The Stanforth Secrets Read Online Free

elopement.
    The young viscount shook his head as he mounted the broad steps up to the gleaming mahogany double doors. He shuddered now at the things they had done six years ago.
    A sharp rap on the knocker and the door was swung open by the footman. Justin gave up his drizzle-damp greatcoat, glanced in a huge wall mirror, and decided he’d pass muster. Six years of army discipline are not wiped away in a fortnight, no matter how many documents one signs. It felt strange to be out of uniform, but at least he’d been able to chivvy Weston into producing some clothes in a hurry. He was pleased by his fashionable dark blue jacket with large brass buttons, and the new-style pantaloons in a soft fawn which disappeared into gleaming Hessians. He hadn’t been able to do anything, however, about his sun-darkened skin, which marked him out among the pale-faces of Society. He had refused to do more with his brown curls than have them trimmed.
    He shrugged. Whatever had caused this summons to the house of the Secretary of State for War, his sartorial magnificence or lack of it was unlikely to be of importance.
    He was expected and found himself swiftly in the presence of Lord Liverpool. With shock, he recognized the other man in the room as His Royal Highness, the Duke of York, Commander in Chief of the British Army until the recent scandal—the Duke’s mistress, Mary Anne Clarke, had been caught dealing in commissions and promotions. After a parliamentary inquiry, the Duke had been forced to give up his post, much to the disgust of the serving soldiers who still regarded him as a true army man. He was a good soldier.
    Justin addressed a profound bow to the Duke.
    “No need for formality,” said the portly man gruffly. “Here incognito, don’t you know. Sit down, Stanforth. Sit down.”
    Justin took the seat indicated, wondering what on earth was happening to bring him to the notice of royalty. He had been sufficiently surprised to be summoned to speak with Lord Liverpool.
    That gentleman addressed him. “You are doubtless wondering what is the purpose of this meeting, Stanforth. As you can see, it is of considerable importance. Though we are always sorry to lose a good officer, particularly at a time such as now when events in Portugal are coming to a head, I have to say that if you hadn’t sold out on inheriting your uncle’s title, you would have been ordered to do so. In fact, if the dunderheads who have been handling this matter had realized you were the heir presumptive, you’d have been ordered home before now.”
    “This matter, Sir?” queried Justin blankly.
    Instead of answering, the Earl rose to serve wine. It was obviously not a business to be discussed before servants.
    Justin searched his mind for an explanation. He had received a few letters from Chloe, his cousin Stephen’s widow, and correspondence from the family man-of-business, and yesterday he had spent the morning with the Delameres’ London agent. None had indicated anything out of the ordinary.
    Seated again, Lord Liverpool crossed his legs and spoke. “It is a somewhat complex matter, Stanforth. Over a year ago—in August of last year to be precise—patient work by an agent in Paris gained him access to a list of French spies residing in England, information which could surely save thousands of lives. The documents, the codes, and a letter were all ingeniously disguised and sent on their various ways. The codes, the letter, and one set of documents arrived in England by tortuous routes. They were each concealed in wax fruits—not hollow ones but solid with the papers a part of the whole. The letter, torn in pieces, had been made into cherries for a lady’s hat. The others were an apple and a pear, much like this one.”
    He passed over a seemingly real pear, yellowing with ripeness. Justin handled it, marvelling at the skill with which it was made. Unlike many such pieces made solely for ornament, the weight and the texture of the skin were