Wedding In Springtime(22)

"Of course not," breathed Penelope.

"You would do whatever was needed to protect your countrymen."

Penelope nodded.

"I knew you were a lady of strong understanding."

"What is it you need me to do?"

Mr. Neville moved to sit next to her on the settee and, although no one  was around, lowered his voice further. "The duke has an envelope that  contains information crucial to the war effort. I know he feels he can  handle the situation himself, but the information is critical. If it  should fall into the wrong hands, the consequences would be dire."

"But how can I help? Do you want for me to speak with him?"

"Speak? No! I have already tried that; he absolutely refuses to see reason."

"But how am I to help?"

"It is simple. I need you to bring me that envelope."

Genie gasped. "You are asking me to steal from the duke?"

"No, of course not. I am asking you to return the envelope to its  rightful owner. It is in the study, behind a picture. There is a box for  which you will need a key, the key Marchford keeps with him at all  times. Do not take anything of value. You must only bring me the  envelope."

"But, Mr. Neville, I would not feel comfortable … "

"I understand, I do. Think no more on the subject. I shall try to find  another who may help me." Mr. Neville stood and gave her a bow to take  his leave.

"I am sorry I could not be of more help," said Penelope, also rising from her seat.

"I would ask that you hold this conversation in strictest confidence, Miss Rose."

"Yes, of course."

"And if you know anyone who may be able to help, please let me know. The  Foreign Office would be quite grateful and, naturally, a reward would  be provided."

"A reward?"

"It is standard procedure, did I not tell you? For items such as this,  the reward would be substantial, about ten thousand pounds."

"Ten thousand?" It was a shocking amount of money.

"It would be enough to change a person's life forever," said Neville.  "Think on it, Miss Talbot. You would get ten thousand pounds in addition  to knowing you acted in the service of your King."

Penelope could only stare at the man in response. "Think on it," repeated Mr. Neville with a bow and was gone.

Ten thousand pounds. Ten thousand pounds! It was a fortune. All her  life, Penelope had been compared to her sisters and watched as they made  brilliant matches while she played a supporting role. She could not  fault them for being beautiful, but she had wondered why her Creator had  seen fit to make her the only plain girl in a flock of beauties. Their  looks had propelled them into advantageous marriages. Without the face  or the fortune, Penelope watched as her sisters began lives with their  husbands, started families, and glided beyond the place where Penelope  would no doubt spend the rest of her life. Unmarried. A spinster. In all  the world, there could not be a more useless person than the gently  bred spinster.

Unmarried, Penelope had no place in society. But ten thousand pounds  could change everything. First of all, she could set up her own  household. With wise investments in the nine percents, she could net  nine hundred pounds per annum, more than enough to live quite  comfortably.

Perhaps she could, after a few years, move to Bath and invent a deceased  husband to present herself as a widow. A comfortably stationed widow  was the best positioned in society. She may move freely in society,  without the burden of a husband governing her movements, or the censure  of never having wed. A wealthy widow-yes, that would be something quite  grand. She might even take a lover.

Lover? A flood of emotions rushed through her, making her oddly hot and  sweaty in unmentionable places. What madness was this? She stood up and  walked out of the room. She needed fresh air. She needed to leave these  odd thoughts behind.

"Mr. Neville, are you still here?" Marchford's calm voice rang through  the great hall like a restorative. "I thought you had left."         

     



 

"I must have taken a wrong turn and accidently took myself on a tour of the house." Neville walked down the stairs to the foyer.

"Is that so?" asked Marchford.

No, it was not so. It was a lie. Beware men who want you to keep secrets. Advice from her grandmother rang in her head.

"Mr. Neville, wait a moment, sir." Penelope walked down the stairs to where the men stood in the foyer.

"Miss Rose, are you acquainted with Mr. Neville?" Marchford raised an eyebrow. "I had no idea."

"He introduced himself to me just now."

"Part of your tour of the house?" asked Marchford with a sardonic drawl.

"Mr. Neville, I have no need to think on your offer. I cannot accept it," said Penelope before she could change her mind.

"Mr. Neville, have you been propositioning my grandmother's companion?" Marchford raised an eyebrow. "How enterprising of you."

"He offered a reward of ten thousand pounds for the return of a certain  envelope you keep in a locked box beneath a picture frame."

Everything went silent. Marchford's features hardened into stone; his  eyes drilled on Mr. Neville, who gave a small cough and shot Penelope a  dark look. Instinctively, she stepped back.

"Well done, Miss Rose," said Mr. Neville, his expression turning into an  approximation of a smile. "Well done indeed. I hope you will forgive my  crude methods, but I needed to discover if you were susceptible to  bribery."

"This was a test?" Penelope flushed with anger. He put her through this  emotional turmoil for nothing? "You said I should do this to protect  England from Napoleon. You spoke of the blood of English nobility  flowing through the streets! All this was to challenge my loyalty?"

"No, no, my dear, the threat is real. You may not appreciate my methods,  but I will flush out all traitors to the Crown, and I will see them  swing from the highest gallows!"

"Thank you, Mr. Neville, that is quite enough," said Marchford with a  razor edge. "Let me disabuse you of two false notions. First, your  inquiries into the loyalty of my staff and guests are no longer  required. Second, Miss Rose is not your ‘dear' nor anything else to you.  There is no acquaintance between you; you will forget her name and  never speak to her or about her ever again. Have I made myself perfectly  clear?"

Marchford stepped forward and Neville stepped back.

"Yes, Your Grace. Perfectly clear. You may not appreciate my methods, but I must get results."

"Perhaps your methods would be best used cleaning your own house. Find  your own traitors and leave my household alone." Marchford backed Mr.  Neville to the door as he spoke, the efficient butler being on hand to  open the door and remove Mr. Neville from the house, swinging the door  shut behind him.

"Thank you, Peters," said Marchford to the butler. "Mr. Neville is no  longer welcome in this home. Please see to it that he is never again  granted admission. Miss Rose, a word." Marchford strode into his study,  Pen following behind.

"Have a seat, Miss Rose."

Penelope sat obediently but bristled at the duke's brusque manner. If he  thought she could be "managed," he would soon realize his error.

"Please tell me exactly what Mr. Neville said to you," said Marchford.

Penelope quickly gave him a full report. "Now, I think I deserve to know the truth. Is what Mr. Neville said true?"

Marchford sighed and sat in a chair next to hers. "I do apologize, Miss  Rose, for dragging you into this. Mr. Neville had no business speaking  to you at all. But yes, it is true. I worked for the Crown in Cadiz,  however ‘spy' is not a word I would use lightly. In fact, it is not a  word I would use at all, and I sincerely hope neither will you."

"You can depend on my discretion."

Marchford nodded and continued, "Mr. Neville is correct. At the dance,  some letters were stolen, letters that could reveal the identity of  British spies working on the Continent. These letters are useless,  however, without the code, which the admiral asked me to keep safe."

"Why not turn it over to the Foreign Office or the War Department?"

"Because there have been a series of leaks. Information has been found  in the hands of the enemy that only could have come from those offices.  Neville may not like to admit to it, but somewhere in his office, there  is a traitor."

"But why would Neville ask me to steal it for him?"

"There are two possibilities. The first is that he is doing exactly what  he says-he is trying to get the code so he can protect it and testing  persons in my household to see if they are susceptible to bribes. The  second option is that he is the traitor himself and trying to get the  codes, so he can pass them on to his contacts in France."         

     



 

"Mr. Neville a traitor?" The skin on her arms prickled with goose bumps as with a chill. "Which do you think more likely?"