by Shéa MacLeod
I was seated across from Chaz and between Mathew Breverman and Miss Semple. I would have preferred to be seated next to Chaz or Varant. Better yet, both. I could flirt with Varant and snark with Chaz about the other guests.
Over a first course of celery soup, I turned to Mathew Breverman. “I understand you and your wife met our host on a Nile cruise. That sounds rather exciting. I’ve never been to Egypt.”
“Frightful place. Hot as hell and flies everywhere. But Harry is a good guy. We played poker. Won a buck or two off him.” He chuckled. “Not a bad, player, though.”
Then I made the mistake of asking him about his work in textiles.
His eyes lit up immediately. “No one understands how dam—er, doggone hard it is in textiles these days, Lady R.”
I winced at the familiarity. “Lady Rample.” I wasn’t one to care much for formality or proper titles. I’d been raised a vicar’s daughter, after all. But Breverman was one of those sorts that one had to stand up to or be plowed under.
He barreled on, ignoring me. So much for standing. “It’s a rough job these days, what with the newfangled machines and the price of cotton. Not to mention that Chamberlain fellow trying to weasel out of the debts you people owe from the Great War.”
You people? Had he really just said that? I had a good mind to stab him in the leg with my fork. He didn’t notice my rising ire but rambled on. I tuned him out, occasionally smiling and nodding. I simply couldn’t embarrass Aunt Butty by getting blood all over Harry’s white tablecloth. Though she would definitely have understood. Even applauded.
Every now and then I caught Varant glancing my way from up the table. His expression was unreadable, but was that a smolder in his eye? It was hard to say, but I liked to think it was.
Over the main dish—savory roast chicken in rich cream with noodles and fresh green vegetables—I was finally able to turn to Miss Semple. I found her a more entertaining dinner companion.
She amused me with tales of herself and her older sister. “No boys, you see. Father was most disappointed. All that cost coming out and Annabella only managed to bag a mere Mister. Did you have a coming out, Lady Rample?”
“Of a sort.” Aunt Butty, after rescuing me from being locked in my room and having my sins prayed over, had whisked me off to London. She hadn’t bothered with any of that coming out nonsense. “Waste of time and money,” she used to say. Instead she introduced me to interesting people, regardless of rank or wealth. “But I was a bit of an old maid when I married.”
She laughed. “That’s what my father calls me. Says I’m nothing but an expense.” She eyed Harry deVane. “I’ll show him.”
I had no doubt that Miss Semple was a determined young woman, but she was barking up the wrong tree there. I did, however, hope she did show her father one way or another. I knew what it was like having an overbearing father.
We finished off the meal with paradise pudding dripping with fresh berries followed by a cheese plate. I managed to avoid further conversation with Mathew Breverman by the sheer fact that Ethel Kettington monopolized his time. She should know better, but I wasn’t offended. In fact, I was relieved.
When I wasn’t speaking with Miss Semple, I snuck glances down the table at Varant who now barely seemed to notice me. I was a bit put out. After all, on previous meetings he’d behaved as if he had some interest of the romantic variety. In fact, earlier this evening he’d been all smoldering glances, and here he was acting as if I didn’t exist!
At last dinner was over and the women retreated to the drawing room while the men remained at table to puff on their smelly cigars, drink port, and ramble about politics. Meanwhile, we women were to sit and gossip politely over coffee. Which I found unutterably dull.
Once again, Ethel dominated the conversation. “This used to be our home once, didn’t it Amelia? Yes, we grew up here,” she barreled on without waiting for her sister to answer. “The décor was more tasteful, of course. My mother had exquisite taste.”
“Did Mr. deVane buy it from you?” Maude Breverman asked somewhat gauchely.
Ethel stiffened. “Indeed not. My father sold the manor many years ago to another gentleman. We don’t mind. We much prefer our little cottage. Very comfortable.” She droned on, but I had tuned her out.
As soon as it was possible to excuse myself, I slipped out of the drawing room, ostensibly to powder my nose. In reality, I just wanted away from the inanity.
