exact location, Father. A coach came to fetch her away.”
“So she’s got her wish. In training to be a spy, is she?” he asked bitterly, without expecting any answer. “Much against my wishes.”
“Don’t raise your voice dear,” said the duchess calmly.
His Grace bit back a sharp retort. “I’m sorry, Helena, my love. Not your fault. Tell us all you know.”
“It was all very hush-hush, I fear.” Her eyes lit with amusement.
“What do you find so funny, child?”
“My dear parents, if you only knew the half of it. Her new wardrobe filled two coaches, but when a driver came for her, he wouldn’t allow her to take more than one small portmanteau.” She and her mother burst out laughing, for Livy’s fondness for new clothes was well known.
“Extraordinary,” grumbled her father. “Did she send for them?”
“They won’t allow it. You can’t see her bed for all the clothing and the trunks she was forced to leave behind. Her chamber resembles an elite shop in Bond Street. She tried to leave you each a letter saying good-bye, but the driver took them. She’s not to be allowed to communicate with the outside world during the twelve weeks of her training.”
His Grace held his head in his hands. “That long?”
“It’s the path she’s chosen, Father.”
“Chosen? Chosen? What gave her the right to make such a dangerous choice? She forced me to approve, but in truth I never wanted this for her and well she knows it. Am I not her father?”
“Stop it, Tony!” Her Grace warned in a sharp voice. She turned to her daughter and added kindly, “Leave us, dear. Your father and I need to talk.”
“Of course, Mother.” She rose and kissed first her mother’s forehead, and then her father, crossed the room and closed the door quietly behind her.
“Livy must be allowed to follow the path she’s chosen. You must accept that, Tony,” said Her Grace.
“Why should I, Ellen? Tell me that, will you?”
“Because if you don’t, we’ll lose her.” She went to him and held his head in her hands. “I won’t lose my firstborn, Tony. It is you who must give in. Put your mind at ease, dearest. It’s a government program, which means she is in capable hands and no harm will come to her. If she fails, you will see her home soon enough. Besides, you did agree to let her go, didn’t you?”
The duke ignored this reminder of a weak moment. “What if she succeeds? We lose her to her success. Did you ever think of that?”
“Oh my foolish, foolish darling. If Livy succeeds we shall rejoice for her, for that will be our daughter’s finest achievement.”
Chapter Five
Wilson Academy—Friday, The Fifth of July
“There we are, miss,” the young girl said, as she finished tying the apron in a neat bow. The plump, round-faced scullery maid adjusted the starched white cap over Olivia’s curls and added, “Me cleanin’ gown fits you right well.”
Olivia nodded and with some hesitation asked, “Thank you for helping me. What’s your name, lass?”
“Jenny, miss.” She curtseyed, reached to the floor, and handed Olivia an empty pail, a hard-bristled scrubbing brush and a large soft cloth. “Here you are, miss. You’ll need these.”
Olivia frowned, but took the offering. “What must I do with these?”
Jenny’s eyes opened wide. “Don’t you know how to scrub a floor?”
“I’m sorry, no. I’ve never done it before. Can you tell me how?”
Jenny cast her eyes down. “It’s a lowly task fer a fine lady like yourself, miss, but on Fridays, I scrub the kitchen floor tiles. You’re to do it ’stead o’ me today. Mayhap Mrs. Hunnicut told you how it’s done?”
Olivia’s eyes pleaded as if she were begging for alms. “Please. Tell me how you do it, Jenny.”
“Why, on me hands and knees, o’course. I do one small piece o’ floor at a time, see? First, you fetch the water from the scullery sink, see? Then heat it. Not too hot, mind, or you’ll burn y’self. Dip your rinsin’ cloth in and wring it out afore you add a bit ’o soap—it’s in that bin next to the sink. Scrub hard with the brush and use the cloth to mop up the suds. You start in the hall from the back stairwell landing, see, and work your way all the way to the galley. Take special care in the galley, miss. Chef Fourier carries on somethin’ fierce if there’s dirt on the floor where he does his work.”
Olivia tried to look cheerful. “Is there anything else I should know?”
Jenny tapped her finger to her cheek. “No need to scrub any of the rooms down here that has a door. Them that’s in charge of ’em do that theyselves. Change the water often, mind. Once you empty the final pail outside in the yard, you’re done.”
Olivia bit her bottom lip. “How long should it take me?”
“I’m allus finished by noon, in time for me lunch.” She noted the look of terror in Olivia’s eyes. “Don’t fret so, miss. It’s not hard. You’ll get the hang of it in no time. ’Sides, you’re better off scrubbin’. T’other lads do much dirtier work. They’re made to clean the muck from the chimneys or the ashes from the fireplaces or the horse droppins in the stables. I’m off now. Got to help Mrs. Hunnicut mend the linens.”
When Jenny was gone, Olivia filled the pail, heated the water, dipped the rinsing cloth in and wrung it dry, then added some soap. At the stairwell entrance, she lifted the hem of Jenny’s uniform, fell to her knees, dipped the brush and began to scrub the tiles. It was tedious work, but she managed to make a game of it. She scrubbed hardest when she pictured the spymaster’s face on the floor.
By the time she reached the wider kitchen galley where all meals were prepared, her eyes burned from the strong soap. She had no notion it was laced with lye. Her back was sore, her arms were heavy, her hands were red and raw, Jenny’s gown was soaked, and worst of all she’d torn three fingernails.
At last, she scrubbed up to the kitchen door that led to the yard. She opened the door and emptied her final pail. She wrinkled her nose and sneezed from the smell of lye when she returned the pail, the brush and the rinsing cloth to the scullery room and dragged herself up the back stairs to the attic to change for lunch. But when she glanced at the clock on her wall, she heaved a sigh of defeat. She needn’t hurry. She’d already missed lunch.
The spymaster presided over staff meetings in the library every Friday afternoon. His instructors arranged themselves on either side of the library table in the middle of the room, seated in comfortable chairs designed for reading and study as well as for staff discussions. Sebastian sat at its head, his secretary Hugh Denville opposite him, quill in hand, ready to record the proceedings. The only one missing was Harry Green, archery and rifle instructor, for he was out on the archery range supervising the trainees.
Sebastian surveyed his staff with a great deal of
