Now Ned was sure that he was dreaming. He had gone through the palace on Tourist Day, of course, and more than once. He had reveled in its architectural glories, its martial magnificence, which symbolized all the achievements of the Empire. He had stood at the foot of the Column of Victory and imagined himself as the first Duke of Marlborough, riding out to battle, flags and pennants flying. He had stood at Rosamund’s Well, across the lake from the palace, picturing himself as Henry, with all of England and the Aquitaine at his feet. And now he was to be a spy. A spy in Blenheim Palace!
Lord Sheridan nodded. “The King and Queen will be arriving for a visit the first weekend of August. I should think our work will be over as soon as they have left, and you’ll be free to return home.” He paused, eyeing Ned. “Will that be satisfactory, do you think?”
Satisfactory! It was splendid, it was magnificent, it was… Ned had run out of superlatives and could scarcely speak for crowing. He would be at Blenheim Palace during a visit by the King and Queen of England!
“Of… course,” he managed. “It will be most… satisfactory.”
Lord Sheridan became serious. “I should caution you, though, that everything you learn from this moment on must be kept entirely confidential, Ned, now and in future. You may want to boast about your exploits with your friends, but you must not share this with anyone.” He paused. “Do you understand? Can I trust you?”
Solemnly, Ned raised his hand. “I’ll never say a word to anyone. I swear it.”
A smile flicked across Lord Sheridan’s mouth and he nodded. “Right, then. I’d like to get on with the business, so if you wouldn’t mind replacing that brass I’d appreciate it. Let’s fasten your bicycle onto the back of my motor car, and go to Oxford. Are we likely to catch your father at home?”
“Yes, sir,” Ned said smartly.
What were a few brasses compared to the opportunity to serve as a spy at Blenheim Palace?
CHAPTER NINETEEN
We hold several threads in our hands, and the odds are that one or other of them guides us to the truth. We may waste time in following the wrong one, but sooner or later we must come upon the right.
The boat house, which Kate had noticed on one of her previous rambles, stood at the edge of the lake, partly concealed by a screen of shrubbery. It was a utilitarian wooden building, rather ramshackle, constructed on pilings sunk into the lake bed. There was a crudely painted sign on the door-NO ADMITTANCE-and a padlock, but the hasp was unshackled and the door hung open. Ignoring the sign, Kate cautiously pushed the door wide and went through.
Inside the boat house, the air smelled of weeds and rotting wood, and the silvery light danced across the surface of the water. Off to the left, in the shadows, Kate saw a pile of fishing gear, a heap of netting, and some fishing poles. To her right, there was a stack of wooden crates and baskets. A dock extended some six or eight feet into the water in front of her. A green-painted rowboat was tied to the dock on one side, with a pair of oars in the bottom. A yellow-painted rowboat was tied on the other.
Kate hesitated for a moment, as her eyes became accustomed to the shadowy gloom and the dazzling reflections. Then she stepped forward onto the dock, to a point where she could see down into the rowboat.
Look! Beryl exclaimed, with an excited nudge. What’s that in the bottom of the boat? It looks like Kate got down on her knees, bent over the boat, and picked up a golden evening slipper, somewhat damp from lying in a puddle.
It is! Beryl cried. It’s Gladys’s shoe!
Kate straightened up, still on her knees. It was indeed Gladys’s shoe-at least, it was the same color as the dress she had worn the night before. So Gladys really had gone across the lake in the rowboat.
There was a moment’s silence. But did she go by herself? Beryl asked, in a significant tone.
Kate frowned. Then, with no hesitation at all, she gathered her skirts, clambered down into the rocking boat, and began a thorough search, from prow to stern. She had just picked up several bits of litter when a dark shape loomed over her and a rough male voice demanded, “Here, now, Miss! Wot d’ye think yer doin’?”
Kate’s head snapped up. The man was small and wizened, with a gray beard and a thick shock of gray hair, as shaggy as a terrier. He was dressed in worn corduroy trousers, a jacket made of sacking, a brown leather hat, and workmen’s leather boots.
“I… I was just looking for something,” Kate stammered, straightening hastily and thrusting her left hand into her pocket. The boat rocked wildly, and the man leaned over and grabbed her right arm.
“Hey, now, Miss!” he cried. “Steady! Watch wot yer doin’ there, or ye’ll find yerself in the water!”
Kate recovered her balance. “Thank you,” she said. Accepting his extended hand, she climbed out of the boat, adding, somewhat breathlessly, “What did you say your name was?”
“Di’n’t,” the old man growled. “Badger’s wot they call me.”
“Well, thank you, Badger,” Kate said briskly, dusting her hands. “Are you responsible for these boats?”
The man looked even fiercer. “ ’Deed I am,” he said. “I’m ’sponsible fer the fish’ry on this lake, and I minds the boats. These be workin’ boats,” he added with a dark emphasis. “If ye’re wantin’ one o’ the Duke’s boats t’ go out for a row, ye need t’ go down the shore ’t the Duke’s boathouse.”
“I see,” Kate said. “So guests aren’t encouraged to take these boats?”
Badger pushed his hands into his pockets. “These be workin’ boats,” he growled again. “T’other boats’re better ’n’ cleaner. They’re fer the Duke’s guests. Wish they’d tell ’em that, up ’t the house,” he added in a disgruntled tone, “so people ’ud stop botherin’ me. Damn nuisance, is wot it is.”
“Bothering you?” Kate asked. “Have other guests inquired about these boats?”
Instead of answering, Badger squinted at her. “What’s that ye’ve got in yer hand?”
“Something I found in the boat,” Kate said, holding it up. “A woman’s slipper. It appears that one of the other guests, Miss Gladys Deacon, was in this rowboat last night, and may have gone across to Rosamund’s Well. Most likely, she was with someone-a man. Might you have seen them?”
A crafty look crossed Badger’s face, but it was gone as soon as it came. “Nobody but me uses these boats,” he said, in a gruff, ill-humored tone, evading Kate’s question. “Anyway, it’s dang’rous here. Rotten boards, deep water, nobody ’round to hear ye if ye call fer help.” He paused and added, ominously, “Nivver kin tell wot might happen in a place like this. Losin’ a shoe ’ud be a small thing, compared.”
Hearing the warning-or was it a threat? — in his tone, Kate nodded. “Thank you,” she said, thinking that Badger knew more than he was willing to tell her. It might be a good idea if Charles talked to the man. “And how do I reach the Duke’s boats?”
Badger jerked his thumb. “That way. Take the path.”
Feeling Badger’s dark glance following her until she was out of sight, Kate did as she was bid, taking a path that meandered for fifty yards along the shore of the lake. The Duke’s boathouse, it turned out, was large and ornate, rather like a picnic pavilion. However, as Kate discovered, it was securely locked, which answered one question that had come to her mind: why Gladys-and her rowing partner, if she was not alone-had taken one of the working boats instead of the boats available for guests.
In the distance, Kate heard the resounding gong that signaled luncheon. She’d have to hurry, or she’d be late. But as she went up the hill toward the palace, she couldn’t resist taking her finds from her skirt pocket and looking at them again.
Gladys Deacon’s golden slipper, slightly damp.
A cigarette bearing the Marlborough crest, half-smoked, also damp and trodden upon, found in the bottom of the boat.
And what looked like a letter written in ink in an unskilled hand on a ragged piece of paper, crumpled and much blotted, found with the cigarette.
Dearest Kitty,
I need to talk to you, soon as ever posibel. You know I luv you dearest and long too hold you close.
