Free Memoirs of a Hoyden by Joan Smith

of you. They’ll be there and gone by now.’’
    “Espionage is not carried out by the broad light of day for everyone to see. They’ll sneak in after dark, which is why I’ve been at pains to stay a little behind them.”
    This explanation quite took the wind out of my sails. Kestrel’s dilatory pace was explained now. He hadn’t wanted to overtake the Frenchies, but to remain a discreet distance behind them. It took me a few seconds to discover a flaw in his plan.
    “There’s no reason to think they’ll go to Longville Manor. Sir Herbert is only their London informant. Once they have the information, they’ll take it straight along to Boney.”
    “Not till it’s been looked over by Longville, to make sure it’s genuine, I think!” Kestrel snapped. “And how do you think they’ll get it to France? Longville Manor is right on the coast. Smugglers are the usual means of communication across the Channel. I learned at the Saracen’s Head a shipment is due to arrive tonight. Even you must have realized I had some reason for stopping there.”
    “But isn’t Longville in London?” I asked. Foolish of me.
    “No, he goes home every Friday afternoon. This is Friday. He’ll be there, and by God, I’ll catch the old bleater if it’s the last thing I do.”
    Kestrel appeared less incompetent now that I knew the whole truth. The determined face scowling into the distance looked much more capable than the languorous, bored face I had seen earlier. His riding skill was also enviable.
    Ronald was the next one to speak. “The message you were carrying—I take it that was some sort of hoax?” he asked thoughtfully.
    “It was genuine. We knew it was someone from the Foreign Office who was the leak, and he would know if the message was phony. It was a risk we had to take. Now that you see the importance of my mission, you realize I can’t have amateurs getting in my way.”
    Amateurs! That was his opinion of our assistance. I opened my lips to object, but before I could speak, Kestrel stepped in. “Pray spare me the lecture on your dealings with emirs and Arabs, Miss Mathieson. I’m sure you quelled a dozen desert tribes by your own hand, but your knowledge of camels and your few words of Arabic will be of no use in catching Longville. There’s too much at stake to have a lady gumming up the works.”
    I swallowed my quart of spleen all in one gulp, not to ingratiate this bigheaded jackass, but to learn his plan for trapping Longville. This wasn’t the moment to let pride stand in my way. “What do you plan to do?” I asked, with a civility that caused me heartburn.
    “I plan to stop him, once and for all.”
    “Could you be a little more specific? Do you plan to lie in wait for the smugglers to arrive? Or will you find some pretext to actually get into the manor and keep an eye on things from inside? That shouldn’t be impossible, as I deduce you are acquainted with Longville. And what about the orders to our army? You said they were genuine orders, and that there was the necessity for speed in delivering them.”
    “My groom delivered a copy to Colonel Hackley.”
    “I see.” Once again Kestrel surprised me by having a soupçon of common sense after all. “About my other questions—where will you go to catch the spies?”
    “That need not interest you,” he said bluntly. “You’ve shown a lack of ability to follow orders. I sent you and Kidd south to the coast. You shouldn’t be here at all. Pray go to Canterbury. Bore the kipper-crunching crowd there, and leave me free to do my job.” On this rude speech, he turned and galloped away.
    Ronald looked a question at me. “He was a little distraught,” I decided, though his words stung like a nettle. Amateur indeed! A “few words of Arabic” and some management of ignorant Bedouins was his assessment of my accomplishments. To add that bit about “boring” my audience was entirely gratuitous. They had been spellbound in London. Tom Moore