“Oh yes,” Rose said, seeing her opening to pry into Mr.White’s connection with the isles and his opportunities to spy. “You must have been a regular visitor to Frest and Hamarray as estate manager.”
Mr.Sinclair snorted while Mr.White’s cheerful demeanor slipped a bit more. “I made sure that the estate was to Lord Mar’s standards.”
Which by all appearances weren’t that high.But Rose didn’t make that observation ...yet. She still wanted to discover more from this man, even if it sounded as if he might not have traveled to Hamarray and Frest as much as he should have.
“Did you stay often at Muckle Skaill?”
“I kept things running efficiently.” Mr.White’s carefully chosen words did not inspire confidence in Rose. But hewascertainly good at manipulating the truth to his favor, which would be beneficial to a spy.
“Are you a particular friend of the earl?” Rose asked.
“I would never be so bold as to claim the esteem of a man in his position.” Mr.White gave a mincing smile worthy of Jane Austen’s Mr.Collins. Rose had no difficulty surmising that Mar and Mr.White had cultivated only a distant employee-employer relationship at best.
“Were you close at all with his late son?”
A particularly well-timed cough arose from Mr.Sinclair, and Mr.White’s congeniality cracked again. Now that was interesting. Unfortunately, neither man seemed willing to elaborate on their response to her query. Mr.White only said in a rather somber voice, “I did not know the viscount terribly well. It is a tragic shame about his loss. So many young men cut down before their time. They did not have the fortune to avoid the war like some.”
He shot a rather smug look in Mr.Sinclair’s direction that made hot rage surge through Rose. Howdaredhe! Howdaredhe turn the sacrifice of so many into not just a platitude but a snideinsultat that.
Rose didn’t show her anger. Not yet. Mr.White would receive his comeuppance in due course.
“I only ask because I am curious about the relationship between a landowner and an estate agent. I am, of course, on the hunt for one of my own, and I thought you three gentlemen would be the best to guide me.”
Mr.White looked torn between puffing up his chest and shooting deadly daggers in the direction of Mr.Sinclair. For his part, the crofter seemed rather stunned at being included in her statement. Mr.Lewis’s patrician face remained as unreadable as always.
Rose turned to her attorney first. “Mr.Lewis, would you be so kind as to explain to me exactly what a British land agent’s duties are and what his education tends to be?”
“An estate manager is charged with being the landowner’s representative. He takes care of legal matters, tenant relations, buildings, duties to the community, forestry, a whole host of matters. Some are solicitors, some are graduates of the Royal Agricultural College in Cirencester, and some are members of the Land Agents’ Society. There are even rumors about the founding of a new estate-management college, since it is currently difficult to find suitable agents.” Mr.Lewis’s normally impassive face showed a flicker of sadness, and Rose instantly knew that he was thinking of his grandson who had died at the Dardanelles. The war and its terrible casualties were the reason that it was difficult to find young men to fill positions. Instead of beginning their careers upon departing from university, they’d met their deaths instead.
Images of the blessés Rose had transported crowded her mind—men unable to breathe with lungs damaged from mustard gas or others with faces so torn by shrapnel they had barely looked human anymore. But each of them had beensomebody, each of them once a hale, hearty young man with ambitions for the future. But the war hadn’t cared about those hopes, hadn’t seen them as individuals. They were numbers thrust against the numbers on the other side of the barbed wire.
But Rose had a chance to carry on a mission of one of the lost—Viscount Barbury. She couldn’t allow the memories of the past to distract her. She needed to stay focused on the conversation to pick up any nuances that either Mr.White or Mr.Sinclair might display. As Myrtle had said, Rose needed to keep her enemies close.
“What are some qualities of a good land agent?” Rose asked as she turned to Mr.White, her voice unusually sharp as she tried to distract herself from the memories bearing down on her.
“Honesty, of course,” Mr.White said, his obsequious smile back in place. “Loyalty to you and the estate. Knowledge of the applicable law and understanding of land valuation. A thorough understanding of accounting. Steadfast. Even tempered. An understanding of agriculture—crops, farm machinery, animal husbandry. A good grasp on localpolitics would be handy, although not strictly necessary, as the land agent could make it his duty to learn. He would also ideally have an understanding of the estate itself—perhaps even a past history with it.”
“And what attributes would you add, seeing you’ve dealt with land agents from the other side of the coin?” Rose pivoted toward Mr.Sinclair.
He rubbed his scar—a sign that seemed to indicate his discomfort. Mr.White shifted, obviously not approving of Rose including one of her own tenants in the conversation about whom to hire.
“All the points Mr.Lewis and Mr.White said were good ones, but I would add that the man must be capable of forming a good relationship with the crofters as well. He must keep his word to them too. Trustworthiness breeds efficiency in my mind. We crofters always work hard, and we are more willing to make improvements when we know we shall be compensated for them, whether that be through direct payment or a better quality of life. A land agent should understand island existence—not how to manage a big sprawling estate in Devon or Hampshire. He should know how to dig drainage ditches to reclaim land and how to gather seaweed for fertilizer or how the fishing season affects the crofters and when the best time for dipping the sheep ...”
“Sheep are dipped?” Rose asked in confusion. “What in heaven’s name doesthatentail?”
“Rounding them up and placing them quickly in a bath to protect them against fungus and insects. We have a special chute that we built just for that purpose,” Mr.Sinclair explained.
“Did you know about sheep dipping?” Rose asked Mr.Lewis, fascinated by this tidbit of crofting life.
He shook his head.
“Mr.White?”
“Uh ... no,” Mr.White said, “but it is a matter of small import. My concerns have mostly been focused on maintaining Lord Mar’s Valhalla, the hunting grounds, and the live game.”
Rose was beginning to wonder if the former land agent had visited the estate much at all. He sounded more like an absentminded gamekeeper.
Rose tapped her chin as she considered all the information. It wasn’t difficult for her to realize exactlywhowas the most capable of managing Frest ... or of organizing a spy ring. In this case, both were the same individual: Mr.Sinclair. He was at once the person connected to Hamarray that she trusted the most ... and the least. For both those reasons, she wanted him by her side, even after, or maybe because of, what she’d witnessed in the alley behind the pub. It would make it so much easier to track his activities if he was on her payroll.
