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The evening passed in a haze of nervous energy. I could focus on nothing else save getting Chaz alone and putting the screws to him—as they say in American films.
After the gentlemen rejoined us, the Brevermans and Kettingtons sat down for a few hands of cards, proceeding to ignore the rest of the party. Chaz pawed through Harry’s record collection, finally selecting “Mad About the Boy” while Miss Semple flirted with him madly, to no avail. Harry secreted himself away in his office with Chamberlain and Varant. And Binky pouted in a corner, as was typical of Binky.
Aunt Butty had begged off and gone to her room, claiming exhaustion from the journey. I knew it was nonsense, of course. Aunt Butty had more energy than the lot of us put together. What she had was the latest Agatha Christie which I’d loaned her after reading it myself. I’d also seen her liberate a bottle of port from the liquor cabinet, so I’d no doubt she was in for a pleasant evening.
I lounged in a chair by the window, which was open to let in the cool evening breeze. A pleasant change from the heavy, hot London air. There was the scent of fresh green things, the heady perfume of roses, and the call of a night bird. I’d be tempted to buy my own country home if it weren’t for the lack of civilization.
My mind drifted to Varant, secreted away in Harry’s office. I hadn’t had a chance for more than a passing greeting, and it left me frustrated. Aunt Butty was certain he was interested in me, but he played so hot and cold. What did it mean? Did I even care?
Then I caught movement out of the corner of my eye, startling me from my reverie. I stared hard out into the darkness. Had I been imagining things? No, there it was again. Just beyond the window, someone moving in the bushes. I leaned forward eagerly, practically sticking my head outside to get a better look. A dark figure—definitely a man, with a slight stoop to his shoulders and the distinctive outline of a bowler hat—moved swiftly through the garden, disappearing into the trees at the far edge of the grounds in the direction of the village. I frowned. Maybe it was just one of the servants slipping off to the pub. Then again—
Chaz slumped into the chair next to me, shattering my concentration. He’d somehow made his escape from Miss Semple. “Lord, this is a tedious group, don’t you think? Not nearly as glamorous as I’d hoped.” He dangled a champagne glass from one hand—no idea where he’d got the stuff—and stared morosely out the window into the dark. “But free booze, I suppose, if nothing else. And the food was delicious. As is our host. If he’d ever come out of his study.”
“Your conversation earlier seemed quite interesting,” I said.
He frowned. “That ghastly woman rambling about her Siamese? Thank goodness she didn’t bring it here. Can you imagine?”
“People don’t usually bring cats to house parties,” I said drily.
“Small miracle.”
“But I wasn’t talking about your tête-à-tête with Miss Semple. I was speaking of the conversation you gentlemen were having over port and cigars. I heard someone mention a spy.”
His eyebrows lifted. “Oh, that. Wasn’t paying much attention, darling. Beverman was droning on about...good gosh, I don’t even know. Likely Harry was asking Neville Chamberlain about the German situation.”
“I didn’t know we had a German situation.” Neville Chamberlain, being Chancellor of the Exchequer, was certainly more in the know about such things than I.
“We don’t. Yet. But there are some—including Harry—who are convinced that things are about to go amok what with Hitler’s party gaining power and denying the Treaty of Versailles and all that. Chamberlain and his ilk consider that an exaggeration and think that those like Harry are seeing spies where there are none. That sort of thing.”
“Why would Germany spy on England?” I asked.
He gave me a look. “They did in during the war, you know.”
“I’m not an idiot. Of course I know. But we are not at war. Why would they send spies now?”
“Why would anyone? The Americans do it all the time. Spy on everybody. Very suspicious, those Americans.”
“But why Germany specifically?”
“Sherry, love?” At my nod, Chaz got up to refill my glass and get a sherry for himself, then sat back down. “Harry believes this Hitler bloke is up to no good. From what I’ve heard, he’s probably not wrong. The man is certifiable. He wants Europe to give Germany back some of the territory they were forced to give up after losing the Great War. But our government thinks it can all be worked out peacefully. That it’s only a small faction of the German citizenry that approves of Hitler and his followers. So, it’ll come to nothing. But Harry thinks he—Hitler, that is—is putting pieces in place for more nefarious purposes.”
