Jacob smiled. “Quentin’s.”
He placed a folded letter into her hands.
She blinked at it in confusion.
“We found Newt,” Jacob explained. “Graham wanted to conduct the interview himself, but we’ve been spread so thin… It doesn’t matter. We have our answer. Newt is actually a lad called Isaac Newton Blythe, named after a distant relative.”
“TheIsaac Newton?”
“The very one. The family does their best to capitalize on this tenuous connection, which is how Graham’s network was able to follow it to the lad. During the interview, Newt reluctantly divulged that Quentin has been gathering secret intelligence.”
“There’s no cause for alarm, because my cousin is off… acting as a spy?”
“Let’s go inside,” Jacob coaxed. “Why don’t you sit down and read his words for yourself?”
She allowed him to lead her back into her silent, empty kitchen. It felt better now that Jacob was here. Warmer. Safer.
Viv settled in her usual chair. Rufus nudged at her skirts, and she absently reached down to scratch behind his ears. The house hadn’t truly been empty all this time, she realized. It simply felt that way without Quentin. Like she was missing one of her lungs, and the biggest part of her heart.
She unfolded the letter.
N—
I’m gone to gather evidence on Lord S. Although we’re not to write down any details of our missions, my cousin will be terrified if I’m gone for more than one night. Since I don’t know whether I’ll be able to send word from the Isle, or how long I might be gone, please contact Viv if you don’t hear from me within twenty-four hours, so that she doesn’t worry.
Tell her I’ll be home in a fortnight or so, that I love her very much, and that I’m in no danger. Say I swear on our mothers.
If she still looks worried, tell her I bragged to everyone we know that I’d beat her at cards when I return. That’ll tweak her ear. Viv never remembers to be scared when she’s feeling angry or righteous.
Also, don’t you dare touch my tobacco. I expect my snuffbox to be just as full when I return to headquarters!
Yours &tc,
Q
Viv’s mouth fell open. “The unbelievable gall of that bounder!”
“It’s definitely his handwriting?”
“His handwriting, his voice, his shameless admission of snorting tobacco! Hepromisedme he would never take up such a disgusting habit.”
Jacob stared at her, then burst out laughing.
She glared at him. “What?”
“Quentin was right,” he said, still chuckling. “You do forget to be scared when you’re feeling angry or righteous.”
Her cheeks warmed, and she rolled her eyes—at herself, as much as at Quentin.
“He knows me too well, the rascal. Who’s the ‘Lord S’ he’s spying on?”
“No idea,” Jacob admitted. “Some sort of code to avoid writing a subject’s true name, obviously, but Newt couldn’t recall what it stood for in this case.”
“What ‘isle’ did Quentin go off to?” Viv asked, then answered her own question. “The Isle of Wight, I presume, since it’s only a hundred miles from London.”
“Newt couldn’t remember that, either, I’m afraid. First he thought the Isle of Skye, then the Isle of Man. Then he remembered someone mentioning the Isle of Bute, or was it the Isle of Mull?”
“How old is this Newt?” she asked suspiciously.