I decided a walk outside and a bit of fresh air would do me some good, so I wandered toward the nearest exit. As I passed the dining room, I noticed the door was open a crack and men’s voices rumbled through the hall. I paused a moment, curious. What did men talk about when we ladies weren’t present?
Quietly as possible, I tiptoed toward the open door, pausing just out of sight. Mostly it was boring political talk, as I suspected. But just as I gave up and started to move down the hall, one word caught my attention.
“—spies.”
I froze. Spies? Here in Devon? Surely not. Who would spy down here? And on what? Or whom?
Indistinct male voices made sounds of protestation.
“I know you find it hard to believe, Neville,” Harry boomed, “but I assure you, there’s no doubt of it.”
“I simply cannot fathom it, Harry.” I assumed that was Neville Chamberlain answering. “It just isn’t...” The rest of his words were indistinguishable.
I listened a bit longer, but nothing else of interest was said. The sound of wood scraping on stone jarred me.
Then came Harry’s voice again. “Gentlemen, shall we join the ladies?”
Hurrying as quickly as I could, I darted around a corner before one of the men could catch me eavesdropping. My mind was a whirl, curiosity driving me to near madness. A spy. How curious. If only I knew what all this was about.
I determined to ask Chaz the moment I could get him alone.
Chapter 3
The evening passed in a haze of nervous energy. I could focus on nothing else save getting Chaz alone and putting the screws to him—as they say in American films.
After the gentlemen rejoined us, the Brevermans and Kettingtons sat down for a few hands of cards, proceeding to ignore the rest of the party. Chaz pawed through Harry’s record collection, finally selecting “Mad About the Boy” while Miss Semple flirted with him madly, to no avail. Harry secreted himself away in his office with Chamberlain and Varant. And Binky pouted in a corner, as was typical of Binky.
Aunt Butty had begged off and gone to her room, claiming exhaustion from the journey. I knew it was nonsense, of course. Aunt Butty had more energy than the lot of us put together. What she had was the latest Agatha Christie which I’d loaned her after reading it myself. I’d also seen her liberate a bottle of port from the liquor cabinet, so I’d no doubt she was in for a pleasant evening.
I lounged in a chair by the window, which was open to let in the cool evening breeze. A pleasant change from the heavy, hot London air. There was the scent of fresh green things, the heady perfume of roses, and the call of a night bird. I’d be tempted to buy my own country home if it weren’t for the lack of civilization.
My mind drifted to Varant, secreted away in Harry’s office. I hadn’t had a chance for more than a passing greeting, and it left me frustrated. Aunt Butty was certain he was interested in me, but he played so hot and cold. What did it mean? Did I even care?
Then I caught movement out of the corner of my eye, startling me from my reverie. I stared hard out into the darkness. Had I been imagining things? No, there it was again. Just beyond the window, someone moving in the bushes. I leaned forward eagerly, practically sticking my head outside to get a better look. A dark figure—definitely a man, with a slight stoop to his shoulders and the distinctive outline of a bowler hat—moved swiftly through the garden, disappearing into the trees at the far edge of the grounds in the direction of the village. I frowned. Maybe it was just one of the servants slipping off to the pub. Then again—
&nbs
p; Chaz slumped into the chair next to me, shattering my concentration. He’d somehow made his escape from Miss Semple. “Lord, this is a tedious group, don’t you think? Not nearly as glamorous as I’d hoped.” He dangled a champagne glass from one hand—no idea where he’d got the stuff—and stared morosely out the window into the dark. “But free booze, I suppose, if nothing else. And the food was delicious. As is our host. If he’d ever come out of his study.”
“Your conversation earlier seemed quite interesting,” I said.
He frowned. “That ghastly woman rambling about her Siamese? Thank goodness she didn’t bring it here. Can you imagine?”
“People don’t usually bring cats to house parties,” I said drily.
“Small miracle.”
