A Wedding In Springtime(94)

“So, you actually wish to wed Miss Talbot?”

“Today if possible.” He brandished a folded paper from his jacket pocket. “I’ve been to Doctors’ Commons already.”

Marchford’s jaw dropped. “You got a special license?”

Grant grinned again.

“My dear friend, I am concerned for you. Perhaps I should keep a watch over you until you sober up. You are clearly not in your right mind.”

Grant merely laughed. “Won’t make a difference. I must be wed. I must. I only hope she will give her consent.”

Marchford stood to tie his cravat. “Drunk. Must be.”

Grant was spared a response by a jingling sound.

“Aha!” Marchford leapt to his spyglass.

“Whatever is it?” asked Grant.

“Someone has entered the study. Perhaps we shall catch a spy today.” Marchford looked for a long while into the spyglass, then turned his gaze to Grant, his face solemn.

“What is it?” asked Grant.

Marchford stepped back to allow Grant a turn with the spyglass. Grant pressed an eye to the glass. He could see the room in a rounded fishbowl view. In the corner of the room was the spy, looking behind pictures for the wall safe. Grant stepped back and closed his eyes. He had been sucker punched again.

“I am sorry,” said Marchford.

Grant looked again to make sure.

It was Genie.

“She was feigning affection to get close to me. To you. To steal the spy code.” Grant’s mouth was suddenly coated in sand, and the words were harsh and painful to speak.

“It does appear that way.” Marchford peered into the spyglass again. “She has found the safe. Now she is opening it with the key the opera singer stole.”

Grant sat back down in a chair and stared unseeing at the far wall.

“Cheer up, old friend. Now you shall be excused from marrying the little spy. Consider it a near miss.”

Grant shook his head. “It was a direct hit.”

This is what it felt like to have a heart broken. It hurt. He had thought it was a metaphor. It wasn’t. It actually hurt. “What do we do now?” he asked Marchford.

“Wait until she takes the letter, then catch her in the act.”

“What will happen to her?”

Marchford gave another look like he ate bad fish.

“That bad?”

“Treason. It’s not good.”

Grant’s stomach tightened such that he feared he might cast up his accounts. “This is what I get for trying the morning. Won’t happen again.”

Marchford looked again in the spyglass.

“What is she doing now?” asked Grant.

“Nothing. Folding paper. What is she doing?”

“Did she take the letter?”

“Not yet. But the safe is opened.”

“Maybe she is not a traitor,” said Grant hopefully. “Maybe there is an explanation.”

“An explanation for sneaking into my study, opening a hidden safe with a key stolen from me by a paramour?”

“Do you need to put it that way?”

“And how would you describe it?”

“She is obviously being used. You cannot believe that a young girl from Sussex is a master spy.”

“No, of course she is being used, though whether it is with her will or against it may make very little difference in the eyes of the law. After she grabs the letter, we get her and then convey to her the importance of telling us who she is working for.”

“But if she is innocent?”

“She is rifling through my study, old friend. She is not innocent.”

“What is she doing now?” asked Grant.

Marchford looked again with the spyglass. He moved it from side to side. “She’s gone!”

Both men ran down the spiral staircase and opened the hidden panel door to the study. The room was vacant.

“Dammit! She has replaced the picture over the case. Why did the bell not ring?” asked Marchford.

“Did she take the letter?”

“I’ll check. Go find her!”

Grant ran out the door to the hall. No Genie. “Peters!” he called for the butler.

“Yes, sir?”

“Genie, Miss Talbot. Where is she?”

“I did not see her leave. I thought she was still with Miss Rose in the drawing room.”