If he was avoiding her, what of it? Hadn't she practically ordered him to do so? She had no right to cry after what was lost, she told herself fiercely, taking a vast gulp of tepid tea. She was the one who had set the terms and now she had to abide by them.
Why couldn't Miles have argued with her when she told him they couldn't go back? If he really cared about her in any way at all, wouldn't he have gone after her? Protested? Done something?
The door swung open, and one polished Hessian boot advanced across the threshold. Henrietta hastily yanked her gaze back to the tea tray, feigning great interest in the plate of biscuits. If Miles didn't want anything to do with her, she wouldn't want anything to do with him, either. So there. Muffled by the carpet, the boots strode towards her — Henrietta chomped off a regrettably large bite of biscuit — past her, and Stopped by Amy's chair. A hand boasting a gold signet ring on the pinky descended upon the back of Amy's chair. Mouth full of glutinous goo, Henrietta's head jerked up. It was her brother.
Not Miles.
Henrietta resolutely swallowed her mouthful of biscuit.
Amy tilted her head up at Richard. "Are the sentries all in place?" she hissed in a stage whisper.
Richard nodded. "If they aren't, someone will answer for it," he said grimly, just as the door swung open again.
Henrietta hastily angled her body towards Mrs. Cathcart, started to reach for the biscuit, and thought better of it. She wasn't making that mistake twice. As to other mistakes she had made…
Miles sauntered into the room, talking very loudly with the two Tholmondelay twins about something entirely incomprehensible that seemed to involve a great deal of sporting cant. The trio made straight for the fireplace, not so much as glancing in Henrietta's direction.
Placing her teacup in her saucer with a definitive clunk, Henrietta twisted in her seat to face her brother.
"What are we doing tonight?" she asked her brother loudly.
"Playing sitting duck for a French spy," replied Richard sourly.
Richard was clearly not in the best of moods. Henrietta could tell it was killing him to have to pretend to play host to a party of houseguests when all he wanted to do was tug on a pair of black breeches and dash out into the night, rapier at the ready.
"Yes, what are we doing tonight?" demanded Ned Tholmondelay, ambling over to the cozy grouping of chairs. "Dorrington over there was telling me the outdoor exercises ain't on. Some mistake, I'm sure."
"Deuced silly notion!" agreed Fred Tholmondelay, strolling over to join his twin.
"Dorrington was right," affirmed Richard.
"You needn't sound like that's such an unusual state of affairs," commented Miles, deserting his casual pose against the fireplace to join them. He positioned himself next to Richard, nodding awkwardly in the general direction of the ladies. Henrietta caught herself trying to catch his eye and made herself stop.
"What's wrong with Miles?" whispered Amy. "He's been behaving oddly all day."
Henrietta shrugged weakly.
Fortunately, Amy had no chance to enquire further.
"You're funning, aren't you, Selwick? Bit of a joke, eh?" urged Fred.
"Richard never jokes about spies," chimed in Amy.
"That's the devil of a shame!" Ned looked crestfallen. "There's a splendid one about a French agent and a Prussian general who go into a tavern, and — "
"Maybe later," broke in Henrietta, as her brother's color went from puce to purple, trying to soften her words with an encouraging smile. Ned beamed back at her. "I don't think this is quite the time."
"May I impress upon everyone that this is a war, not a parlor game?" Richard enquired tightly.
"You can try, but whether you'll succeed is another matter, old chap," muttered Miles, eyeing Ned without favor.
Richard ignored him, clearing his throat with enough force to create a minor gale in Gloucestershire.
"Since we're all here, we might as well get this over with. An operative — "
"We don't know — " began Miles.
"An intruder believed to be an operative," Richard corrected himself, with a pointed look at Miles, "was sighted on the grounds last night. In disguise," he added, before Miles could interrupt again.
"What great luck!" exclaimed Ned Tholmondelay. "Great luck?" echoed Miss Grey frigidly.
"Who would have thought!" continued Ned eagerly. "Our very own spy! And we didn't even have to go over to France for him. I say, Selwick, this is smashing."
His twin nodded thoughtfully. "Deuced convenient, that's what it is. Like a fox running to the dog!" He paused, much taken by the beauty of his own metaphor.
"By Jove, Fred!" breathed Ned. "You've got it! We'll get up a hunt and run the spy to ground!"
"Blowing a horn, no doubt," said the much-put-upon Purple Gentian acidly, "with dogs in full cry."
Ned beamed, delighted at being so well understood. "That's the ticket!"
"We," snapped Richard, "will do nothing of the kind."
"The object is not to scare off the spy," Henrietta explained helpfully.
"Thank you, Hen," bit off Richard. "I am sure we are all excessively edified by that statement."
"He really is cranky tonight, isn't he?" hissed Richard's sister to Richard's wife.
"Poor dear, he just wants to be off chasing spies," Amy whispered back.
"Would you two be quiet for a moment?" snapped Richard.
The two women exchanged looks of mutual sympathy and understanding.
Ned, momentarily taken aback, was rapidly recovering. "Ah," he said, "I understand. This is another test, ain't it? And we'll all go off on our own and see who can get the spy back first. We'll use that… that sneaking-up-on-people trick you taught us earlier today." He turned to his twin. "Bet you ten guineas I get to the spy first!"
"This is not a test. This is not a game. This is a damned nuisance." Richard took a deep breath, battling for patience.
"Look," broke in Miles, coming to the aid of his beleaguered best friend. "If the spy finds out about the school, that's it for all of us. Old Boney will have our names in the next dispatch."
Fred thought deeply. "But if we catch the spy," he said in the portentous tones of one explicating a complicated theorem, "he won't be able to send our names."
"Ah!" exclaimed Ned admiringly.
"Urgh," said Richard.
Amy came to his rescue, sliding her arm through her husband's.
"I know the loss of tonight's entertainment is a grave disappointment, but we must think of it as merely one more slight to be avenged against that murderous regime," she declaimed earnestly.
Much moved by her words, Ned Tholmondelay burst into a heartfelt round of "Rule Britannia." Miss Grey cut him off just after Britain ruled the waves, but before Britons never, never, never shall be slaves.
"I would not," she said, in her musty voice, "contrive to put myself forwards, but it appears to me that inquiries might be made which might minimize the threat posed by this person of inimical tendencies."
"Hunh?" said Ned Tholmondelay.
"I believe she means did he ask anyone about that spy chappy," explained his more perspicacious brother.
Ned nodded, impressed. Fred had always been the brain of the family.
Henrietta stifled a chuckle, and looked automatically at Miles, whose lips were twitching with repressed amusement. Their eyes met in a glint of shared humor before Miles abruptly stiffened and looked away.