“A very curious letter. From Sidmouth. He never writes to me. Actually, I don’t think the Home Office secretary has said ten words to me in my life.” He waved the letter. “But suddenly I am his good friend, with whom he communicates at length.”
Ives stood. “I will leave you to it. I think a ride is in order. The day is fair.”
“If you could wait a few minutes, I would be grateful. I think you can shed light on this peculiar missive, you see. You are mentioned several times.” He set the letter down and gazed up.
Ives had no idea what Sidmouth had written, so he had no intention of leading this conversation.
“You mentioned when you came that you were worried Miss Belvoir had attracted the attention of the Home Office. Did you suspect that because you thought she was being watched while in my home?”
“Yes.”
“And did you send word up the ranks of the HomeOffice that if they did not call off their watch, you would see to it that I—how did Sidmouth phrase it?—raised so much hell in the House of Lords that the peers would insist that heads roll?”
“I was sure you would not tolerate such an insult to yourself and to the entire peerage.”
“Well, that explains this.” Lance tapped the letter. “It contains a cryptic apology from Sidmouth, something about a hired man not understanding his mission, and ends with a jovial assumption that I would not put too much stock in any tales you might tell.”
“I am glad he took it seriously.”
“I am sorry I did not, when you first mentioned the Home Office. What does Sidmouth want with Miss Belvoir? Is she some radical? A revolutionary? A criminal?”
“She is none of those things.” He would swear to it. He just had no proof to support his conviction.
“You are sure, are you?”
“Damned sure.”
“Then why did Sidmouth set a man on her?”
“It has to do with her father, and a misunderstanding of her loyalty to him.”
“So her father is the criminal, radical, or revolutionary.”
“Yes.”
“Which is it?”
“The first, as best I can tell. Possibly the second, but it is unrelated if true. Unlikely for the third, but...”
“But you really can’t be sure.”
“Correct.” He shared the story of Hadrian Belvoir and the counterfeiting, and of Padua’s visits to the prison and the hope of the Home Office to have a minnow lead them to a whale. “It is a matter for the magistrates, if they only think it was counterfeiting. The interest of the Home Office implies someone thinks the bad money funded something disloyal,” he concluded.
“So you brought her here where no agent dare trespass.”
“And where I could keep an eye on her, while I visited. If you think her presence compromises you, we will leave today.”
Lance rose and paced to the window. He looked out while he thought. “Zealots cannot be trusted. Everyone knows Sidmouth’s agents cross too many lines, and create as many problems as they solve. The lords do not stand up to him and end it because they are afraid these radicals will start a revolution and our heads will be on the block.”
“We can still leave, to spare you trouble. As you said, there are enough clouds here already.”
“Not political ones.” He turned, a glint of amusement in his eyes. “I think I will enjoy this. For once I will relish having the title.Beingthe title. Lord Lancelot Hemingford might have garnered suspicion, but Aylesbury? Never. No one would dare.” He picked up the letter. “I must respond. Graciously, of course. I will express dismay at the insult to my position as reported by my brother. I will be forgiving, but in a most condescending way. I will imply that since Sidmouth was only recentlymade a viscount, and a newly minted title at that, he can be excused his error this once.”
Glad that was settled, Ives rose again to take his leave.
“As for Miss Belvoir,” Lance continued, “I trust you will watch your step. As you admit, you can’t really be sure about her.”
“My better judgment usually stands me in good stead where people are concerned.”
