“But a trial would absolve the Duke of guilt,” reasoned Christopher. “And having a measure of the man I’d think he’d welcome the opportunity to publically declare his innocence, and bring those who malign him to justice.”
“Yes,” Shrewsbury agreed, grinding his teeth. “It’s just that sort of pompous pig-headed posturing I’d expect from Roxton, and what must be avoided at all costs.”
Christopher looked to Evelyn to see his reaction, but as that nobleman remained obediently mute, and thus by lack of reply must agree with the Spymaster General, curiosity got the better of him.
“So if Roxton is not a traitor, and yet could be accused of treason, what or who has seen fit to cast blame his way? Or is it a case of being caught up in something not of his making? After all,” Christopher added with a wry smile, “you once thought Sir Gerald capable of spying for the French, when in fact he thought he was assisting the English. The man was an imbecile—”
“—and your brother. His existence must’ve been a daily source of injury to your pride, to have had such a dunderhead inherit the title and be married to Lady Mary,” Evelyn taunted Christopher.
Before Christopher could respond Shrewsbury said, “You are correct, Mr. Bryce. A case of being caught up in something not of his making. But whereas Sir Gerald was idiotic enough to believe the pig swill fed him—making a contribution to the war effort against the American rebels by passing on information to the French, Roxton is not an idiot. Far from it. He is one of the most intelligent men I have ever met. His fault lies in being too trusting with those closest to him. I, on the other hand, trust no one—well, not implicitly. Except my granddaughter. She is the white to my black.”
“Lady Fitzstuart is an estimable young woman of whom you must be very proud,” Christopher said, and when the silence stretched glanced at Evelyn, who put up his shoulders at the old man’s continued introspection.
“Yes. She is. And that likeable rogue she married had best get himself back here subito!” Shrewsbury grumbled with uncharacteristic candor. “Up and leaving his bride like that… Whoever heard the like! And she such a sweet natured creature… But she’ll suffer it for as long as she must because she loves him. Ugh! What do I know! Mr. Bryce? Have you managed to ascertain who among us is the traitor?”
“Here? At Abbeywood?”
“Yes. Here at Abbeywood! Where else?” Shrewsbury demanded with misdirected anger.
Shrewsbury wished Rory had never married. In his darkest, most private moments he wished her husband dead so she would be free again, to live with him always. But as soon as he had these thoughts he hated himself because he loved Rory more than anything on this earth, and he wanted her to be happy. And she was happiest with Dair. And the man loved her body and soul. And were she to be made a widow she would literally wither and die. And he would die alongside her if that happened. So he prayed every day for her husband’s safe return, and he never prayed for anything.
“You can’t think I came all this way for the pleasure of Lady Mary’s company, or yours?” he said harshly, forcing down his dark thoughts to glare at Christopher without seeing him. He took a deep breath and waited for the Squire to come into focus before adding in a more even tone, “You have a good head on your shoulders. I’ve read your reports about dim-witted Gerry. Made for some entertaining reading. So I know you can think. But perhaps you’re a bit too like His Grace of Roxton and inclined to trust a fellow rather than believe him capable of deceit, pure and simple. Unlike Roxton’s cousin here,” he added, a nod at Evelyn, “who looks as if he couldn’t curdle milk, when in fact he’d wring a cat’s neck to get at the cream if required. Isn’t that so, my lord?”
“Just so, my lord. And I have the battle scars to prove my cold-blooded loyalty.”
Shrewsbury chuckled when Evelyn held up his mutilated hand and then ran one of his finger stumps down along the scar that bisected the corner of his left eyebrow, narrowly missing his eye, as if to emphasize to what lengths he had gone in the service of the Spymaster General. He ended the display of fealty by making the old man an exaggerated bow.
“All for King and country… Shall I put Silvanus out of his misery as to the identity of the traitor amongst us?”
“No! No! Let him have his guess. I want confirmation of his intelligence, and yours.”
Christopher frowned at Evelyn. “You know who it is?”
