A Spy's Devotion (The Regency Spies of London #1)(10)

“Thank you for seeing me,” Nicholas began, “but I am sorry to say, I have bad news.” He swallowed and took a breath. “I was attacked on the way here. I was bringing you a diary given to me by Richard Beechum just after I was wounded in the Peninsula. Two men stole the diary out of my coat pocket.” He quickly added, “But I copied the entire diary, and the copy is at my father’s house in Mayfair.”

Both men had remained standing, and now McDowell stared hard at Nicholas. “This is serious indeed. Did you see your assailants’ faces?”

“I saw one man’s face, but he was not familiar to me. They wore handkerchiefs over their faces. Both had brown hair, and one of them had green eyes.”

“If they weren’t after your money and only stole the diary, they must have known already of the diary’s existence.”

“Exactly,” Nicholas agreed. “I am afraid I mentioned the diary to a friend at a party I attended two nights ago.”

“Whose party? What friend?” McDowell seemed to lean toward him, his expression intense.

“At the time, I was completely unaware the diary contained anything out of the ordinary or was anything other than a man’s war diary. Beechum, the man who gave me the book, was a stranger to me. We met in the infirmary, as we had both just been wounded. His injuries were more serious than mine, and he asked me to take the diary to a man named Garrison Greenfield. I assumed he was a relative or friend. Beechum was barely able to talk, so I did not question him further. Then he died.”

“I understand.” McDowell nodded for him to go on.

“I have been convalescing at home for the past two months, and my first entry back in society was two nights ago at a small party at Mr. Robert Wilhern’s home in Grosvenor Square. I mentioned to Mr. Hugh Edgerton that I had an errand, to deliver a diary that was given to me by Lieutenant Richard Beechum to a Mr. Garrison Greenfield. Had I any inkling that the diary contained sensitive or important information, I certainly never would have mentioned it, even to an old school chum like Edgerton.” Nicholas felt his face grow warm as he realized what a blunder he had made . . . a potentially serious blunder.

“Hugh Edgerton, you said?” McDowell grabbed a sheet of paper and quickly wrote the name down. “Is he involved with anything underhanded or suspicious that you know of?”

“No.”

“Who else heard you speak of the diary? Did you say exactly where you planned to take the diary?”

Nicholas thought back to the party. “I did not say where I planned to take it. I only mentioned the name Garrison Greenfield. I asked Edgerton if he knew him, since I thought he reacted oddly when I said the name. At the time, I thought little of it. As for who else might have heard, I believe Mr. Wilhern heard me.” He thought some more, trying to see in his mind’s eye the men who had been standing around him. “There were some others who had possibly been close enough to hear but weren’t part of the conversation. Mr. Anthony Youngblood, Mr. Geoffrey Thigpen, and Mr. Daniel Dinklage. Other than those three, plus Wilhern and Edgerton, I don’t believe anyone else could have heard me mention the diary. However, it’s impossible to say for certain. People were milling about. It was a party.”

McDowell was occupied in writing down the names.

“I did not know the diary was of any significance. The thought that I may have compromised any national secrets or anyone’s safety . . . I am heartily sorry.”

“You could not have known, and it is most fortunate that you made a copy of what was in the diary. That will save us much conjecturing about what secrets may have fallen into the hands of enemy spies.” He tapped the paper on which he had been writing. “Wait here. I believe my superior will want to speak to you.”

Nicholas sat, horrified at what he had possibly revealed to England’s enemies.

He felt his side, suspecting one of his ribs may have been cracked in the scuffle. His headache was severe, but there was little to no bleeding from the blows to his head. He opened his coat and saw a blood stain on his white shirt over his old bullet wound, where the thief had ground his heel in.

Anyone who knew Nicholas would have heard of his wounds received in battle and would have known of his shoulder wound and his broken leg, now healed. But they had also known of the diary. Who could it have been? Mr. Edgerton? Mr. Wilhern? Or one of the other gentlemen at the party?

Who of his acquaintance would betray their country?

A serious-looking gray-haired man entered the room. Nicholas stood quickly, which made him dizzy, but he managed to focus his eyes after a moment.

McDowell made the introductions. “Langdon, this is Colonel Thomas Stockton of the Foreign Office. Colonel, this is Lieutenant Nicholas Langdon.”

The colonel asked Nicholas to start from the beginning and tell him everything about the diary and what had happened. Nicholas went through the whole story again, adding more details this time of Mr. Beechum, the night of the party at the Wilherns’, and getting attacked in the street. Colonel Stockton listened mostly in silence, his penetrating eyes trained on Nicholas.

When Nicholas was finished, and after a few grunts, Colonel Stockton said, “I will require your services, Lieutenant Langdon, as an officer and a member of your social circle, to help us discover who stole the diary. It will require utmost discretion, as I’m sure you understand. This is a matter of great national importance.”