you?”
The boy shrugged, sending layers of grimy wool shifting about his skeletal frame. “Dunno, do I? Some toff. Seen ’im a coupla times at the Blue Goose. Said you was to read it and answer one question with a nod or a head shake.”
“What question?”
“Do you understand what the letter means?”
Instinctively Alex looked around, as if he could divine any unusual interest in their conversation. There was no one obvious, of course, in the teeming streets. Vendors, servants, flower girls, carters, tinkers, and a goosegirl, her flock waddling toward Smithfield on their tar-covered feet.
“Ya gonna read it, then?”
Alex jerked back to attention to see the boy’s hand out. Digging into his pocket, Alex handed over a quid. In exchange the boy dropped the now grimy, crumpled letter into his hand.
“Good day to ya, gov.”
“Wait,” Alex said. “What’s your name?”
The boy glared. “Why you wanna know?”
Alex shrugged. “Just like to know who I’m doin’ business with.”
“Y’r doin’ business with the cove at the Goose. But I’ll give you me name anyways. Wednesday. Lennie Wednesday. See ya round, gov.”
And off he ran.
Alex was still shaking his head at the sight of all those clothes flapping around the running boy when he opened the seal on the letter. He stopped cold.
A letter wrapped in another letter. Alex recognized the handwriting on the interior one and froze. Amabelle. Instinctively he looked around him, even though he knew the sender wouldn’t be anywhere in the crowds that poured through the narrow streets toward the market. Not if they had set Lennie to wait for a week.
He bent back to the letter.
We’re glad you’ve been to see Sir Joseph. His health has worried us all. Which is why we know you wouldn’t want to burden him with more problems. You might not know it, but about three years ago, your father hit a bad patch with investments. Then, suddenly, he found money somewhere. If you read this letter, you might know why. As you can see from it, your wife indicts herself. But she also indicts someone else. Someone in a delicate situation. Believe us when we say there are more letters like this. The next time you hear from us, you will undoubtedly wish to follow the instructions that will release to you another.
Three years ago. His father had mentioned something about investments. But a ship had come in they’d thought lost. Hadn’t it?
With trembling hands, Alex opened the interior letter; the one in Amabelle’s ornate hand addressed to Geoffrey Smythe-Smithe, a scoundrel if there ever was one. One name jumped out at him, though. An impossible name. An unthinkable betrayal. Sir Joseph.
Five minutes later, Alex was still standing in the middle of the walk, the crowds passing around him like a rock in a fast-moving stream. He should return to Drake’s and show him this. He should bring it to the Home Office. He closed his eyes. He couldn’t. The threat was valid. This letter could kill his father. It would definitely ruin him.
It couldn’t be true. If Alex believed it was, he would have to jettison every belief he had. And yet, the letter was damning. And allegedly there were others. Alex couldn’t breathe. What would they want? Would it end up costing his father anyway? Would Alex have to betray not only his country but his father?
He thought of the promise he had only recently made to Drake, that he would not fail to contact him the minute the Lions approached. Nothing was more important than his duty to his country, he’d vowed. Not honor. Not life.
But what about his father? Just what would a charge of treason do to that magnificent heart?
Alex stood for a long time. Before he moved on, he gave one nod of his head. He never went back to Drake’s.
* * *
Fiona had expected to see Alex and his friend Chuffy again. After all, they had promised to return, and she had prepared for it, slipping into her best black twill gown with its Irish lace
The boy shrugged, sending layers of grimy wool shifting about his skeletal frame. “Dunno, do I? Some toff. Seen ’im a coupla times at the Blue Goose. Said you was to read it and answer one question with a nod or a head shake.”
“What question?”
“Do you understand what the letter means?”
Instinctively Alex looked around, as if he could divine any unusual interest in their conversation. There was no one obvious, of course, in the teeming streets. Vendors, servants, flower girls, carters, tinkers, and a goosegirl, her flock waddling toward Smithfield on their tar-covered feet.
“Ya gonna read it, then?”
Alex jerked back to attention to see the boy’s hand out. Digging into his pocket, Alex handed over a quid. In exchange the boy dropped the now grimy, crumpled letter into his hand.
“Good day to ya, gov.”
“Wait,” Alex said. “What’s your name?”
The boy glared. “Why you wanna know?”
Alex shrugged. “Just like to know who I’m doin’ business with.”
“Y’r doin’ business with the cove at the Goose. But I’ll give you me name anyways. Wednesday. Lennie Wednesday. See ya round, gov.”
And off he ran.
Alex was still shaking his head at the sight of all those clothes flapping around the running boy when he opened the seal on the letter. He stopped cold.
A letter wrapped in another letter. Alex recognized the handwriting on the interior one and froze. Amabelle. Instinctively he looked around him, even though he knew the sender wouldn’t be anywhere in the crowds that poured through the narrow streets toward the market. Not if they had set Lennie to wait for a week.
He bent back to the letter.
We’re glad you’ve been to see Sir Joseph. His health has worried us all. Which is why we know you wouldn’t want to burden him with more problems. You might not know it, but about three years ago, your father hit a bad patch with investments. Then, suddenly, he found money somewhere. If you read this letter, you might know why. As you can see from it, your wife indicts herself. But she also indicts someone else. Someone in a delicate situation. Believe us when we say there are more letters like this. The next time you hear from us, you will undoubtedly wish to follow the instructions that will release to you another.
Three years ago. His father had mentioned something about investments. But a ship had come in they’d thought lost. Hadn’t it?
With trembling hands, Alex opened the interior letter; the one in Amabelle’s ornate hand addressed to Geoffrey Smythe-Smithe, a scoundrel if there ever was one. One name jumped out at him, though. An impossible name. An unthinkable betrayal. Sir Joseph.
Five minutes later, Alex was still standing in the middle of the walk, the crowds passing around him like a rock in a fast-moving stream. He should return to Drake’s and show him this. He should bring it to the Home Office. He closed his eyes. He couldn’t. The threat was valid. This letter could kill his father. It would definitely ruin him.
It couldn’t be true. If Alex believed it was, he would have to jettison every belief he had. And yet, the letter was damning. And allegedly there were others. Alex couldn’t breathe. What would they want? Would it end up costing his father anyway? Would Alex have to betray not only his country but his father?
He thought of the promise he had only recently made to Drake, that he would not fail to contact him the minute the Lions approached. Nothing was more important than his duty to his country, he’d vowed. Not honor. Not life.
But what about his father? Just what would a charge of treason do to that magnificent heart?
Alex stood for a long time. Before he moved on, he gave one nod of his head. He never went back to Drake’s.
* * *
Fiona had expected to see Alex and his friend Chuffy again. After all, they had promised to return, and she had prepared for it, slipping into her best black twill gown with its Irish lace
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