“But I wasn’t talking about your tête-à-tête with Miss Semple. I was speaking of the conversation you gentlemen were having over port and cigars. I heard someone mention a spy.”
His eyebrows lifted. “Oh, that. Wasn’t paying much attention, darling. Beverman was droning on about...good gosh, I don’t even know. Likely Harry was asking Neville Chamberlain about the German situation.”
“I didn’t know we had a German situation.” Neville Chamberlain, being Chancellor of the Exchequer, was certainly more in the know about such things than I.
“We don’t. Yet. But there are some—including Harry—who are convinced that things are about to go amok what with Hitler’s party gaining power and denying the Treaty of Versailles and all that. Chamberlain and his ilk consider that an exaggeration and think that those like Harry are seeing spies where there are none. That sort of thing.”
“Why would Germany spy on England?” I asked.
He gave me a look. “They did in during the war, you know.”
“I’m not an idiot. Of course I know. But we are not at war. Why would they send spies now?”
“Why would anyone? The Americans do it all the time. Spy on everybody. Very suspicious, those Americans.”
“But why Germany specifically?”
“Sherry, love?” At my nod, Chaz got up to refill my glass and get a sherry for himself, then sat back down. “Harry believes this Hitler bloke is up to no good. From what I’ve heard, he’s probably not wrong. The man is certifiable. He wants Europe to give Germany back some of the territory they were forced to give up after losing the Great War. But our government thinks it can all be worked out peacefully. That it’s only a small faction of the German citizenry that approves of Hitler and his followers. So, it’ll come to nothing. But Harry thinks he—Hitler, that is—is putting pieces in place for more nefarious purposes.”
“Spies.”
Chaz nodded. “I know it sounds mad. I mean, he lost the presidential election, but stranger things, don’t you know. Still, I don’t know that it will ever happen again. Not a war like that. Surely everyone has learned their lesson and things can be worked out in a more civilized manner.”
It did sound concerning. Still...spies? In Devon? “So, they were talking about Germany, then?”
“I assume so. If you heard them talking about spies, but like I said, I wasn’t paying attention.”
“Wait,” I said, glass halfway to my lips as a thought struck. “Do you suppose Harry thinks spies are here in Devon because Chamberlain is here in Devon?”
“Likely.”
“Why is Chamberlain in Devon?”
Chaz gave me a knowing look and took a sip of sherry. “Both Chamberlain and Harry claim they’re just old friends catching up but come now. Chamberlain isn’t staying for the party and he came with Varant. You know he does...whatever he does for the government.”
I nodded. It was known in a vague sort of way that Lord Varant did something for the government. What that something was, well, that was a matter of wild speculation because no one actually knew except Varant himself. And he wasn’t talking. Aunt Butty was half convinced he was the next Scarlet Pimpernel.
“And see how Harry deserted his guests to secrete himself away with two government men? Well, what do you think that means?” Chaz asked.
“They’re up to something.”
“No doubt.”
We sipped our sherries in silence.
“I can almost hear your brain working from here,” Chaz murmured.
“You know curiosity is my greatest weakness.”
“Good lord, tell me you’re not going to play detective again,” he said.
“Fine, then. I won’t,” I said smugly.
Chaz groaned.
I almost told him about the figure in the garden. The spy perhaps? But I decided to keep it to myself. For now. Just in case it was nothing.
THE NEXT MORNING DAWNED far too bright for my taste. The curtain fabric was lovely, but too lightweight to keep out the morning sun. Plus, Maddie marched in with tea far before I was ready to rise.
“Too early,” I mumbled, burrowing under the duvet. It smelled of lilac water and sunshine.
“Nonsense,” Maddie said. “It’s gone ten. If you don’t get down to breakfast, there’ll be nothing left. That Binky person is on his third plate.” I could almost here the disapproving scowl in her voice.
I lifted the duvet so I could stare at her with one bleary eye. “However do you know that?”
“Vera told me. She’s one of the upstairs maids.” She set the tea on the side table with an almighty rattle. “She doesn’t like that Binky person any more than I do.”
