From the quick looks they exchanged, they most certainly had. To further distract them from any thoughts of summoning Christopher, Therese encouraged them to help themselves to another crumpet each.
Once they’d reloaded their plates and started consuming the treats, she ventured, “Speaking of your uncle’s duties and what led him to take refuge with us here, have you three anything to report?” She opened her eyes wide and regarded them encouragingly. “Have you stumbled on any possible French agents? I’m sure you’ve been looking.”
The three exchanged another glance, then Jamie licked his fingers and confided, “Drummond isn’t really a valet-cum-groom. He’s Uncle Christopher’s guard.”
“But Mr. Drummond doesn’t usually guard people,” Lottie explained. “He usually works for the Foreign Office by pretending to be a merchant or something like that on the Continent.”
“Does he?” Feeling entirely justified in encouraging the children, Therese leaned back in her chair. “Fancy that.” She had wondered about the rather strange addition to her son’s personal staff and had suspected Drummond wasn’t who he claimed to be.
“This morning, Drummond asked us to keep our eyes open while we were at Fulsom Hall, in case we spotted or heard about any stranger lurking around the village,” George said.
Therese allowed her brows to rise in mild query. “And did you?”
“No,” Jamie replied, “but we did learn that Henry, Dagenham, and the other three have been riding out every morning, taking different routes out and around the village each day, and they haven’t seen any strangers at all.”
“So no unexpected sightings of strangers about the village at all?” Therese clarified.
“We don’t think Uncle Christopher or Drummond expect there to be any strangers about.” Lottie frowned slightly. “I think they think that no one will find Uncle Christopher down here.”
Busy devouring the last two crumpets, the boys nodded in agreement.
Jamie swallowed and said, “We have noticed that Dagenham seems quite interested in asking Uncle Christopher questions about his work.”
“More about the way Uncle Christopher’s office works,” Lottie explained. “At least that was what he was asking on Sunday, when they met us in the lane.”
“This morning,” George said, “when he spoke with Uncle Christopher, Dagenham wanted to know about how assignments were given out.”
The trio exchanged another of their wordless communications, then all three faced Therese. “We wondered,” Jamie said, “whether those were the things Dagenham really wanted to know or if he was working his way around to asking something else.”
“It’s obvious that Dagenham has something to do with the Foreign Office on his mind,” Lottie stated very seriously, “and we wondered if that something was Melissa.”
“Given Uncle North is with the Foreign Office.” George met Therese’s eyes. “We wondered if we should warn Uncle Christopher about what might be behind Dagenham’s questions.”
“Only,” Jamie countered, “we can’t be sure that it is Melissa behind them and not something else entirely.”
Therese regarded the three with burgeoning pride; they were so gratifyingly observant and quick-witted as well. Understanding the unvoiced question in their eyes, she admitted, “Like you, I suspect Dagenham’s motives might be more personal than professional. However, as you say, we cannot be sure, and I don’t believe attempting to explain the situation to your uncle is necessary. He will answer what he wishes to answer—feels he is able to answer—and nothing more.”
She had wondered if Dagenham still carried a torch for Melissa; apparently, he did. “At this point,” she went on, “I don’t feel we need to intervene on that score. Once Dagenham’s motives are clear, if they do involve Melissa, then perhaps I might drop a word in his ear, but for now, let’s set that matter to one side.”
Regarding the three children sitting before her, bright-eyed, keenly observant, and inveterately curious, Therese confided, “As you might expect, the situation with your uncle is of some concern to me. However, while I plan to be out and about the village in my usual fashion, the chances of me stumbling across French agents lurking in the vicarage garden or in the open on the green or inside Mountjoy’s are, I venture to suggest, rather slim. Further to that, your uncle, perhaps understandably, is likely to be rather reticent over reporting any potential danger to me, his mother.” The three flashed her quick, understanding grins. “Consequently,” she went on, “I wondered if I could rely on you three to report on any new developments regarding your uncle and these French agents thought to be after him.” She arched her brows at them. “Can I count on you to do that?”
“Of course, Grandmama!” The three-part chorus echoed through the room.
Therese smiled delightedly. “Thank you, my dears. Having you three acting as my eyes and ears in this will be something of a relief.”
“We’ll tell you anything we see or hear,” Lottie vowed.
The boys nodded earnestly, then their gazes fell to the now-empty plates.
“Very good.” Therese waved Jamie to the bellpull. “If you would, Jamie dear, ring for Crimmins to fetch away the tray.”
Crimmins duly appeared and removed the remains of their feast.
The children returned to their books, sprawling like contented puppies on the rug before the fire.
Therese sat back in her chair and idly watched them, confident that, now that she’d recruited them, she would remain fully apprised of all that was going on involving her son without any risk of appearing to be directly poking her nose into his business.
It was tricky and not a little difficult, knowing as much as she did about his work and having her decades of experience on which to draw, to resist the temptation to stick in her oar; to that end, she usually maintained a wall of sorts between herself and Christopher’s duties. And those of her son-in-law North as well. Neither gentleman would welcome her input, not unless they had asked for it.
In this case, however, with Christopher facing some nebulous threat, maternal instinct trumped her customary reticence to engage. If there was danger lurking, she wanted to know of it.
She focused on Jamie’s, George’s, and Lottie’s gleaming heads and smiled. She was surely blessed to have such reliable agents to whom she could confidently delegate the task of keeping a close eye on Christopher while he remained in Little Moseley.
Chapter 5
Rugged up against the icy chill of early morning in his coat and gloves and with a muffler wound about his neck, Christopher slipped out of the manor’s front door as the church clock tolled seven times.
The sleet had finally ceased, and although the sun had yet to clear the horizon, the pearly light of predawn cast the country landscape in shades of palest pewter and rose. Despite the chill, the air was fresh and crisp. Given how variable the weather had been, Christopher was determined to make the most of the clear skies, knowing beyond question that they wouldn’t last.
Ducking his head against the light breeze, with his hands in his greatcoat pockets, he stepped off the porch and set off striding down the drive. Courtesy of the children’s tour, he had a decent understanding of the paths about the village. He wanted to immerse himself in the quiet of the early-morning countryside and, free of all interruption, cast his mind over the catalogue of his army of informants and decide which of them it might pay to contact now that Napoleon’s defeat was drawing ever closer.