Jamie slowly blinked, then said, “Well, Uncle Christopher is with the Foreign Office. We thought it might be interesting to see him in action, as it were.”
Henry smiled. “I don’t think chatting to wandering foreigners is quite how Foreign Office gentlemen like your uncle operate.”
Roger, too, smiled rather patronizingly.
Jamie ignored the insult to his intellect and made his eyes wide. “Oh. I hadn’t realized.”
A commotion on the table with balls tumbling into pockets drew everyone’s eyes.
Once the ensuing crowing faded and the game resumed, Jamie met George’s eyes. “At least we’ve learned that, so far, no foreigner’s been seen lurking about.”
George nodded and whispered back, “That should make Drummond happy.”
After enjoying a late luncheon, Christopher quit the dining room, slipping away while the children were chatting animatedly with his mother. Intending to retreat to his bedchamber to read the London news sheets in peace, he paused in the front hall and looked around. He didn’t spot any printed sheets, but Crimmins appeared, and Christopher smiled. “I was looking for the news sheets, Crimmins. I take it they’ve arrived?”
“Indeed, sir. Drummond has already taken them up to your room.”
“Excellent!” With a nod, Christopher started up the stairs.
He opened the door to his room, stepped inside, and saw Drummond sitting in one of the armchairs before the hearth. He had one of the two news sheets in his hands and was carefully perusing it.
Christopher shut the door with a definite click.
Drummond looked up, then grunted. He waved the news sheet. “I can hardly read this in the servants’ hall or even in my room in the attic.”
Christopher huffed and went forward. Accepting the second news sheet that Drummond held up, Christopher sank into the other armchair, flicked out the sheet, and started reading.
Just as Christopher did, for his work with the FO, Drummond needed to keep abreast of developments in the ongoing campaign against Napoleon and also with any news from the courts of the various other members of the Sixth Coalition.
After reading and digesting the war report, Christopher lowered the sheet and looked at Drummond. “I forgot to ask, do you have anything of a local nature to report?”
Drummond lowered his news sheet, plainly ordered his thoughts, then said, “While you were off at Fulsom Hall, I called in at the Cockspur Arms and then stopped in at the village shops. Not so much to be learned at either the baker’s or the butcher’s, but Mountjoy’s Store is what I’d call a gossip hub. Even over the few minutes I was in there, two of the local farmwives came in and chatted away with the young lass behind the counter. After the second one left, I asked the shop girl in a roundabout way if she’d heard of any foreigners lurking, but seems there’s been no whisper of any strangers at all.”
Laying the news sheet on his lap, Christopher sat back and steepled his fingers. “That fits with what I heard at Fulsom Hall. Apparently, Sir Henry and his four friends have decided to learn more about the surrounding countryside than they have in years past. In pursuit of that goal, they’ve been riding out every morning, taking a different tack each day. I didn’t specifically ask, but I feel sure that if they had come upon any unexpected foreigners, they would have mentioned it—they know I work at the FO.”
Drummond slowly nodded. “I’m starting to see that what you said—that any stranger in these parts will stand out, be noticed, and be remarked upon—is true.” He shook his head. “I can’t see any French agent sneaking up on us without anyone saying.”
“Indeed. As I said at the outset, I expect our sojourn here to pass without incident.”
Drummond grunted and went back to his news sheet.
After listening to the clock on the mantelpiece chime three times, Christopher returned to perusing the news as well.
The weather had turned nasty, with an icy wind blustering around the house, faintly howling about the eaves and tossing flurries of sleet against the windows. After luncheon, the children had settled by the fire in Therese’s private parlor, each engrossed in reading a book.
After perusing the last of the letters the post had brought that morning, Therese laid the sheets aside and studied the three bent heads. A moment later, the clock struck for the half hour, and as one, the children raised their heads, then looked at her questioningly.
She laughed and nodded. “All right. Jamie, please ring for Crimmins.”
Grinning, Jamie leapt to his feet and crossed to the bellpull. He was just tall enough to reach it. After tugging imperiously, he returned to sit cross-legged on the rug before the fire.
Lottie and George likewise closed their books and sat up.
Crimmins hadn’t waited to hear an order he knew would be forthcoming; the door of the parlor opened, and he carried in a laden tray. “Afternoon tea, ma’am.”
Therese smiled in appreciation. “Thank you, Crimmins. I believe we have three hungry children to feed.” She indicated the low table to one side of her chair, and Crimmins carefully set down the tray to a chorus of oohs and aahs as the children’s big eyes settled on the small mountain of Mrs. Haggerty’s luscious crumpets, slathered and dripping with butter, that occupied pride of place on the tray.
Crimmins glanced at the three faces and struggled to keep his smile within bounds. “Will there be anything else, ma’am?”
“I doubt it, Crimmins, but I believe Mrs. Haggerty deserves a commendation for reducing these three to speechlessness.”
“Indeed, ma’am. I will convey as much to her.”
With that, Crimmins departed. The click of the door shutting had three pairs of pleading eyes rising to Therese’s face. She smiled and waved at the tray. “Have at them—but don’t forget your manners.”
Within seconds, they had each taken a small plate, helped themselves to one of the golden delights, and drizzled it with honey. When they each took their first bite, Therese watched expressions of gustatory ecstasy pass across their faces.
She poured herself a cup of tea, ensured the three had glasses of milk, then sat back, sipped, and bided her time.
When the three were halfway through their treats, Jamie glanced at the plate, patently verifying that there were more than three crumpets left. He looked at Therese. “Shouldn’t we let Uncle Christopher know it’s teatime and there are crumpets?”
Setting down her empty cup and relaxing in her chair, Therese waved the notion aside. “For some strange reason, your uncle never took to crumpets.” That was why she’d ordered them to be served that afternoon.
Lottie, too, had been regarding the remaining crumpets. “But Uncle Christopher has never tried Mrs. Haggerty’s crumpets, has he?”
Seeing the indecision in all three faces and having her own reasons for wishing to keep their small gathering private, Therese firmly stated, “That may be so, but at this time of day, your uncle will be busy scrutinizing the news sheets—that’s an important part of his work—and I suspect we shouldn’t disturb him. Gentlemen do not appreciate being interrupted when they’re working.” She arched her brows at the three. “I’m sure you’ve noticed that with your own father.”