It is with regret that I inform you that Admiral Peter Parker is dead. (Natural causes. As you know, he was ill for some time) I am his personal secretary and have been aware of your communications to the admiral since the beginning. Do not send any further dispatches here, as I do not know who will step into the post. I am making inquiries into where your valuable insights ought to be redirected. Though, as you will soon see, perhaps they ought not be directed anywhere at all just now.
The admiral was in receipt of information only yesterday that he’d intended to communicate to you at the earliest possible moment. He did not get the chance, so I will do so now. He was alerted to the idea that the French know your approximate location and there is some idea of them attempting to locate you. Beyond that, we do not know their plan. Is it to destroy theAthena? Or perhaps make an end to the Mosquito himself? The admiral was intent on you moving locations and did have the opinion that you ought to pause youractivities for some months to perhaps give the idea that their problem with the Mosquito has ended.
The admiral was quite fretful over this and took the threat very seriously. I urge you to vacate that location, at least for the time being.
Regards,
Lawrence Cadwalker, Former Secretary to Admiral Peter Parker.
Weston folded the letter. He could not say he was surprised to hear of the demise of the admiral, though he was sorry to hear it. They had been corresponding with one another for years and he had noticed over the past months that the admiral’s penmanship had begun to deteriorate and appear shaky in nature. Weston would miss him indeed. He’d been only seventeen when he’d sent the first report and had a time of it convincing the admiral that it was true.
“Now, my boy,” Lord Ledderbey said, “far be it for me to open your private correspondence. However, when that correspondence arrives in the middle of the night while you’re out drifting round in the darkness on that little boat of yours, that is another matter. I’d thought maybe it was the news that duke of yours was finally dead, which would have been welcome all round.”
Weston nodded. Lord Ledderbey had been a friend of his father’s, so was forever aligned against the duke. The fact that His Grace never bothered with his heir only cemented his ideas. Weston, himself, did not harbor any particular feelings for the duke one way or the other, but for a bit of annoyance, though he absolutely did not wish him dead. He was not ready to take on the ducal mantle; he had too much else to do.
“I think we will have to move, at least for now,” he said, “and I am sorry for that. I’ve put you in a terrible spot.”
Lord Ledderbey waved his hands. “All for England, what right do I have to complain about it? But that’s not the end of it. I’d just recovered from the shock of that first missive when another turned upjust before dawn, and it’s a corker.”
Lord Ledderbey handed over another sheet of paper, this one looking far more pristine than the first.
Weston unfolded it.
Tramondeley—
I suppose I ought to have written before now, but boys are never up to much so I thought I’d wait until you reached your majority. In any case, better late than never, eh? Well, here you are and I look forward to seeing you in Town this season. I understand Ledderbey does not keep a house in London so I’ve rented you one. It’s on Grosvenor Square, number four, fine address, we are there too, just across the square. It’s furnished and up to the mark so all you need do is turn up with your staff. Bring Ledderbey along if you like.
Turn up as soon as is convenient, the house is ready and a porter will let you in. We will not arrive until the eleventh, come to dine on the thirteenth.
Pelham
Good lord, the duke had finally decided to get in touch. What did he mean, he’d rented a house? It seemed rather high-handed. Weston had no intention of going to Town. He was far too busy here.
Weston paused. He was too busy here, but now he must be elsewhere. Even if he were willing to take his chances, he could not leave Lord Ledderbey in danger. He could not go out at night, leaving the old fellow here alone to defend himself from an attack. The old fellow was deeply shaken over only letters arriving in the night, he’d fall over dead if the French breached his doors.
“You see how it is, I think,” Lord Ledderbey said. “I’d been pondering where we ought to go and then that mad duke writes that he’s rented us a house.”
“Why has he done it, though?” Weston asked.
Lord Ledderbey shrugged. “Who knows. From what I know aboutthat individual, predictability and sense are not his strong suits. Your father always said he was eleven eggs short of a dozen.”
“I do not like this,” Weston said. “Am I to go to Town and swan around like a weak-minded dandy with no thought for anything but amusement?”
Lord Ledderbey snorted. “I cannot quite picture that. However, presenting yourself for a season is not the worst idea in the world. For one thing, you’ll make connections, far more than you ever could living in our lonely outpost. For another, you are getting of an age to consider marriage. Every likely lady in England will be found there. That’s been on my mind for a while, actually.”
Weston did not say so, but marriage had been on his mind too. He’d just been too busy to do anything about it. As well, he was not certain what sort of lady would like to live on the coast of Cornwall and wave off her husband at night as he set off across a dark ocean in a small sloop. He supposed she’d need to be a stalwart sort and having never set foot in London he was not certain how many of them existed.
“In any case,” Lord Ledderbey said, “I believe we can view this as a two-birds-with-one-stone situation. We cannot stay here, and the Duke of Pelham has conveniently rented us a house.”
Weston nodded. As improbable as it was, he could see no other solution. Hours ago, he’d been happily harrying a French ship and now he was to go play nice in Town with the duke who had ignored him all his life. What a world.
Stockton returned from his touring of the house. “Everything is in order, my lord,” he said.
“Excellent. Now hold on to your hat, Stockton. We depart for London on the morrow. I’m to have a season, apparently.”
“London? Aseason? InLondon?”
Those questions were posed in a tone of utter disbelief. “Go get some sleep and then get the trunks packed, I’ll tell you all about it later.”
Stockton, ever the disciplined navy man, recovered himself, nodded, and set off to do his lord’s bidding.
“Do you suppose we’ll really have to go to Pelham’s house for dinner?” Lord Ledderbey asked.
“I imagine so,” Weston said.
“Careful there, the duke might be thinking of a match between cousins,” Lord Ledderbey said. “I believe the youngest of that parade of women is not yet wed. At least, so says my sister in her ongoing effort to send me gossip I do not want.”
Weston laughed, the first time he’d done so all morning. If the duke had any ideas of a match, he was indeed eleven eggs short of a dozen. The very idea that he’d take on a duke’s daughter was absurd. He’d already met one of their ilk and had not enjoyed the experience. A lady raised in a ducal household would be far too particular for his taste. That sort imagined the whole world admired them. Let her find a delicate dandy who handed out posies of compliments and they could prance preciously through life together.
The duke might have rented him a house, but that generosity would not buy him any influence over his heir.
