—William Shakespeare, 1564-1616
King Henry IV, Point I
“What’s this?” The Duke of Sussex looked up from the morning newspaper as Jarrod, Marquess of Shepherdston, walked into their customary private room at White’s and tossed a stack of deciphered messages on the table in front of him.
“Trouble,” Jarrod answered succinctly.
Griff set his cup of coffee aside, picked up several messages, and began to read. “Where did you get these?”
“From a French agent operating between Edinburgh and Paris,” Jarrod told them. “Our agent lifted these from his person and replaced them with duplicates.”
“Risky move,” Sussex said.
Jarrod smiled. “She’s very good at what she does.”
Sussex nodded in complete understanding.
“Colin recruited her,” Jarrod continued. “And we provided enough of the original code to make the messages appear authentic as long as our Frenchman didn’t look too closely at the placement of some of the codes. And our agent made certain he had more important things on his mind.”
Griff closed his eyes and gritted his teeth. He didn’t like using prostitutes as agents, no matter how patriotic or how good they were. It troubled him to know that in addition to bartering their bodies to earn a living, these women were bartering their lives for snippets of information. But if the work the female agents did prevented one British soldier from losing his life to a French sword, saber, rifle, pistol, or cannon, Griff deemed the work worthwhile and was grateful to them for doing it. Griff opened his eyes and finished reading the deciphered messages and passed them on to Sussex.
“You’re right,” he said, looking over at Jarrod. “This can’t be good.”
“But what does it mean?” Sussex wondered aloud.
“It means we bloody well sent Colin into the viper’s den!” Jarrod snapped. “We married him into a family of bloody traitors!”
“We didn’t marry him into anything,” Sussex protested. “He did that himself.”
“Colin allowed the baron to blackmail him into marrying his disgraced daughter, and he did it in order to protect the League,” Jarrod reminded them. “And we let him walk into Davies’s trap.” Jarrod raked his fingers through his hair, then got up and began to pace the length of the room. “I knew what it was, and I sent him into the viper’s nest. Alone.”
“Spilled milk.” Griff shook his head. “Besides, we don’t know that the baron is a traitor.” He held up his hand when Jarrod would have protested. “It may look bad, but things aren’t always what they appear to be. And it’s possible that Baron Davies could be as ignorant of these”—he gestured toward the stack of papers—“as Colin is.”
“You think the fact that Baron Davies and his Bow Street runner pursued our Colin under the guise of pursuing Colin Fox is a coincidence?” Jarrod demanded.
“You know better than that.” Griff made a circling motion with his finger. “Pace the other way, Jarrod. You’re wearing out the carpet on that side.”
Jarrod complied.
Griff resumed his argument. “I don’t believe in coincidence any more than you or Daniel.” He nodded toward the Duke of Sussex. “I’m just saying that it’s possible that something bigger is going on. Something we’re not seeing.”
The use of his Christian name took Sussex by surprise. It was the first time in nearly two years that Griff had addressed the duke by anything other than his title or his style. It might not mean much to Jarrod or to Griff—in fact, neither one of them seemed to notice—but Sussex noticed, and for him it meant he’d finally been granted complete acceptance into the Free Fellows League by its founding members.
“I agree with Griff,” Sussex replied. “And with you, Jarrod. This isn’t a coincidence any more than having the impostor use Colin’s alias was a coincidence, but like Griff, I believe it’s possible that the baron is unaware of what’s going on around him.”
“These messages tell us the baron’s fleet of ships is ferrying French agents all over the globe, and you want me to believe he’s unaware of it?” Jarrod was astounded by his fellow Free Fellows’ willingness to accept the baron’s innocence.
“We expect you to believe it’s possible,” Griff said. “Because it is.”
“It’s unlikely,” Jarrod insisted.
“I don’t think so.” Sussex looked Jarrod in the eye. “How aware are you of what takes place in your London home or your country estate? Are you aware of the power struggles within your staffs? Can you say for certain that every man in your employ is completely trustworthy? Do you know where they are every hour of the day? Can you be certain that they earn the salary you pay them?” He paused. “Because I know that I cannot,” Sussex told him. “I trust my butlers and housekeepers to know and not trouble me overmuch with the details of running the households. But, if the truth is known, I have no idea if what they tell me is the entire truth or only a portion of it. And I suspect the same is true with Lord Davies. But in his case, the situation is magnified tenfold because his estates are ships at sea, hundreds, even thousands of miles beyond his control.”
Griff nodded. “All it takes is one dishonest or desperate sea captain.”
“Point taken,” Jarrod acknowledged.
“There is no doubt that the business with the impostor Colin Fox and this information that Davies’s ships are being used by the French as a means of transportation for its agents is connected,” Griff said.