion by hot air balloon were more advanced than we now know to be true?
If hot air balloons could not travel east to west, then what about travelling west to east? And what is west of England? Ireland. Which side did Ireland favor? France.
What if the United Irishmen had secured Napoleon’s funding and were prepared to trust him again with a better plan?
What if the spies who thwarted the scheme were lost to history?
I hope you enjoyed playing this alternative history game with me, and fell in love with each one of The King’s Rogues as much as I enjoyed researching and writing them.
– Elizabeth Ellen Carter
The face is the mirror of the mind, and eyes without speaking confess the secrets of the heart.
– St. Jerome
Prologue
1 January 1806
Outside Charteris House
Truro, Cornwall
“Mr. Bassett, is there nothing we can do?”
His apprentice, Joe, face soot-stained, looked at him with wide mournful eyes.
“Get one of our horses from the stables and race as fast as you can to Sir Daniel. Tell him the fire was no accident. Someone set it by the back door, poured turpentine all over it before lighting it – and stayed long enough to watch it go up.”
Bassett spun round to look at the shopfront, suddenly remembering. “My God! The key!”
He took off at a run back toward the burning building without a second thought.
“Mr. Bassett!” the youth called out.
“Follow orders, Joe!” Bassett yelled back. “Go to Sir Daniel!”
One week later
Adam Hardacre put a black-gloved hand on the shoulder of the young man before him.
With red-rimmed eyes, Bassett’s apprentice stared straight ahead at the coffin laying before the altar, manfully holding back tears in public that he’d allowed himself to shed in private.
It had been hard for the lad. Young Joe had lost everything – his home, his work, and a man who, by all accounts, had become a good friend to him.
Even though Adam didn’t know the deceased that well, his own throat constricted when one of the mourners gave a heartfelt eulogy. How was it that such sentimentality had been opened up in him?
Beside him, his wife, Olivia, squeezed his hand.
Sir Daniel Ridgeway, head held high, posture erect, led the pallbearers two-by-two, to their positions. Joe made up the sixth at the end.
It had all the occasion of a military funeral, although no one in St Mary’s Church wore decorations. This was a decidedly civilian affair.
Each one of the twenty mourners rose to their feet and bowed their heads as a mark of respect as the coffin passed.
Adam remained standing even after the others had filed out to begin their graveside vigil.
“You can’t blame yourself.”
He looked down at Olivia and drank in her loveliness. The warmth of her brown eyes made him grateful to the good Lord above that this woman was his wife and was prepared to stand by his side come
hell or high water.
He saw no pity in her face, just understanding and a silent promise of steadfastness he sorely needed right now, although he would admit that to no one but her.
The truth of the matter was he did feel responsible. How could he not? He even had it in writing – a note from Harold Bickmore.
This is not over.
It had been a threat and a promise rolled into one.
And it took the form of arson, an action designed to put The King’s Rogues out of business. As a result, a good man lost his life.
Adam squeezed his wife’s hand and nodded to indicate he’d heard her. He wasn’t sure he could form the words to tell her so. They left the church hand-in-hand.
At the grave, he watched his friend and employer closely. Sir Daniel carried the twin responsibilities of clandestine spymaster and pillar of the Truro community. The strain showed on his face – a man who’d had had too little sleep and burdened with too much to do.
Yet Ridgeway performed his public duty without flagging, sparing a word or two of comfort to the mourners. Adam knew how much the devastating fire had cost him financially, too. After all, he had owned Charteris House. Shopkeepers on either side of their little headquarters would require compensation for their losses.
Adam’s nerves jangled despite his outward calm. If it was just him alone, he would have saddled up and searched under every rock and in every hell hole from here to John O’Groats for that bastard traitor, Bickmore, but he’d been under orders to stay close.
“You have a job to do, Lieutenant,” Sir Daniel had told him in no uncertain terms. “I can have a hundred operatives around the Kingdom alerted and searching before you’ve even left the county. Bickmore will show his face again, mark my words. Our best chance of finding him is in the material we already have.”
Alas, marking time was not among Adam’s preferred pastimes. Nor could he bear a burden of distress he was powerless to relieve.
“I’m going to have the carriage brought around,” he told Olivia.
She simply nodded and moved to stand beside Joe who, as the coffin was lowered into the open earth, could no longer contain his tears.
On their way back to Sir Daniel’s home of Bishop’s Wood, they passed what remained of Charteris House.
On this crisp winter’s day, Adam could smell the strange combination of damp and ash. Everything which could be salvaged from the rubble had been – but alas not the clocks. Not a single one of Bassett’s beloved timepieces survived the conflagration.
Such a waste. Poor Joe couldn’t even bring himself to look.
