Chapter 51

Rupert was torn. He'd been left here by McTavish to spy on the household, and he couldn't do that if he left. Not that he'd be spying on the household much from the stables. Worse than disappointing McTavish, was disappointing Blackthorne. Abner warned him that he was the ultimate recipient of any information that he gathered. Blackthorne was the devils own representative on earth and not a man to cross.

"Stay or go, Rupert?" Isobel said. "It's not that big a decision."

He should stay at least until he had a chance to discuss it with McTavish and Blackthorne and inform them he wasn't in the house anymore. They may not need him in the stables. Then he could leave. "I'll stay, my Lady."

"Excellent. You may as well report out there right away. I'm sure they have something for you to do now."

"Yes, my Lady."

"Good day."

He turned and walked out, inwardly seething. Rupert was a gentleman's gentleman. He certainly shouldn't be out shoveling horse manure. Isobel smiled. Found one of you, she thought.

Several hours later, Frang came in for supper and found Isobel setting the dining room table.

"I thought we should eat here instead of the kitchen. Start setting some precedents," Isobel said.

"Fine. I've no problem with it," Frang replied.

"Might want to set a trusted man at the door," Isobel said. "Give us a chance to discuss some things."

"That would be wise."

"I would like to thank you for arranging for my things to be moved today," Isobel said, "and arranging the bath last night and tonight. It was very thoughtful of you. The dagger on the pillow was a nice touch as well. It greatly eased my mind. I was a bit tense about our sleeping arrangements."

"It was apparent to me and everyone else. I didn't want to make things worse than they were."

"Believe me, it helped."

"I'll go wash up for dinner then," Frang said. She nodded and he went off.

When he came down fifteen minutes later, the table was set, candles were lit, and food was on the sideboard. Frang arranged for a man to stand at the door. Bjarkë shared the table with them and they sat close together at the end farthest from the door in order to limit their conversation from being overheard.

"Did you meet your former valet, Rupert, today?" Isobel asked after they all sat down with food on their plates.

"The foppish, rat-faced fellow with the fancy clothes and shiny shoes who came to clean the stables?" Frang asked.

"The very same," Isobel replied.

"He the one you worried about being a spy?" Frang asked.

"Yes. I think that we can conclusively say that he was a spy," Isobel said.

"How so?" asked Bjarkë.

"I offered him a choice today. I told him that you didn't require a valet; that you were accustomed to dressing yourself and didn't require his services," Isobel said. "He was offered a choice to seek other employment with a glowing recommendation from either myself or the Laird or to shovel shit in the stables. He chose the latter."

"Very clever," Bjarkë said. "He can choose to live as he's done before with another gentleman or get his hands and shiny shoes dirty in the muck. By choosing the muck, he confirmed he needs to stay here."

"And gets him out of the house where we don't need to keep such a close eye on him," Frang said. "What a brilliant idea. Perhaps we can use it to smoke out any others we don't trust."

"Unfortunately, I don't think it will work on the other spies I suspect," Isobel said. "If they're already working in the stables, what could we possibly offer them that would be any worse."

"Perhaps a scullery maid scrubbing pots in the kitchen," Frang laughed. "The actual job may be less distasteful than cleaning the stables, but working a woman's job might threaten their manhood."

Bjarkë chuckled. "Or washerwoman," he offered. "Another job that would menace their masculinity. Oh, can't you just see some big, braw man scrubbing a woman's dainties or frillies. That would be an amusing sight."

Isobel laughed so hard she nearly choked on her food. Frang started to get up to help her, but she waved him down, taking a sip of wine. "And then hanging them out to dry," she choked out, tears streaming down her face, before breaking out in renewed fits of laughter.

"You should laugh more often, Isobel. It's musical," Frang said.

"As long as wine isn't shooting out your nose," Bjarkë added, which started a new laughing fit by all three.

"I've got to admit," Isobel said when they'd all calmed down some, "I haven't laughed like that in ages. Never in this house. I'd almost forgotten what laughter was."

"I shall have to make you laugh more often," Frang said. "I love the sound of it."

"Of course," Isobel said, ignoring Frang and getting serious again, "if we only pick on the suspected spies, they'll know we know who they are. If we discharge them, our enemies will endeavor to replace them with others we know nothing about."

"Aye," Bjarkë said. "I say we leave them alone outside the house where they can do less harm. Let them report what little they learn, and maybe use them just once to provide false information when it's to our advantage to do so. Once used in that fashion, they won't be trusted anymore so we'd only get the one opportunity to make a big difference. Something big that draws the bastard himself out."

The rest of their supper was more subdued; less talk and more eating. Isobel did report some of the things the cook and housekeeper had provided regarding supplies or household items that needed to be repaired or replaced. Bjarkë excused himself when that conversation started as he had no interest in it. He said he was going to bed. William Craig had been provided with the third bedroom, so Bjarkë was sleeping in the barn. Frang and Isobel continued to discuss the running of Lady Luck Farm for the next hour.

Finally, Frang said, "I'm going to have a quick talk with Mr. Craig, then retire. Good night, Isobel."

"Good night, Frang. I'll help the maid clear the dishes, then find that tub promised to be waiting for me."

"We should continue with your lessons tomorrow, Isobel," Frang said. "It's been a few days and it's best not to get out of practice."

"I'll be ready."