“Most certainly. In the words of our Spymaster General: You can’t think I came all this way for the pleasure of Lady Mary’s company, or yours.” He grinned. “That ain’t strictly true. I did come to see Mary, but on an altogether unrelated matter… So, Silvanus, who amongst us is the traitor, and why?”
Christopher wanted to shake the nobleman free of his superciliousness, and he wanted an end to this ridiculous parlor game amongst spies. As if he didn’t have enough to get on with without this intrusion into his day. Roxton’s pedantic nose-in-the-air secretary must be wondering at his whereabouts.
“Philip Audley,” he said flatly, mentally kicking himself for not reaching this conclusion sooner. “He’s the traitor, and if I were a betting man, I’d lay odds he’s serving two masters—one English, and the other French.”
Evelyn and Shrewsbury threw each other a surprised glance, then stared at Christopher in such astonishment that he knew he was right. They were so surprised neither spoke, so he explained placidly,
“If you recall I did cast suspicion the secretary’s way some time ago. I said the man had opportunity and means, but I was unsure as to his motives. And thus I dismissed my suspicions as unfounded. I also believed my judgment clouded by my intense dislike of the man. I should’ve stuck to my instincts. But hindsight is a wonderful thing, isn’t it, my lord? Sir Gerald once confided in me—and I passed this piece of news on to you—that he hoped by working closely with your agent, an agent he never named to me, he would be singled out for special mention. He gloated that he was sure that his work for the government would see him recognized as some sort of master spy, and that this would somehow show up the Duke of Roxton as incompetent in his ignorance of state matters. I had no idea what he meant then; I thought it was the wine talking. But I do now. Sir Gerald was working closely with Philip Audley under His Grace’s noble nose, and he found the deception and petty backroom maneuverings exhilarating. May I ask how you discovered Audley was a spy for the French?”
“He began his career as an agent of the crown. And I did not discover it. I knew one of my agents was a traitorous dog but I had no conclusive proof as to the man’s identity,” Lord Shrewsbury replied frankly.
“But if Audley started out as one of your agents, then he was placed in the Duke’s household to spy on him?” Christopher frowned, not liking the idea. “But is not the Duke one of your closest friends?”
Shrewsbury brushed aside Christopher’s moral outrage on the Duke’s behalf.
“Every man has his price and his Achilles heel. Roxton’s mother is French. And his father’s mother was too. That gives him a certain sympathy for the Bourbons. I had to make certain that sympathy was never exercised to our King’s detriment.”
“So Audley was sending you reports on Roxton and his family?”
“Just as you were spying on Sir Gerald and his family,” Shrewsbury countered with a thin smile.
“In my defense, you were blackmailing me to be your eyes and ears. How did Audley give himself away?”
“He didn’t. Lord Vallentine supplied me with the name of the traitor through channels of his own while an agent abroad.”
Christopher put up his brows at Evelyn. “You were an agent for two masters,” he stated as fact and without judgment.
“Yes. When needs must,” Evelyn confessed. He gave a lopsided smile that was more grimace than grin. “No doubt you can appreciate that difficult circumstances often dictate a course of action that, were we here at home, we would never contemplate entertaining.”
Christopher inclined his head in understanding, thinking of his ti
me as a cicisbeo, and knowing by his smile and the glint in his eye that it was to this life Evelyn was referring. Of course he knew. Shrewsbury would have confided in him that Christopher was co-opted to spy on his Italian masters by the English consul in Florence, who was one of Shrewsbury’s minions. But neither nobleman mentioned this out loud, and Evelyn said, by way of offering further explanation about the secretary’s double dealings,
“Audley let Gerry believe they were feeding the French false estimates of English troop numbers and supplies to mislead the American rebels. When, in truth, the numbers were very real. It was a double bluff, in fact. And it was effective because the French had their own inside agent who was verifying the information sent by Audley via Sir Gerald.”
“The inside agent working for the French, and Audley’s accomplice, is the Duke’s cousin Charles Fitzstuart, is it not? As younger brother of the war hero Dair Fitzstuart, he was never suspected of treasonous activity.”
“Just so. But how do you know this?” Lord Shrewsbury asked.
