“I can understand your distrust of me,” said Lady Trafford. “I did, indeed, ask Mr. Holloway to steal your family’s mourning rings. Of course, I had every intention of returning them. I simply wanted to see if you or any of your sisters might be a potential recruit.”
Lady Trafford raised Mary’s spy book. “I was correct in choosing you. Your investigation was thorough and went undetected by any of us. You orchestrated Colonel Radcliffe’s arrest masterfully. I assume it was you in the peasant cloak who tackled Radcliffe when he attempted to escape?”
“Yes,” said Mary, confused, for Lady Trafford had not witnessed the events.
“Sir Pickering told me of it. Yes, despite the show we put on of disliking each other, we work together quite closely. In terms of your other accusations and concerns, much of what you have observed me doing in the past months has been my own attempts to solve Mr. Holloway’s murder, as well as several other small investigations. For instance, Mr. Tagore and Miss Tagore are also part of my network. They were with us when Anne died, and became friends with Mr. Holloway at that time. Because of their friendship with him, they were well suited to investigate in Crawley. It was impossible for me to do it myself without raising suspicions, especially as Mr. Holloway was found so close to my property.”
Lady Trafford waved Mary’s notebook like a fan. “Mr. Withrow, would you care to explain your own behaviour to Miss Bennet?”
“Most certainly,” said Withrow. “Since it appears you are the individual who wrote the anonymous letter to Sir Pickering, I will address the concern you raised in that letter first. I was indeed trying to establish a better relationship with Corneau. I had my suspicions about his involvement in local anti-government movements and was attempting to infiltrate his operation, with the intent, of course, of stopping him.
“In terms of the French officer you saw me meeting with the in the Roundel, he is actually one of our operatives. He is a French officer with British leanings who has been reporting to us with important information that has aided us greatly in the war effort. He gives me the information, and I pass it along to London.”
Mary nodded. If all this were true, it explained their actions, and was in fact a noble effort.
“If you have spoken with Sir Pickering,” said Mary, “I am sure you are aware that Colonel Coates is a smuggler. I believe others in Worthing have been working with him. But it does not seem that anything has happened to Colonel Coates or others as a result.”
Lady Trafford shook her head. “Half the town is engaged in smuggling in some manner. It would be impossible to arrest everyone, and so Sir Pickering tries to keep the smuggling within certain bounds. French cheeses and fabrics have limited consequence, but when they lead to other crimes, he quickly intervenes.”
Mary had always thought of things in very stark terms: good and evil, right and wrong. She would need to ponder on this matter more later.
“I would like to invite you to join us,” said Lady Trafford. “Become part of our network. Work for the crown. Help us to defend our country against threats domestic and foreign. You have the spirit for it, the natural talent and propensity. Just think what you will do in service for a greater cause.”
“How do I know for certain that you are working for the government, and that this is not an elaborate story meant to fool me?” She had begun to believe Lady Trafford—it made sense, it felt right and true—but, after Monsieur Corneau, she could not be too careful.
“If you demand evidence, evidence you shall have.” Lady Trafford stood and walked over to the desk that Mary and Mr. Withrow had used for lessons. She opened a hidden drawer that Mary had not realized was there, then used a small key to unlock a book within. From that, she withdrew a letter which she handed to Mary.
The letter had a complicated paper locking method and an elaborate red royal seal.
“You can break it open. I have several others.”
Mary broke the seal and opened the letter. It was penned by the head of the Foreign Office and signed by him and the Prince Regent himself. It expressed that Lady Margaret Trafford was employed by the British government, though it was vague on any particulars, and granted her immunity.
“I do not know this seal,” said Mary. “I have no way to tell if these signatures are legitimate or not. What would prevent you from creating all of this as an elaborate hoax?”
“You are wise to be so skeptical of my story.” She looked at Stanley. “You could take a lesson from her on this matter.” Lady Trafford thought for a moment. “I do have something that I believe you will find more definitive. Please wait here for me.” She turned to Withrow. “I will lock the door.”
Once Lady Trafford had left, Withrow set the poker underneath the desk, and then sat beside Mary on the sofa. Mary shifted farther away from him.
“Never raise a weapon towards my aunt again. In any circumstance. Do you understand?”
“Yes, I am sorry. I will not do it again.”
“Good.” Withrow leaned back into the sofa. He crossed his arms and his legs, and looked quite unthreatening, but Mary was not fooled. She rubbed the spot on her head where Withrow had pressed his knee when he had forced her to the ground.
“I really did arrive late,” said Fanny. “If the two of you want to recreate your fight, I would love to see it.”
Withrow glared at Fanny, but Mary chuckled. Mary would have needed a much larger skill set for it to have been anything resembling a true fight. She picked up the tea and drank. The chamomile’s scent and taste were soothing.
The most convincing evidence was their knowledge of Mary’s letter to
