Memoirs of a Hoyden by Joan Smith Page A

still works at Whitehall, I cannot abandon him.”
    “He’s said a dozen times his sister would go to London with him. You have a beau there, haven’t you?” he asked jealously.
    Miss Longville lifted her square chin and looked away, not deigning to answer. As she turned her head toward me, I quickly looked in another direction. I happened to spot a carafe of wine and some glasses on the sofa table. Kestrel’s excuse for interrupting Sir Herbert was ill chosen, but it gave me something to do till he returned. I poured myself a glass of wine and sat down. Within a minute Kestrel was back, carrying a glass in his hand. He joined me on the sofa.
    I pointed to the wine. “Next time, choose your excuse more carefully. There’s wine here.”
    “Wine? Oh, I was after brandy.”
    “Is that what you’re drinking! Kestrel, you know where brandy comes from! It’s smuggled in from France. If Sir Herbert has brandy—well, it’s perfectly obvious he’s in league with the smugglers. They bring him brandy, and he ships out secret documents. Imagine his being stupid enough to offer you brandy.’’
    I expected surprise, perhaps a word of praise for my deducing. It was no such a thing. Kestrel’s lip curled in derision. “If having a keg of brandy in the cellar were enough to condemn a man, there wouldn’t be a pair of trousers in all of Kent walking free, including my own.”
    “Do you mean to sit there and tell me you actually contribute to the French economy at a time like this? Putting money in Boney’s coffers to buy cannons?”
    “No, money in our own English smugglers’ hands. And before you point a finger, I might just remind you that the silk in that pretty gown you’re wearing also comes illegally from France.”
    If he thought to gain a point there, he was badly mistaken. “Of course it does! It belongs to Miss Longville.”
    He looked with some interest at the gown. “I thought it was not quite in your style,” he said. The gown, you recall, had been described as “pretty.” I noticed when he said it that a compliment sounded out of place on his lips. Determined not to show my pique, I changed the subject.
    “What was Sir Herbert doing when you saw him? Was he alone?”
    “Just he and his ink pot. He was writing to Sussex to purchase some sheep-dip. Our own Kent supplier is better, but Sir Herbert is an experimenter.”
    “He won’t meet the spies till we all retire. I believe I’ll do it now and save myself a lecture on sheep-dip.”
    A mocking smile raked my face, lingering while Kestrel thought of a clever retort for my insulting the sheep-breeders. “Lectures on subject matter foreign to the listener do tend to become tedious,” he said blandly.
    “I haven’t mentioned the East since I came back downstairs!”
    “I noticed it, and I am extremely grateful for you forbearance, Miss Mathieson.”
    “You said you enjoyed it!” You may imagine with what a chilly air I took my leave of him. I stopped to say good night to the couple in the corner as well. Alfred stumbled to his feet and bowed. Miss Longville said she hoped I slept well. I told her I was extremely fatigued, to prevent her stopping at my room later, and I left.
    Nothing had been settled about searching Sir Herbert’s office, but I fully intended to do it, whatever about Kestrel. I stopped off to see Ronald. He had his lights out and his window open, with his head stuck out to hear what went on, as vision was poor.
    “What’s afoot?” I enquired.
    “It’s silent as a tomb out there.”
    “I have officially retired for the night. I’m going to go out and scout around.”
    “I’ll go with you.”
    “No, you’d best stay here in case someone decides to check up on your fever. If you hear anyone approach my door, tell them I don’t want to be disturbed.”
    “What if it’s Kestrel?”
    I gave him an icy stare, invisible, of course, in the dark room, but my tone was also frosty. “I shouldn’t think it at all likely he