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Bryce coughed. “I am not fond of the outdoor pursuits my lord,” he said with dignity.

“Besides,” said Oswald as if he had not spoken. “It is for her safety. No other reason.”

“Very well, my lord.”

“And I wish you to send a message to Pezzini, explaining that Fenella's new wardrobe is a matter of the utmost urgency. I want him to send each dress as it is completed rather than waiting for it to be finished in entirety.”

“Yes, my lord,” said Bryce doubtfully.

“If you need to use an interpreter, speak to Lady Claremont's manservant, Charters. He is a master of languages and can translate for you.”

Bryce perked up at this. “Yes, my lord.”

“You will need to tip him generously.” Oswald reached into another draw and drew out a gold coin which he tossed toward Bryce who made no attempt to catch it and simply watched as it rolled under a bookcase.

“Can you retrieve that Bryce, or do you need another coin?” asked Oswald in exasperation.

Bryce eased himself off his chair to grope around on the floor for the coin.

“Tell me Bryce, did you have no brothers to play catch with as a boy?”

“No, my lord,” answered Bryce as he reached underneath the bookcase.

Oswald thought of Fenella's words. “Nor sisters, either?” he asked.

“I was an only child, my lord,” said Bryce clambering to his knees. He opened his palm to show the coin and then tucked it away in a pouch at his belt.

“Who brought you up then?” asked Oswald, suddenly curious.

“I was raised by my paternal grandfather,” replied Bryce. “He was a legal clerk,” he added when Oswald continued to regard him thoughtfully.

Maybe Fenella was onto something after all, thought Oswald. “I see,” he said aloud. “Very good, Bryce.”

His assistant bowed and exited the room with an air of injured dignity.

Oswald leaned back in his chair, his thoughts returning to the last letter from Ambrose Thane. There had been absolutely no change in tone in that letter. Nothing to indicate that her husband's feelings had undergone some dramatic change or that he'd become alienated from his wife. True, if Oswald had read that letter and none of the others, he would have thought their marriage dead in the water. But the fact was that every single one of his letters was dull as ditchwater. Thane had mentioned a local family of influence that he dined with on several occasions, and if pressed, Oswald would have hazarded a guess that the Lady Colleen was one of the daughters of that house. It did not really make any difference to him, but he realized that Fenella might well want some answers. He tapped one finger on the desk top as he pondered this point. He did not want her dwelling on the past, but he also did not want it to build up and become some great mystery in her life, rather than the brief rather dull chapter it was. He drew another piece of paper across his desk top and addressed it to J. Francis, another of his agents. Briefly, he outlined a series of points that he wanted clarified in the courtship of Sir Ambrose Thane and his second wife. Then he sealed the envelope with hot wax and selecting his Vawdrey seal, the passant panther, pressed its impression firmly into molten red wax.

Throughout the afternoon he had visits from various agents reporting their findings over the last week. They knocked on the door in various patterns and two of them even arrived by his secret passage rather than using the outer door. Oswald punctuated their narratives with a few sharp questions but made few notes. Bryce came in during the second half of the afternoon and sat quietly in the corner observing.

“What do you think, Bryce? Anything of interest?” Oswald asked him as the door shut on the last visitor.

Bryce looked thoughtful. “I could not understand the significance of the message Jeffries intercepted to the ambassador to the Western Isles,” he said slowly.

“You picked up on that,” Oswald replied. “Good, I begin to have hopes for you Bryce. Something seemed amiss, did it not?”

“Y-es,” agreed Bryce hesitantly. “But I'm not sure what? The letter was so short. And you did not keep Jeffries overlong for interrogation.”

“There would be very little point. He knew nothing, only that it did not arrive with the regular messenger and that the ambassador attempted to burn it.”

“But why?” asked Bryce. “The body of the letter seemed very innocuous. It had no sinister intent that I could discern?”

Oswald closed his eyes briefly. “Bryce,” he tutted. “Think about it analytically. Barely any of it made sense. The weather last Tuesday week was not fine, it is highly unlikely that anyone would spot a sedge goose this far south, they are northern birds and we know that Ambassador Hybridge does not hunt.” Oswald drummed his fingers on the table. “So what conclusion can be drawn from this?”

“It is in code?” suggested Bryce with a frown.

“Indeed,” said Oswald. “Which is why I have asked Jeffries to make copies of any letters to the ambassador in the last six months and bring them to me. We will need to wade through them and see if we can decode it. Hybridge has been in post for some nineteen months,” he ruminated. “His connections are respectable but there was a branch of his family that supported the Blechmarsh claim to the throne.” He grimaced thinking of the last of that troublesome line. Princess Una was shut up in a fortress under house arrest, and had been for the last seventeen months. It didn’t stop others from constantly plotting in her name. The sedge goose was a northern bird famed for its stubbornness and lack of common sense. Much like the House of Blechmarsh.

Bryce coughed. “But then, most families have similar stories in their not too distant past,” he pointed out.