Sophie’s head snapped up. “Penny? Penny’s a spy?”
“No, dear,” William stated. “Just the granddaughter of a retired comrade, who needed a little extra money. Every precaution was taken to see you safe and well settled in London. Mr. Wang insisted upon it—”
“Mr. Wang, too?” This time her voice came out a choked whisper.
“He did work for the war office for a few years. How did you think he came by the peculiar skills he’s passed on to you? He’s been mostly in London since your arrival. He insisted on being readily available should we, or you, need him. But then he thought you’d be safe enough at Haldon Hall, and went to see his friends in Wales.”
Sophie wanted to say that she had asked Mr. Wang how he came to know how to pick locks and throw knifes, and that he had given her the vague, but still satisfactory, answer that his grandfather had taught him. But her mouth seemed strangely disconnected from her brain and all she managed was to repeat, “Mr. Wang?” in that same strangled voice.
Alex reached over and took her hand. The small contact served to bring her back to the present, and in a much healthier voice she demanded, “Is everyone a spy?”
“No one’s a spy, dear,” William assured her. “They are simply acquaintances and friends of mine who either owed me a favor, or —”
“I’m a spy,” Alex pointed out reasonably.
“Well, yes,” William conceded. “But only on the rare occasion that—”
“I thought you preferred ‘agent,’” Sophie commented distractedly.
“You needn’t make it sound like a hobby,” Alex said by way of replying to William’s remark.
William groaned and ran his hand down his face. “Ye s, Alex performs the role of agent for the Crown from time to time. It is his duty to his title. However, it is not and will not be an occupation he pursues on a full-time basis, at least not until there is an heir to the dukedom.”
“Not even then,” Sophie muttered.
William ignored her. “No one else, however, is a spy.”
“I can’t believe this,” Sophie murmured.
Alex stood. “I can. You!” he snapped at William, “Outside. Now.”
“Alex, don’t,” Sophie pleaded, eyeing the older gentleman with concern.
“Let them go, dear,” Mrs. Summers advised.
“How can you say that?” Sophie demanded as the two men left the room.
Mrs. Summers appeared unmoved. “It is the duke’s right. I should be concerned if he didn’t at least make a show of retribution. Deathbed vow or not, if one puts one’s nose where it doesn’t belong, one should expect it might come out the worse for wear.”
“You’re guilty as well,” Sophie pointed out.
“Yes, but not to the same degree. And I am a woman. He can’t very well break my nose. You, however, may choose not to speak to me for several days, if that is your wish.”
Sophie rolled her eyes. “Generous of you.”
They sat in awkward silence for a full minute, Mrs. Summers sipping her tea and Sophie’s mind still racing over the events of the day. Then—
“I would never have left!” Sophie cried, nearly before she had even completed the thought in her head. She turned to her companion in a combination of outrage and confusion. “You know very well I never would have dragged you out of London merely because I had gotten bored, not with you visiting old friends and so clearly enjoying yourself. How could you think I would be so selfish?”
Mrs. Summers set down her drink, sighed, and, unless Sophie was mistaken, cringed just a little. “I don’t believe you to be selfish, dear. I know you are not, but…oh dear, I had rather hoped you would be too distracted with everything else going on to question my excuse overmuch. I’m not very good at lying, you know.”
“You were lying?”
“Perhaps, a little. There was a last-minute change of plan, you see,” Mrs. Summers explained. “We had to…shuffle things about a bit. William knew your cousin was pilfering from your father’s coffers, but didn’t realize the extent of his treachery, or the damage it had caused, until after we had left China. There was a letter waiting for me at one of our stops, detailing the condition the estate was in and…well, I knew you would never take the money from me, but if you thought it was coming from the prince—”
“It was your money?” Sophie demanded. “Your twenty thousand pounds?”
“Don’t be silly, dear. How on earth would I come to have twenty thousand pounds?…It was to be ten thousand.”
“Ten….”
“Without proof, you would have been given ten thousand pounds for your troubles.”
She had found proof, but it seemed to Sophie a relatively minor point at the moment. “But that money is yours, Mrs. Summers. You—”
“It most certainly is not,” Mrs. Summers snapped, slapping one bony hand angrily against her thigh. “Honestly, child, am I family, as you are so fond of saying, or am I not?”