“I’ve ordered the site to be cleared tomorrow,” said Sir Daniel. “There will be no trace that The King’s Rogues were ever here.”
“Have we heard from Nate and Susannah?” Olivia asked.
“I hope Abigail will have received word while we’ve been out,” Sir Daniel answered before directing his attention to Bassett’s apprentice. “Chin up, lad, you did as much as any man could. I’m proud of you.”
Adam pulled himself from his stupor. There was too much to do – starting with how the hell Harold Bickmore escaped Naval custody.
“We’re all proud of you, Joe,” Adam added.
*
The lethargy that accompanies funerals was absent at Bishop’s Wood. The Ridgeways’ country residence was a fine Georgian manor surrounded by the woods for which it had been named. It was a peaceful retreat, generally, but now it was also a temporary place of business.
Lady Abigail Ridgeway sat at her desk in the morning room to receive the first post of the day. She liked this room. It captured the best of the winter sunlight, but that was not why she favored it particularly today.
In truth, she needed respite from their unexpected houseguest.
She was untroubled to confess that she was not a very compassionate woman by nature. Even as much as she loved her adopted daughter, Marie, Abigail also accepted she was not a particularly maternal creature either. Thank goodness the girl had Daniel to guide her upbringing in such things.
As a result, the role of a kindly nurse was not one that fell on her shoulders easily. Indulging an invalid stretched the limits of her patience – especially when she suspected the party in question was making somewhat of a meal of his current situation.
She turned her attention to the pile of correspondence that Musgrave, the butler, had left on her desk.
The first was a letter from Susannah Payne, which she recognized by her neat cursive hand. She and Nathaniel ought to be enjoying their honeymoon as newlyweds. Instead, they were now preparing their inn, The Queen’s Head on the western Cornish coast, to be the new headquarters for The King’s Rogues.
“… do let us know what special arrangements are required and we will endeavor to have everything in place for your arrival at St. Sennen. We were horrified to hear of Bassett’s…”
Abigail skimmed the rest of the letter. The Queen’s Head would be ready for their arrival in five days’ time. That was all she needed to know. The letter was put to one side.
She opened the next. It was from Admiral Sykes, direct from the Admiralty in London and addressed to Sir Daniel.
“We regret the escape of the prisoner, Harold Monteagle Bickmore, from our custody on tenth of December.
“The prisoner, in concert with three accomplices whom we have not identified, overpowered the guard escorting him to the first hearing of his court martial. The search is continuing for the prisoner who has since been tried and found guilty in absentia based on the strength of evidence supplied by you and Lieutenant Adam Hardacre.
“As the prisoner has openly professed his treason, our resources have focused on the coast closest to France in the expectation the man will attempt to make his break across to enemy territory.
“As your letter made plain, we were remiss in letting your company know of developments in a timely fashion and we deeply regret the losses you’ve suffered.
“We remain confident that, in time, we might recapture…”
Abigail set the rest of the letter aside in disgust.
Useless! Completely useless!
The Admiralty had allowed its plans for Admiral Horatio Nelson’s state funeral to completely overshadow their responsibilities.
It was just as well that she sent her own agents out last week. They would have more solid leads on the whereabouts of the traitor before Whitehall could finish writing the orders.
Abigail gritted her teeth to prevent very unladylike profanities crossing her lips.
Fools to a man!
No doubt, Daniel would have stronger words than that to say when he returned home.
Movement caught her eye.
Through the trees beyond the window, she spied the carriage returning from the funeral.
She looked down at the last piece of correspondence, this addressed to Lady Abigail Houghall at an address in Bath.
Oh my, she hadn’t resided there in twelve years, not since before she wed. The time before Daniel seemed a lifetime ago. She smiled at the memory of their unusual first meeting, then turned over the envelope.
There was a return address.
The Honorable Alexandra Gedding
Stannum House
Cornwall
Alexandra? Felicity’s daughter? The last time she’d seen the child was as a babe in arms.
She heard Musgrave at the front door and left the letter unopened. Old family connections could wait for a more opportune time. There was much to do before they relocated to the village of St. Sennen.
She met Daniel in the hall and greeted him with a kiss, but did not ask about the funeral. There was nothing good one could say about them.
Besides, as with the letter from Susannah Payne, she knew already all she needed to know. The elderly man had been found in the apartment above his shop in Charteris House. The flames hadn’t even reached his quarters. The old gent was apparently overcome by the smoke even as he slept.
“How’s our patient?” Daniel asked.
“As his hands are bandaged, he insists on me feeding him, except he spends most of his time looking at my bosom instead of the spoon.”
“I can’t fault the man for his taste.”