Ned stared at him. “My… offer?”
“Yes. It turns out that I need an assistant.” The corners of his mouth rose. “A Doctor Watson, so to speak. As I recall, you mentioned something of the sort to me, a short time ago.”
Ned felt the joy and excitement rise in his throat, but disciplined his expression and forced himself to sound casual. “Well, if old Buttersworth can spare me, I s’pose I might be able to lend you a hand. What’s doing?”
There was a glint in Lord Sheridan’s eyes. “I wonder whether you’ve ever considered going into service.”
Ned felt the disappointment twist in his gut and knew that it showed on his face. He had thought, he had hoped, that Lord Sheridan was asking something more than mere service of him, for if that’s what he wanted, Ned would be forced to say no. It was true that he did not come from a wealthy family, and that boys from his class did not usually aspire to great heights of social ambition. But while his mother had been a nanny, his father was the grandson of a baronet and sprang from a family of Irish gentry that included (or so it was said) Sir Walter Raleigh. Ned was determined to make what he could of the noble blood that flowed through his veins, and service was demeaning. But it was Lord Sheridan who was making the proposal, so he replied with more tact than he might have done otherwise.
“I was hoping that your lordship might have something different in mind. Something with a little more… scope.”
“A little more scope, eh?” Lord Sheridan smiled. “Actually, I do, Ned. What I have in mind is a spot of espionage, a bit of secret agent work. The servant’s role-you would work as a page in a large country house-would be, in effect, your disguise.”
“I say, that’s jolly good!” Ned exclaimed happily. He clicked his heels together and swept off his cap in an exaggerated bow. “Indeed, I am entirely at your service, m’lord. Ask and I shall perform your every command, m’lord! What would you have me do, m’lord?” And he made another bow.
Lord Sheridan chuckled. “That’s a bit strong, I’d say, but you have the right idea, and with coaching, I daresay you’ll do just fine. Most of your work as a page won’t involve the upstairs people, though. What I need you to do is definitely below-stairs work.” He paused. “However, I shall have to ask your father’s approval for this, since it will involve your being away from home for perhaps as long as a fortnight.”
“A fortnight!” Ned said breathlessly, feeling that he must be dreaming. Either that, or he had just stepped into the pages of one of Mr. Henty’s grand adventure stories.
“I trust that Mr. Buttersworth will release you from your work at the museum for that period of time,” Lord Sheridan said. “Of course, you will receives wages as a page and a stipend as an informant. It should make up for the loss of the museum’s wages.”
An informant, Ned thought, elated, not quite believing it. I’m going to be a spy. A real spy!
“I can assure both you and your father that your work will not involve any danger,” Lord Sheridan continued. “And I will always be close at hand, as will one or two other people to whom you can go in the event of… difficulty. You will not be on your own.”
“Danger,” Ned scoffed carelessly. “I have no concerns for my personal safety.”
Lord Sheridan eyed him. “I don’t believe you do,” he said thoughtfully. “A young man who is daring enough to pry a brass off a church wall has more than enough audacity to carry out my small task.” He pursed his lips. “However, I hope you will not have to learn your first lessons about real danger when you have been put in command of other men. It wouldn’t hurt you to face a hazard or two now, if only to see what it feels like. You might then have more respect for those who are mindful of the dangers you so eagerly disregard.”
Ned had the vague sense that this was a rebuke, but since he didn’t know how to reply, he ignored it. “Where am I to work?” he demanded eagerly. “A country house, you said?”
“We’ll be at Blenheim Palace.”
“Blenheim Palace!”
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.