Page 63 of A Rogue at Stonecliffe

“Yes, of course. But spying is the kind of business where nothing is certain. There are often missteps.” Sloane frowned. “Even so, if you thought there was a traitor among your men, why wouldn’t you have hired the very best person to sniff out the treachery? Someone who knows the business inside out and everyone who was involved? That would be Verity.”

Asquith shifted in his seat and glanced away, for the first time looking uncomfortable. “Well, there were reasons—”

Sloane’s jaw dropped. “Are you saying you think Verity is the traitor from inside? That’s ridiculous.”

“No, of course I don’t think it’s Verity. But, whatever my personal feelings in the matter, I have to be objective. I must look at all the possibilities. We can’t discount her just because she’s a woman. A woman can be as much a villain as a man. And I cannot ignore the fact that Verity was involved in most of those failed missions.”

“Verity was one of the people at risk many of those times. When I was arrested, she was the one who got me out of jail. Why would she have done that if she was responsible for my being there?”

“That could be an excellent way to gain your trust. Sometimes that can be more important in the long run than capturing you at that moment. Especially since you seem to be pretty adept at getting yourself out of such situations, anyway.”

“That’s absurd. You might as well suspect me.”

Asquith made no reply, simply continued to look at him.

“Oh. Of course. You suspect me as well,” Sloane said in disgusted tones.

Asquith shrugged. “Not really. But, as I said, one has to consider—”

“All the possibilities,” Sloane finished for him. “Very well. Who else do you suspect of being the traitor in your little web? Surely Verity and I are not the only ones.”

“No, of course not. But there is no one in particular whom I suspect. Without any evidence, I cannot narrow it down. I have to look at everyone.”

“Then give me all their names.”

“Rutherford!” Asquith looked shocked. “I can’t do that. That would put the integrity of the whole operation at risk. You know that one of my most basic rules was to keep everyone’s identities secret. You knew only the people who actively participated with you, like Miss Cole—and you wouldn’t have known her real name if the two of you hadn’t shared that information with each other, as you were ordered not to.”

“I don’t give a damn about your ring’s ‘integrity,’” Sloane shot back. “The war is long over. There’s no reason to continue to keep the names secret. We are running out of options. We have only some of Lady Edgerton’s possessions to look through, and the longer we look, the more unlikely it seems that we shall find any letter Mr. Winfield left. Either the thing has long since been lost or thrown away or it never existed to begin with.”

“Is there nowhere else? Are you sure you’ve examined everything?”

“Yes, I’m sure. But the person who is trying to harm Annabeth doesn’t know that we have little hope of finding out who he is. You may have only a failed mission, but Miss Winfield’s very life is at stake. I have to find out who that traitor was by any means I can. I want those names.” Sloane looked at him levelly, his face hard as stone.

Asquith sighed. “Very well. I will write down a list of names and send it to you. Though I don’t think it will do you much good. I’ve sifted through all of them for weeks, trying to find the man.”

Annabeth stayed silent for the rest of the meeting. Once they’d made their departure and were walking back to their waiting carriage, Annabeth said, “Do you think Verity could actually be the traitor?”

Sloane shrugged. “It’s hard for me to believe. She’s saved my life, and I got her out of a tough spot or two as well. But Asquith is right. There were a number of missions that went awry—an agent whom I was supposed to give passage from France was shot on the beach, or the time the French caught me at the rendezvous point where I was to meet Verity. But, as I said, she was the one who got me out of the jail and back to safety. I cannot really believe it was her. However, we cannot go on faith alone. We have to suspect everyone.”

“I know she lied to me, and despite how betrayed I felt at first, I still like her. I still trust her. And we know she’s been at Stonecliffe, so she couldn’t have shot at us at my father’s workshop.”

“No. I think it’s more likely one of the others if it’s anyone in the old group at all. Asquith sees enemies in every shadow. It could just as easily be no one connected to the network. But it gives me a place to start.”

“Then you really think we’re not going to find Papa’s letter?”

“I think the chances are getting slim. We’ve only whatever boxes your mother has left and the portable writing desk. But there is the same problem with all of them—if one of them had contained such a letter, it seems unlikely that it wouldn’t have been found in the years since.”

“Yes.” Annabeth sighed. “If Russell had come across something like that, he would have carried out Father’s wishes. He would have shown it to the authorities. Mother would as well—or at least have told my Grandmother. It seems rather hopeless, doesn’t it?”

“No. I’ll still find him. It may take a little longer, but I won’t stop until I do.”

“Do you really think that Mr. Asquith will give you that list? He didn’t seem very cooperative.”

Sloane let out a little huff of laughter. “Oh, he’ll send it. Much as he may want to keep everything secret, he wants to catch whoever betrayed him even more. It’s not just treason, but a personal insult to him.” He shrugged. “Besides, he knows I’ll get the names from him...one way or another.”

Annabeth looked at him. There had been no bravado in Sloane’s words, only a flat practicality that was actually more frightening. Sometimes Sloane seemed much the same—the flash of a smile, a certain mischief in his eyes, the heat of his kisses, or the tenderness of his embrace when she had broken down in tears.

But more often, like now, she was reminded that he was not the same man she had known. There was something hard and cold in Sloane now, a shuttered quality. Once, his emotions had lain just beneath the surface, strong and easily read. But that was far from the case in the present. Annabeth was certain he had kept things from her, and he refused to tell her anything of his life the past twelve years. He seemed to have a close bond with Verity yet he was cold enough to also consider her a suspect. Lies slid off his tongue, as smooth as honey, and he could cut a man in two with a look. And yet...there was no one Annabeth trusted more, no one she could depend on more. No one she wanted more.