“What you mean to say is how would I, a squire living in this backwater, know when Society has no idea that one of the Duke’s relatives—your granddaughter’s brother-in-law in fact—is a traitor?” Christopher asked smoothly. “Oh don’t fear your blindfold of deceit has somehow slipped from the eyes of Society. I’m sure most of the populace believe the pap it’s fed, that Mr. Fitzstuart is in Paris as part of an English delegation sent to negotiate a last-minute treaty with the French, in the hopes of preventing war between our two nations. But I have my own, very reliable, sources. I’m sure you haven’t forgotten that Kate is a regular correspondent with many within social and government circles. And there is the fact I was here when the Lady Mary received the disturbing news of her brother’s flight to Paris with the daughter of the Duke of Kinross.”
“No doubt you offered your broad shoulder to cry on,” Evelyn quipped.
Christopher ignored him. And so did Shrewsbury when he urged him to continue.
“I cannot yet fault your précis, Mr. Bryce. Would you like to hazard a guess as to Audley’s methods?”
“I should think that self-evident—well, it is now. As the Duke’s secretary he had access to all sorts of correspondence that crossed the desk of his noble employer. I’m sure he can sign the Duke’s fist as well as his master. And Roxton trusted him, never dreaming the man was a spy, least of all a traitor. And when his secretary came here for his quarterly visits under the auspices of the Duke as co-guardian of the estate, to view the accounts, to question my running of the estate, Audley, with the aid of the gullible Sir Gerald, made contact with a local spy ring.”
Shrewsbury crossed his arms and put up his chin. “And what makes you think there’s a spy ring operating out of here, of all places?”
Christopher did not hesitate in his response. “Why not? If I were the French and wanted to find a way of smuggling sensitive information on England’s war effort across the channel, what better way than through the auspices of an innocuous trade route? A great deal of fine cloth, in particular the Stroudwater scarlet, is sent from Stroud to the Levant. The East India Company handles the shipments from port, but from here, the bolts are transported via bullock team. And Stroud is also at the crossroads of the ancient trackway for cattle crossing over from Wales into England, and beyond to London markets. But my money is on the cloth trade. Notes, letters, and the like, rolled up securely in cloth, no one the wiser, certainly not customs officials, except those who know which ships and which bolts to search.”
“There may be something in that, Squire Bryce, and it is something I intend to investigate further. It could also prove useful to us as a way of passing on misinformation to our French and American enemies.”
“But it’s not the method by which Audley had Sir Gerald send the French sensitive documents, is it?” Christopher asked, curious to know more.
“No. Charles Fitzstuart wrote coded letters to an aunt living in Paris which were intercepted by an American agent. And Sir Gerald had an accomplice here in this house to whom he entrusted the documents, which were written up on scraps of paper then secreted in billet doux hidden in the lining of—”
Christopher drew in an audible breath. “Mrs. Keble!”
“—of the woman’s stays. Yes. The housekeeper, Mrs. Keble,” Lord Shrewsbury confirmed.
“Lord, I’ve been a fool!” Christopher stated with an annoyed huff. He ran a hand over his mouth. “Audley was always making a nuisance of himself with pedantic requests and nit-picking quibbles over amounts in the ledgers, all guaranteed to make certain I avoided his company as much as possible. That was clever of him. I was not looking over his shoulder, and he had time to meet and plan and go about his activities without rousing suspicion.”
“Don’t be too hard on yourself, Bryce,” the old man said good-humouredly. “Audley is a master of the game. He fooled the Duke, and he had me fooled, too. He fooled Sir Gerald, but that was no great effort. If it weren’t for Vallentine here, Roxton’s secretary may very well have continued passing on sensitive intelligence for the rest of the war. As for Mrs. Keble, greed was her downfall. She attempted to blackmail Audley with what she knew about his activities. He called her bluff and reported her to my department.”
