CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
“The power of a book is supreme.”
Private Education: A Practical Plan for the Studies of Young Ladies.
Elizabeth Appleton. 1815.
Hugh tapped his Hessian booted foot, gaze darting from floor to desk to ceiling as he waited within his superior’s office.
An urgent message had arrived at the house after Aunt had departed, requesting he attend Sir Edmund in Whitehall with all haste and yet here he sat alone. Solely the clerks rushed about like headless chickens.
He glared at the desk strewn with papers and maps.
At this moment, he’d like nothing more than to confront Sir Edmund, but Amelia had been adamant she should talk to Lord Rainham first. After all, they’d no proof for their suspicions.
With a deep frown, he stared to his brown as a nut beverage. Hugh didn’t mean to be finicky with his tea but this morning, Cruikshank had served him a delicate Twinings special blend of Pekoe and Bohea leaves, so Hugh stirred his stumps and sidledfor the pot plant behind the door, a quintessence of health and lustre, which signified Sir Edmund never partook of Mrs Benson’s brew either.
He was about to lug the contents into the soil when an approaching kerfuffle in the corridor caught his ear.
Hugh watched from where he stood as the clerk Thomas darted into the room, cheeks flush and eyes angered. Without glancing around, the fellow headed for the desk and flung papers about, stamped his foot and–
“Can I…help you?” Hugh murmured.
Thomas startled and abruptly swivelled. “No, not at all, Sir.” The man gulped. “Just…maps.” And he lunged for one teetering on the corner of the desk and dashed out again.
Hmm.
With the pot plant quenched, Hugh returned to the chair and drummed his fingers against his thigh, feeling all was not well for some reason. Nothing within this investigation completely made sense. Perhaps they ought to revisit the list of Ravens’ members and search for any correlation once mor–
“Ah, Number Five.” Sir Edmund himself stomped in, flumped to his seat and heaved a sigh.
Hugh speared him a glance and endeavoured to imagine Sir Edmund as a love-struck young man, saving his beloved from an asylum and silencing all threats.
Impossible.
“Sir Edmund.” Hugh nodded.
“Derbyshire. Tomorrow. Before all hell breaks loose.”
At least Hugh knew this wasn’t some ploy. Insurrection was undeniably afoot but…
“No, Sir.”
White eyebrows shifted like cumulus clouds. “This is no time for debate, Number Five. The Midlands are in a rebellious mood and revolutionists from London are aiding their cause.”
Indeed, and Hugh wished to discover who exactly was leaking confidential information to those revolutionists. “I cannot, Sir Edmund.”
“Cannot? Or will not?” His superior leaned forward, a raft of desk papers tumbling to the floor. “If you will not take this mission, then… Then you are dismissed.”
Hugh let a gust of breath gently flow.
For nine years, he’d been employed within the Home Office, put his life on the line countless times.
Itwashis life.
But perhaps it no longer needed to be.
So, rising to his feet, he straightened his waistcoat and nodded.