“Oh.” I pulled the duvet back over my head. “And he’s Lord Rample to you.”
She snorted. “Never. Your husband—God rest his soul—was the true Lord Rample. That upstart can never take his place.”
I probably should have reprimanded her, but I hadn’t the heart to. It amused me that she referred to Felix’s relation as an upstart, and I despised Binky nearly as much as she did.
“Tea m’lady.” Maddie shoved a cup beneath my nose. Clearly, she was familiar with what it took to get me out of bed.
I managed a seated position while she plumped the pillows behind me. The first sip was sweet, dark heaven and cleared the muzzy cobwebs from my mind.
“Spies!”
Maddie blinked, hand hovering over the wardrobe door knob. “Wot’s that, m’lady?”
“Last night,” I said, leaning forward so eagerly I nearly sloshed tea on myself, “I overheard the men talking. They said there’s a spy in our midst.”
“A spy, m’lady?” She blinked owlishly.
I nodded. “Yes.” I took another fortifying sip of tea.
“What sort of spy?”
“A German one.”
She frowned, and I noticed her hand shook a little as she grasped the wardrobe knob and flung open the door. “Nonsense. Why would a German spy be in Devon? What would they spy on?”
“My thought exactly. I’m going to find out!”
She whirled, face pale. “No!”
I lifted a brow. “Excuse me?”
She blanched further. “N-no, m’lady. You should leave that sort of thing to the experts wot know wot they’re doing. It’s not safe.”
“This is Devon, as you so rightly pointed out. I doubt anything terrible will happen. I bet I can find the spy before anyone else. How hard can it be?”
She shook her head, eyes wide. “M’lady! You mustn’t!”
“Maddie—”
She stomped her foot. “The Huns are dastardly, m’lady. Beware!”
Chapter 4
Maddie had refused to say anything more and had instead stormed out of my room without so much as offering to help with my hair. Not that I needed help. I’d been raised without much in the way of money, and certainly without a maid, so I was used to doing for myself. Still, it was annoying. I’d have to have a word with her later.
I was also concerned. Why was she so worried about my being in danger? The idea of German spies seemed to terrify her more than was normal. I supposed it could have something to do with her background...
Something I’d have to suss out later.
With a mental shrug, I set it all aside for now and finished both my tea and my toilette. After donning a simple blue cotton day dress, I fluffed my hair and swiped on some raspberry red lipstick before descending to breakfast.
“Have you heard the news?” Aunt Butty accosted me as I entered the dining room, following the aroma of bacon and toast. We were the only two in the room. Either the others had already eaten and were out and about, or the rest of the party were even later risers than I was.
“What news?” I asked as I helped myself from the still steaming silver chafing dishes on the antique mahogany sideboard. In addition to fried eggs and bacon, there was a large dish of kedgeree, which I avoided, toast, and a pot of marmalade. There was also a large urn of coffee to which I helped myself. Liberally.
“We were robbed last night.”
I nearly dropped the serving fork into the bacon. “What?”
“Harry’s study was ransacked,” Aunt Butty said with no little glee. “He found it this morning and went on an absolute tear. You should have seen it!”
“I thought Harry was your friend,” I chided.
“He is,” she said mildly. “Doesn’t mean I don’t enjoy a little drama now and then.”
Which was true. Aunt Butty was the Queen of Drama.
A fact which was borne out in her current ensemble. She wore a one-piece pant-suit sort of thing with a crisscrossed bodice and wide, flowing trousers. The fabric was puce with dark plum swirls over it. Over the top of the pantsuit she wore a lightweight, mustard yellow kimono-style cardigan and around her neck a cotton scarf of sky blue the same color as my dress. She wore no hat, but I’d no doubt there was one just waiting in the wings. The outfit was...eye catching, to say the least.
“Was anything stolen?” I asked, adding a couple of eggs to my plate.
“No idea. I haven’t been able to get him aside to ask.” She gave a huff of frustration.