“Ah.” She had shifted from one leg to another because the muscle in her lower calf had started to cramp. That must have been why the conversation suddenly switched from politics to oddly personal.
Pippa cleared her throat. “I was merely wanting to sweep the floor, when your, err, lordships suddenly appeared out of nowhere. I truly didn’t mean to overhear your conversation. I most humbly beg your pardon and hope you will forgive me.” She made a neat curtsy.
“Her English really is impeccable,” Castlereagh marvelled.
Aldingbourne pushed himself off the desk and strolled towards her. Pippa took a step back.
“Not only does she speak impeccable English, but judging from her bearing, I do not think she is a maid at all. She lacks that typical fawning aspect that servants exhibit towards their superiors,” Aldingbourne deduced.
“You must be right. Look. The creature’s actually scowling at you without an ounce of fear at all.” Castlereagh appeared fascinated. “Who are you?”
“Anna Braun.”
“Anna Braun,” Aldingbourne said meditatively. “An Austrian name to someone who speaks perfect King’s English. Your parents are English? Or partly?”
She assented. “And who are you?”
Castlereagh lifted a chin at him. “His Grace, the Duke of Aldingbourne. And I am Castlereagh.”
Pippa nodded. That much she hadfigured out.
Once more the men exchanged glances. “How much did you understand from our conversation?”
“You need not worry at all, sir, for I really am quite stupid,” Pippa said eagerly. “I don’t care about politics at all. I didn’t understand anything that was said, nor are any of the names you mentioned familiar, except maybe for the Tsar and Talleyrand and Metternich.” She paused, thinking. “And maybe the Archduke.”
“In short, all the principal figures,” Aldingbourne put in dryly.
“Go on. What else did you pick up?”
Pippa shrugged. “As I said, nothing at all. Except maybe that you don’t trust Metternich, as rightly enough no one should, and he is trying to make secret alliances with Russia and possibly France and Prussia, so you—you are the British Foreign Secretary, correct?—are worried and want to use His Grace’s personal connection to the Archduke to see whether he has some political influence over the emperor, which you deem unlikely.” She shrugged again. “And if Metternich gets his will, the Archduke is to be married off to the Russian Grand Duchess, much as he married off our poor Marie Louise to the Emperor of the French.”
“Former Emperor of the French,” Castlereagh corrected, emphasising the ‘former’. “Best to just refer to him as Bonaparte.”
“In short, she understood absolutely everything. And she appears anything but stupid,” Aldingbourne concluded. Then he pulled himself up. “Very well. Do you know what we do with spies?”
Pippa ran a tongue over her dry lips. “No. What?”
“We have them shot.”
Pippa paled.
“Ah, yes we do.” Castlereagh nodded in agreement. “Indubitably. Unless…” He looked at Aldingbourne meaningfully.
“Unless…” Aldingbourne, in turn, looked at her with hooded eyes.
“Unless?” Pippa’s eyes flew back and forth between the two men anxiously.
“Unless you’re willing to lend your services to us as well. There is such a thing as patriotism, after all.”
“Is there?” Pippa looked at him blankly. She didn’t have a single patriotic bone in her, but neither of the men needed to know that.
“Well said, Aldingbourne.” Castlereagh turned to Pippa. “Patriotism. Loyalty to the British crown and to your King George.”
“He isn’t my king…” Pippa grumbled. “The last time I set foot on British soil was when I was a child.”
“Nonetheless, you’re English.” Castlereagh paced. “The Crown needs your services, and your loyalty to King George ought to be greater than to the emperor.”
Pippa looked at him with misgiving. “In other words, you want me to spy for you.” She hadn’t been too successful spying for one party, so how on earth would she go about doing so for two?
