Colin has a capital arm. He’s going to be splendid on the playing fields of Harrow.”
“Assuming we don’t decide to educate him at home. It’s odd how being a parent makes one loath to put one’s child through what one went through oneself.”
“Not odd at all.” Fitzroy’s serious face relaxed into a grin. He was a new father of a baby daughter. “It’s ridiculous how cautious it makes one. Though I suppose if I was really cautious I’d have sent Harriet and the baby back to England.”
“I doubt Harriet would have gone,” Malcolm said, “any more than Suzanne would.”
“Very true. And I could scarcely argue with her own uncle saying it’s perfectly safe.” Fitzroy’s young wife was Wellington’s niece. Fitzroy jerked his head at the door to Wellington’s office. “He’s expecting you. But have a care. Last night strained him more than he’ll admit, and he’s not happy with the news from the Prussians.”
Malcolm exchanged a look with Davenport, and they moved to the door with one accord. Malcolm, more at home at Headquarters than Davenport in recent weeks, rapped on the door panels. A few moments later a curt voice bade them come in.
Wellington was seated behind his desk, frowning at the papers before him, but he looked up at their entrance. “Learned anything new?”
“Not since last night, sir,” Malcolm said.
“No, I suppose not.” Wellington waved them to two straight-backed chairs that stood in front of the desk. “Davenport, you spoke with your—with Lady Cordelia last night?”
Davenport nodded, face guarded. “As I said.”
“And?”
“My wife is a number of things, but she cared about her sister. She was upset, as you can imagine. And she insisted I show her her sister’s body.”
Wellington raised his brows. “Intrepid woman. Could she shed any light on her sister’s actions last night?”
“Cordelia only arrived in Brussels last night herself. She said she hadn’t seen Julia before arriving at the ball.”
“Said?” Wellington repeated.
Malcolm shot Davenport a sharp glance.
“I have no reason to think Cordelia was lying about that.”
“But—” Wellington said.
Davenport shifted his position against the hard slats of his chair. “I think Cordelia may know more about Julia than she admitted to me last night. I’m not the likeliest person for her to confide in.”
Wellington’s gaze slid to Malcolm. “Could Suzanne—”
“I’ve already asked her to speak to Lady Cordelia.” Malcolm glanced at Davenport. “My wife has assisted me in the past.”
“I’ve heard stories of her exploits. Your marriage is remarkable, Rannoch,” Davenport said, in a tone that indicated he still hadn’t made up his mind whether that was a negative or a positive.
“Right.” Wellington tapped his fingers on the ink blotter. “Let’s get back to La Fleur and his warning. Tell me again precisely what he said?”
Malcolm exchanged a glance with Davenport. “ ‘Don’t trust the Silver Hawk.’ ”
Wellington frowned. “It sounds like a code name.”
“So it does. But not one I’ve ever heard of. Davenport?”
Davenport shook his head.
“I have contacts in Brussels we can approach,” Malcolm said. “Unless—” He glanced at Davenport.
“You’ve been in Brussels more than I have in recent weeks,” Davenport said.
Wellington gave a curt nod. “Go carefully.”
“I always do, sir,” Malcolm said.
“Hrmph,” said the commander of the Allied army.
“I swear it’s as though mysterious deaths follow the two of you about.” Blanca Mendoza, Suzanne’s confidante, maid, and friend, added a yellow block to the gatehouse she, Suzanne, and Colin were building on the salon carpet in the Rue Ducale house out of the blocks that had been among Colin’s birthday presents.
“I’d say that’s a function of our work.” Suzanne cupped her hand round Colin’s own and carefully helped him put a red block atop the yellow one, completing the
“Assuming we don’t decide to educate him at home. It’s odd how being a parent makes one loath to put one’s child through what one went through oneself.”
“Not odd at all.” Fitzroy’s serious face relaxed into a grin. He was a new father of a baby daughter. “It’s ridiculous how cautious it makes one. Though I suppose if I was really cautious I’d have sent Harriet and the baby back to England.”
“I doubt Harriet would have gone,” Malcolm said, “any more than Suzanne would.”
“Very true. And I could scarcely argue with her own uncle saying it’s perfectly safe.” Fitzroy’s young wife was Wellington’s niece. Fitzroy jerked his head at the door to Wellington’s office. “He’s expecting you. But have a care. Last night strained him more than he’ll admit, and he’s not happy with the news from the Prussians.”
Malcolm exchanged a look with Davenport, and they moved to the door with one accord. Malcolm, more at home at Headquarters than Davenport in recent weeks, rapped on the door panels. A few moments later a curt voice bade them come in.
Wellington was seated behind his desk, frowning at the papers before him, but he looked up at their entrance. “Learned anything new?”
“Not since last night, sir,” Malcolm said.
“No, I suppose not.” Wellington waved them to two straight-backed chairs that stood in front of the desk. “Davenport, you spoke with your—with Lady Cordelia last night?”
Davenport nodded, face guarded. “As I said.”
“And?”
“My wife is a number of things, but she cared about her sister. She was upset, as you can imagine. And she insisted I show her her sister’s body.”
Wellington raised his brows. “Intrepid woman. Could she shed any light on her sister’s actions last night?”
“Cordelia only arrived in Brussels last night herself. She said she hadn’t seen Julia before arriving at the ball.”
“Said?” Wellington repeated.
Malcolm shot Davenport a sharp glance.
“I have no reason to think Cordelia was lying about that.”
“But—” Wellington said.
Davenport shifted his position against the hard slats of his chair. “I think Cordelia may know more about Julia than she admitted to me last night. I’m not the likeliest person for her to confide in.”
Wellington’s gaze slid to Malcolm. “Could Suzanne—”
“I’ve already asked her to speak to Lady Cordelia.” Malcolm glanced at Davenport. “My wife has assisted me in the past.”
“I’ve heard stories of her exploits. Your marriage is remarkable, Rannoch,” Davenport said, in a tone that indicated he still hadn’t made up his mind whether that was a negative or a positive.
“Right.” Wellington tapped his fingers on the ink blotter. “Let’s get back to La Fleur and his warning. Tell me again precisely what he said?”
Malcolm exchanged a glance with Davenport. “ ‘Don’t trust the Silver Hawk.’ ”
Wellington frowned. “It sounds like a code name.”
“So it does. But not one I’ve ever heard of. Davenport?”
Davenport shook his head.
“I have contacts in Brussels we can approach,” Malcolm said. “Unless—” He glanced at Davenport.
“You’ve been in Brussels more than I have in recent weeks,” Davenport said.
Wellington gave a curt nod. “Go carefully.”
“I always do, sir,” Malcolm said.
“Hrmph,” said the commander of the Allied army.
“I swear it’s as though mysterious deaths follow the two of you about.” Blanca Mendoza, Suzanne’s confidante, maid, and friend, added a yellow block to the gatehouse she, Suzanne, and Colin were building on the salon carpet in the Rue Ducale house out of the blocks that had been among Colin’s birthday presents.
“I’d say that’s a function of our work.” Suzanne cupped her hand round Colin’s own and carefully helped him put a red block atop the yellow one, completing the
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