Adele shook her head.
“Very well then.” He slathered a full tablespoon of blackberry jam upon the remnants of his demolished scone. Much of the jam slid onto the plate in a messy puddle. “Let me explain what I need.”
And he did.
II
Henley Royal Regatta, Henley-on-Thames, Saturday, 30th June, 1906.
ADELE PAUSED AT THE ENTRANCE to the refreshment tent, resting her hands on the handle of her parasol, while she absorbed who was sitting at which table…and with whom. There was much which could be inferred about the company a peer kept, especially at less formal events such as the Regatta.
She spotted her quarry sitting at a small table with two other debutantes and an elderly chaperone, who read a book with her pince nez just holding onto the tip of her nose.
Lady Winnifred Mercer was the daughter and only child of the late Baron Chapmore. Her father’s title rested with her until she produced a son of her own. This was Lady Winnifred’s first year in society and she had been causing quite a stir. The King had pinched her cheek when she had been presented to him at Easter, ensuring her notoriety and that men with ambition would flock around her. Of course, their congregating in her vicinity had nothing to do with the fifty thousand pounds a year Lady Winnifred had inherited.
There were no men around her at the moment, for which Adele was heartily thankful. This was the Ladies’ Tent.
As such, there were a great many white lawn and muslin afternoon gowns on display, beneath enormous white hats. Fans waved excessively for it was a sweltering day, one of the hottest this summer. Lace gloves, the lightest possible, and parasols, of course—also as wide and shady as possible.
It was stifling in the tent, for there was only the one entrance and no windows, to give the ladies their privacy. The entrance was guarded by a red-faced and sweating butler in tails, who prevented eager young men from entering.
While Adele studied the poor young heiress, she paused for a moment to hate Melville and his wily ways.
She had asked for real work. He had made it sound as though the Lady Winnifred was evil incarnate, surreptitiously undermining Britain by recruiting to her cause hapless men in highly trusted positions in the government, then handing them over to German agents who drew from them everything they knew of Britain’s defenses.
Two days after the launching of the Lusitania, Adele had attended a dinner party to which the Lady Winnifred was also invited. It was the first time Adele had consciously sought out the woman.
She was shocked to find herself looking upon a young girl resting on the very edge of a fainting couch, who could surely not be more than eighteen, with the palest of blonde hair and big black eyes which took in everything of the world around her with an alarmed light in them, as if everything startled her.
This frightened fawn was Melville’s dire German agent? She had seen the girl at season events since March but paid her no attention. A new batch of giggling debutantes cluttered up dance floors and drawing rooms every year. Keeping track of them became more challenging with each passing year. Adele had been away from society for eight years, which made the task all the harder.
She nearly turned and walked out of the drawing room where the women had gathered after dinner, disgusted at both herself and Melville. This…this child was no spy!
But then she remembered how astonished she had been to learn that Peter Stroud, who had been a childhood acquaintance and a suitor for her hand while she was a debutante, had been a German sympathizer and traitor.
Adele had turned and went back to the drawing room, found Miriam Lynwood and asked her who was the young girl on the fainting couch, which prompted an introduction.
Lady Winnifred was as reserved and shy as her appearance implied. Adele knew it would make little difference. The girl would be engaged, if not already married, by the end of the year, whether she wished it or not. And judging by her timid manner and constant referral to her companion and chaperone for approval or suggestions, Adele wondered if the girl had any strong wishes of her own.
For the last four weeks, at every society event the two of them had attended—which Adele had arranged with some effort—she had managed to keep an eye upon Lady Winnifred just as Melville had requested. The Royal Ascot in mid-June, the Royal box at the Wimbledon finals, and parties and dinner events, balls and more. She had been reprieved only once, when the Trooping of the Colours had been cancelled on account of incessant rain.
Swiftly, Adele had come to resent her task, for it was clear that Lady Winnifred was utterly innocent. Adele’s “real” work was nothing more than punishment for refusing to accompany the King to Germany next month.
The girl danced with any man who raised her dance card. She laughed behind her fan with her debutante friends. She was properly reticent with matrons and flirted with older men in the dimpled, innocent way such men enjoyed. She did not favor any bachelor over others. She did not reserve her waltzes for anyone in particular.
It was said that Lady Winnifred was spreading her attention in order to properly measure her choices. And she did speak to everyone, sometimes at length, her light voice rising and falling breathlessly.
The girl was a model debutante.
As her resentment over her work grew, Adele’s anger toward William Melville also increased. Melville had kept Daniel busy in London, doing mysterious things in preparation for the journey to Germany. At least, that was what Adele had first believed, but now she wasn’t so certain. Perhaps Melville was petty enough to keep Daniel and her apart, just because she had defied Melville.
Although Daniel was here, today. She had glimpsed him sitting with a group of
