you please.”
“You exceed your authority, sir! I’ll not give them up.”
“Me orders are to leave you here, then.”
Her sister glanced from one to the other and turned to a footman. “Bring me the letters Lady Olivia left on the mail table.”
“Helena!”
“Remember your promise, Livy. Besides, it’s such an insignificant detail.”
Olivia sat back in her seat, folded her arms and fumed.
As soon as the letters were handed to the driver, he shut the coach door, nodded a curt farewell to the other woman and climbed up to his seat.
Olivia sat back in the luxurious coach, trying to calm her nerves. It didn’t take her long. In spite of her annoyance at the driver’s orders, she was on her way to becoming the first woman spy in the history of England. Perhaps in the entire world.
Two lamps within the carriage glowed well enough for her to take in her surroundings. She noted with approval the elegant black velvet curtains covering all the windows, yet she was eager to discover where he was taking her. She pushed the curtain nearest her aside, only to find that she could not see out the window, though it was still daylight. She removed one glove and scratched the glass with a long, well-cared-for fingernail, but nothing happened. The panes had been painted black on the outside.
Indignation stirred her sense of injustice and she banged on the ceiling of the carriage with her parasol. She banged. And she banged. And she banged. There was no response from her driver, though she felt the carriage speeding along at a brisk pace. She tried the door handle. It was locked from the outside. The truth dawned on her at last. She was not meant to know where she was being transported.
A delicious shiver ran through her. How thrilling. She recalled her solemn promise to her sister and closed her eyes. My rendezvous with destiny. Olivia laughed out loud. She had no doubt that she would learn to be a fantastic woman spy. She fell asleep with dreams of glory dancing in her head.
Olivia woke with a start when the carriage jolted to a halt. She rubbed her eyes, eager for a glimpse of her new home, at least for the next twelve weeks. There was no mirror inside the carriage. Unfortunate. She patted her hair as best she could and placed her fashionable bonnet, its colorful ribbons streaming down, on her head.
Would there be a large welcoming committee? Perhaps Viscount Sidmouth himself would be in attendance. She conjured up a vision of the staff lining the driveway very like the duke’s servants did when the family went to Heatham for the summer. Would the eager onlookers cheer resoundingly and applaud her courage at this truly historic moment? Perhaps an orchestra would play “God Save the King” as soon as she stepped down. Olivia smoothed her wrinkled blue gown and straightened her matching pelisse. She pinched her cheeks for color as she waited on the edge of her seat for the carriage door to open.
Sebastian could not focus on the words in reports sent by operatives in the field. He had to read them again and again before he managed to grasp their meaning. He went over the list of requested supplies from the quartermaster. He read the detailed reports on each of the new recruits. He reread the note Mrs. Hunnicut, the housekeeper, had left for him. She respectfully requested additional staff as well as more funds for household supplies. He initialed each report, wrote notes on some, approved the quartermaster’s requests, as well as Mrs. Hunnicut’s plea.
After the war, when Sebastian had sold out and agreed to take the post of spymaster—his official title was under secretary of security—it seemed to him to be a prestigious position full of promise. He could sink his teeth into such a grand assignment, he thought at the time. Too late he learned that his new post amounted to nothing more than being a mere drudge who trained spies for government service.
He was chained to his desk most days, doing the work any competent clerk might accomplish just as easily. It made him feel useless in spite of the fact that he was required to confer with numerous under secretaries whenever the whim took the home secretary. He still smarted over being told by that gentleman that no one was indispensable.
Why hadn’t he had the good sense to refuse the position when it was offered? He should have remained in the army where he’d been content. His poor decision cost him sleepless nights, not to mention endless hours of boredom.
Today he could not focus on anything but this latest humiliation. How on earth was he to tolerate a woman in the program? He knew only too well that she was likely to be a silly slip of a girl who valued nothing more than her own good looks. The very thought of an empty-headed, frivolous woman made his stomach turn. Bitterly, he recalled his futile conversation with Sidmouth. Nothing moved the stubborn old man. Nothing.
At the sound of Denville’s voice, he raised his eyes.
“Sir?”
“What is it, Hugh?”
“The coach has arrived. Would you like to greet the new trainee?”
“No. Send for Mrs. Hunnicut. She knows what she must do.” He rose from his desk and watched from behind the drape at his window. Welcome to Wilson Academy, Fairchild. Life as you know it is over. You are in for a big surprise.
Martha Hunnicut, a woman in her fiftieth year, hurried to greet the new trainee. She stopped a moment to examine her starched white cap under which wisps of gray hair escaped, her gray eyes scrutinizing her appearance. Satisfied that all was in order, the tall, thin woman stepped through the front door held open for her by a footman.
She clasped her hands in front of her and said in a kind voice, “Welcome to Wilson Academy, Fairchild.”
Olivia looked around at the empty driveway, disappointment etched on her face. “Where is everybody?”
The housekeeper chose to ignore the question. “I’m Mrs. Hunnicut, the housekeeper. Follow me, please. I’ll show you to your room.” She nodded to the footman who untied Olivia’s portmanteau. “Take your portmanteau along with you.”
Olivia swallowed her disappointment. Greeted only by the housekeeper? How boorish. At the very least, the chief spymaster should have been here to welcome his new female spy.
“To your right is the formal dining room,” Mrs. Hunnicut pointed out as they proceeded. “To your left is the library. You will learn your way soon enough, I’m sure.”
The newest trainee followed Mrs. Hunnicut up the grand staircase directly ahead of them to the second floor. But there the wide staircase ended. “Is this the floor where my chambers are located?”
“No, my dear.” She offered no further explanation and proceeded to the end of the hall where a narrow staircase led up to the next floor. Olivia trailed behind.
At the top of yet another floor, Olivia paused, breathing hard. “Here?”
“Not yet, Fairchild.” The housekeeper led her all the way to the farthest end of the hall, through an opening and up a final narrow staircase, easily maintaining her brisk pace.
“Here is your room.” She opened the door to a room smaller than Olivia’s closet in London.
Olivia’s heart sank into her toes. “Is this not the attic?”
“It is.”
“There
