“We?” Sussex couldn’t resist teasing him a bit about the way things had changed.
Colin took the good-natured teasing in stride. “Gillian is eager to get to work putting Herrin House to rights.”
“How is it?” Jarrod asked. “In good shape?”
“I like it just as it is,” Colin told them. “Old Herrin had excellent taste. But it’s definitely a man’s home. The feminine touches are few and far between.” He made a face. “There’s going be a lot of fabric swatches and decorating involved.”
“If she’s anything like Lyss,” Griff said, “she’ll want to get started on that right away.” He looked at Colin. “Do you think she would mind a little help on the project? Shopping for fabrics or something...” There was a hint of desperation in Griff’s voice. “I’ve been so busy, and Alyssa had been bored almost to tears. She hates the endless rounds of morning calls and at homes. And Miranda’s been no help,” Griff complained. “She’s as bored with the ton as Alyssa is.”
Colin took pity on his friend. “Send ’em around to visit,” he told him. “But, please, wait until I’ve left for France.”
Jarrod cleared his throat. “Excuse me while you compare notes on your states of domestic bliss, but we’ve work to do before you leave.” He looked at Colin. “Welcome back. Did you get a chance to decipher any of the messages? And what do you think of Baron Davies’s involvement with the French?”
Colin reached for the dispatch pouch, then slid it across the table to Jarrod. “Finished.”
“All of them?”
Colin nodded. “Every last one of them.”
Jarrod reached inside and pulled out the documents, taking note of the information they contained, but also noticing the changes in the cipher code. “This is remarkable work.”
All of the messages had been deciphered. All except one. Jarrod glanced at it, recognized the code for Galahad, and read it. He arched an eyebrow in query at the content of the simple code. Unless the French agent who had written these had changed radically since the last time Jarrod read his messages, something was amiss. But Jarrod didn’t comment on it; he simply passed the documents on to Griff, who read them and passed them on to Sussex.
“Yes, it is,” Colin agreed. “And you can thank the object of my domestic bliss for doing it when next you see her.”
Griff bit the inside of his cheek to keep from smiling at Colin’s reply.
“You allowed your wife access to deciphered messages?” Jarrod’s voice rose in direct proportion to his growing sense of alarm.
“I allowed my wife to decipher them.” Colin looked around at the other Free Fellows, daring them to object. “She’s a hell of a lot faster at it than I am.”
“She knew the French codes?” Sussex was equally concerned.
Colin shook his head. “She knew the French codes were wrong. Or rather, she knew that the copies of the French deciphering table we have in our possession were out of date.”
Jarrod narrowed his gaze at his best friend. “And how did she come by this information, unless she’s in league with French?”
“In league with the French?” Colin shot up from the table, nearly upending it in the process.
Jarrod glared at him. “Yes, in league with the French. Didn’t you read any of these messages, Colin? Or were you too busy tumbling—”
“That’s enough!” Griff joined the fray, moving to stand between Colin and Jarrod to keep the two hotheaded friends from coming to blows.
“What Jarrod is trying to say—” Sussex began.
“I know what Jarrod is trying to say!” Colin snapped. “He’s trying to tell me that my wife and her family are French spies.”
“Exactly,” Jarrod said. “Only you’re too bloody besotted with her to see it.”
“What I see,” Colin enunciated clearly, “is that someone else is using Lord Davies and his daughter and me for their own purposes.” He shot Jarrod a nasty look. “If Gillian’s a French spy, I’m bloody King George!”
“Then how did she know about the codes?” Sussex asked in a level, reasonable tone of voice.
“She didn’t know they were codes,” Colin replied. “Until I told her.” He held up his hand when Jarrod would have interrupted. “Yes, Jarrod, I told her they were codes. But only after she told me there were errors in my answers to my numerical puzzles.”
“Good lord!” Sussex breathed.
“Gillian is something of a prodigy with numbers,” Colin told them with no small amount of pride. “She’s a genius at mathematics, and she knows almost as much about Lord Davies’s imports and shipping as he does.” He reached for the stack of messages until he found the one Gillian had pleated. “She’s the one who explained that this information is wrong. And that the French have made changes to their deciphering tables. She has the ability to look at groups of numbers and see the patterns.” Colin looked at his fellow Free Fellows and began relaying what he’d learned from Gillian.