“Good, because I don’t have time for incompetence of any kind,” Kendrick asserted. “You both may go now, but I expect to see you back here tomorrow with a full report.”
The spymaster turned his attention back towards his desk, dismissing them.
They didn’t speak as they exited the bakery and stepped into the carriage. As the carriage merged into traffic, Roswell turned towards Caleb and asked, “How are you holding up?”
Caleb put his hands up. “I can’t say, but I am trying not to think about the fact that my father is a traitor to the Crown. A man that has preached loyalty to King and Country my whole life,” he said. “I am just trying to treat this like every one of our cases.”
“Do you think that is wise?”
“If not, I don’t think I can deal with it,” Caleb said. “I know what happens to traitors, especially lords.”
“Would you like me to question your father?” Roswell asked.
Caleb shook his head. “No, it has to be me.”
“Do you want me there?”
“I would say no, but I don’t know what my father is capable of anymore,” Caleb said. “We will speak with him after we return home from Vauxhall Gardens.”
Roswell bobbed his head. He didn’t know what else he could say. He knew his friend was hurting, and he had every reason to be upset. Traitors were dealt with quickly and efficiently, and it didn’t matter what title they held.
Anette looked at her painting and frowned. It turned out to be nothing like her friend’s. What was she doing wrong?
Lady Lizette Westcott spoke up. “That is an interesting painting,” she remarked as her eyes perused her work in progress.
“It is awful,” Anette responded, her shoulders slumping. “I will never be good at painting, Lizette. It is a fool’s errand to even keep trying.”
“Do not say such a thing. You just need more practice,” Lizette asserted.
“I doubt practice has anything to do with it.”
Lizette pointed towards the painting. “I think you did a great job with the clouds.”
“Those are sheep,” she corrected.
“Why are they at the top of the painting, then?” Lizette asked.
Anette shrugged. “Perhaps they are flying sheep.”
Lizette laughed. “Dear heavens, we just need to paint more often together. You will get the hang of it soon enough.”
“I think I am hopeless.”
“No one is hopeless.”
“Says the person that exceeds in everything that she does,” Anette said.
Lizette placed her paintbrush down and shifted in her seat to face Anette. “You may not be good at painting, but you are talented in other ways.”
Anette gave her a blank look. “I’m not quite sure what those are.”
“You are an excellent shot with your pistol,” Lizette said. “I have seen it.”
“Yes, but my mother doesn’t believe that is a quality that a young woman of high Society should possess.”
“Have you considered that your mother is wrong?”
Anette brought a finger up to her lips. “Shh, she might hear you.”