“Spies.”
Chaz nodded. “I know it sounds mad. I mean, he lost the presidential election, but stranger things, don’t you know. Still, I don’t know that it will ever happen again. Not a war like that. Surely everyone has learned their lesson and things can be worked out in a more civilized manner.”
It did sound concerning. Still...spies? In Devon? “So, they were talking about Germany, then?”
“I assume so. If you heard them talking about spies, but like I said, I wasn’t paying attention.”
“Wait,” I said, glass halfway to my lips as a thought struck. “Do you suppose Harry thinks spies are here in Devon because Chamberlain is here in Devon?”
“Likely.”
“Why is Chamberlain in Devon?”
Chaz gave me a knowing look and took a sip of sherry. “Both Chamberlain and Harry claim they’re just old friends catching up but come now. Chamberlain isn’t staying for the party and he came with Varant. You know he does...whatever he does for the government.”
I nodded. It was known in a vague sort of way that Lord Varant did something for the government. What that something was, well, that was a matter of wild speculation because no one actually knew except Varant himself. And he wasn’t talking. Aunt Butty was half convinced he was the next Scarlet Pimpernel.
“And see how Harry deserted his guests to secrete himself away with two government men? Well, what do you think that means?” Chaz asked.
“They’re up to something.”
“No doubt.”
We sipped our sherries in silence.
“I can almost hear your brain working from here,” Chaz murmured.
“You know curiosity is my greatest weakness.”
“Good lord, tell me you’re not going to play detective again,” he said.
“Fine, then. I won’t,” I said smugly.
Chaz groaned.
I almost told him about the figure in the garden. The spy perhaps? But I decided to keep it to myself. For now. Just in case it was nothing.
––––––––
THE NEXT MORNING DAWNED far too bright for my taste. The curtain fabric was lovely, but too lightweight to keep out the morning sun. Plus, Maddie marched in with tea far before I was ready to rise.
“Too early,” I mumbled, burrowing under the duvet. It smelled of lilac water and sunshine.
“Nonsense,” Maddie said. “It’s gone ten. If you don’t get down to breakfast, there’ll be nothing left. That Binky person is on his third plate.” I could almost here the disapproving scowl in her voice.
I lifted the duvet so I could stare at her with one bleary eye. “However do you know that?”
“Vera told me. She’s one of the upstairs maids.” She set the tea on the side table with an almighty rattle. “She doesn’t like that Binky person any more than I do.”
“Oh.” I pulled the duvet back over my head. “And he’s Lord Rample to you.”
She snorted. “Never. Your husband—God rest his soul—was the true Lord Rample. That upstart can never take his place.”
I probably should have reprimanded her, but I hadn’t the heart to. It amused me that she referred to Felix’s relation as an upstart, and I despised Binky nearly as much as she did.
“Tea m’lady.” Maddie shoved a cup beneath my nose. Clearly, she was familiar with what it took to get me out of bed.
I managed a seated position while she plumped the pillows behind me. The first sip was sweet, dark heaven and cleared the muzzy cobwebs from my mind.
“Spies!”
Maddie blinked, hand hovering over the wardrobe door knob. “Wot’s that, m’lady?”
“Last night,” I said, leaning forward so eagerly I nearly sloshed tea on myself, “I overheard the men talking. They said there’s a spy in our midst.”
“A spy, m’lady?” She blinked owlishly.
I nodded. “Yes.” I took another fortifying sip of tea.
“What sort of spy?”
“A German one.”
She frowned, and I noticed her hand shook a little as she grasped the wardrobe knob and flung open the door. “Nonsense. Why would a German spy be in Devon? What would they spy on?”
“My thought exactly. I’m going to find out!”
She whirled, face pale. “No!”
I lifted a brow. “Excuse me?”
She blanched further. “N-no, m’lady. You should leave that sort of thing to the experts wot know wot they’re doing. It’s not safe.”
“This is Devon, as you so rightly pointed out. I doubt anything terrible will happen. I bet I can find the spy before anyone else. How hard can it be?”
She shook her head, eyes wide. “M’lady! You mustn’t!”
“Maddie—”
She stomped her foot. “The Huns are dastardly, m’lady. Beware!”