“I presume she found out about Audley’s activities through her association with Sir Gerald?” Christopher asked
“Association? Association? Ha! You have a moral turn of phrase, Silvanus!” Evelyn sneered. “Gerry was rutting his housekeeper every chance he got, according to Audley. Lucky, Gerry, I say,” he added with a smirk. “Mrs. Keble’s a comely wench worth the tupping. And lucky for Mary her housekeeper was willing to be mounted by such a sweaty tub of lard. Gave her some reprieve—”
“Are you always this vulgar?” Christopher complained, then put up a hand. “No. Don’t answer.” And said before Evelyn could respond, “I presume you have a plan for taking Audley and Mrs. Keble into custody as soon as is possible?”
“Into custody?” Shrewsbury repeated, a quick look at Evelyn. “Er, yes. Yes! I do! Reason I called you in here. I want this handled as expeditiously as possible, with least fuss and without causing our ladies any distress. And it goes without saying, but I’ll say it anyway, with Audley none the wiser we are on to him.”
“So, unless you have any objections, which I know you won’t because you want Audley out of your sight as much as we do, the plan is for all of us—Audley included—to picnic tomorrow at one of your cloth mills,” Evelyn stuck in. “I’m told these manufactories are not only architectural and mechanical wonders, but that you own a mill with one of the largest waterwheel-driven turbines in all England—fascinating! A high treat for everyone! And the girl child tells me it’s not far from here, if we take the path through a Puzzlewood. Enchanting! So nothing too arduous for the ladies, and something for them and the girl child to look forward to.”
“Teddy. Her name is Teddy,” Christopher enunciated.
“Teddy? I thought it was Theodora?” Evelyn replied with feigned vagueness.
“It is, but she doesn’t like to be called that. And so no one does.”
“Dear me, how you take your duties as guardian seriously, Silvanus,” Evelyn drawled. “I dare say as a bachelor you’d consider a ten-year-old girl child a burden you could well do without, so you’ll be relieved to know she’ll soon be off your hands.”
“She’s not a burden and—” Christopher frowned. “What do you mean she’ll soon be off my hands?”
“You haven’t asked why he did it,” Evelyn said smoothly to deflect a response to Christopher’s question. “You told us the what and the wherefore, but why did Audley turn traitor d’you think?”
Christopher threw up a hand. “Any number of reasons,” he said dismissively, not wanting to be diverted from Evelyn’s throw-away line about Teddy. “As Teddy’s guardian, you owe me an explanation as to why you would make such a statement regarding her welfare.”
“All in good time, M
r. Bryce,” Shrewsbury advised. “But not now. Now we must join the ladies in the hall.” He nodded to the maid who had popped her head into the room to signal nuncheon was ready to be served. And when she disappeared, he turned to Christopher with a clap of his hands in satisfaction. “Catching traitors always gives me an appetite! Not a word to anyone, and you’re to continue on treating Audley as if nothing is amiss.”
“And the housekeeper?” Christopher asked as he followed the two nobleman across the room.
“She’ll be under guard the moment we set out for the picnic. There are still a few questions she is required to answer.”
“A pity you won’t let me—um—interrogate her, sir.”
“Ha! I can imagine your interrogation methods of pretty females!” Shrewsbury replied, with a deep chuckle at Evelyn’s insinuation. “And if I were twenty years younger, you’d be left with second helpings… Sorry, m’boy. Not this time. Though I hate to deny you a prime piece of rump, you’d be missed if you didn’t attend the picnic, not least by dear Lady Mary.”
Christopher rolled his eyes at the vulgar repartee and bit down on his tongue to stop himself from commenting. But it was enough to deflect his thoughts from Teddy and ask,
“So why did Audley risk all to betray his country?”
The two noblemen stopped just inside the doorway and turned as one to look at Christopher. Shrewsbury said matter-of-factly,
“Audley is the second son of a second son, so there was never any likelihood of him inheriting the grand pile or the title. But his uncle sent him to Eton, which gave him an inflated sense of his self-worth. And after Cambridge, with no funds and limited prospects, this same uncle forced him to accept the position of secretary, first to an Admiral of the Fleet, and then his association with Charles Fitzstuart secured him the position with Roxton.”
“Association?” Christopher asked.
“Audley and Fitzstuart were up at Cambridge together.”
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