Rendezvous

11

"What do you mean by saying you would have known if my brother had been secretly working for England during the war?" Augusta sat tensely, her mind reeling. "And what on earth were you doing that you would have such information in the first place?"

Harry did not move from his reclining position, but he finally took his gaze off Meredith and looked directly at Augusta. "What I was doing is no longer a matter of importance. The war is over and I am more then content to forget my role in it. Suffice it to say that I was involved in gathering intelligence for England."

"You were a spy?" Augusta was stunned.

His mouth curved faintly. "Obviously, my love, you do not see me as a man of action."

"No, it is not that." She frowned, thinking quickly. "I confess I did wonder where you learned to pick locks and you do have a habit of turning up when I least expect you. Very spy like behavior, I should imagine. Nevertheless, a career in that sort of thing is just not you, Harry."

"I could not agree with you more. In point of fact, I never saw my wartime activities as a career. I saw them as a damned nuisance. The business was a vastly annoying interruption to my real work of pursuing my classical studies and looking after my estates."

Augusta bit her lip. "It must have been very dangerous."

Harry shrugged. "Only on the odd occasion. I spent most of my time behind a desk directing the activities of others and pouring over letters written in code or sympathetic ink."

"Sympathetic ink." Augusta was momentarily diverted by that. "You mean ink that is invisible on paper?"

"Mmmm."

"How marvelous. I should love to have some invisible ink."

"I shall be happy to make you a batch sometime." Harry looked amused. "I should warn you it is not terribly useful for general correspondence. The recipient must have the chemical agent which renders the writing visible."

"One could keep one's journal in it." Augusta paused. "But perhaps code would be better. Yes, I like the idea of a code."

"I would prefer to think that my wife does not have anything so very secret to write in her journal that it requires invisible ink or a secret code."

Augusta ignored the mild warning in his tone. "Is that why you spent so much time on the continent during the war?"

"Unfortunately, yes."

"You were supposed to be furthering your research in the classics."

"I did what I could, especially when I was in Italy and Greece. But a great deal of my time was spent on Crown business." Harry selected a hothouse peach from the basket. "Now that the war is over, however, I can think about going back to the continent for more interesting purposes. Would you like to go, Augusta? We shall take Meredith, too, of course. Travel is very educational."

Augusta arched a brow. "Is it me or your daughter you feel needs the education?"

"Meredith would no doubt profit the most from the experience. You, on the other hand, do not have to travel outside our bedchamber in order to further your education. And I must say, you are a very apt pupil."

Augusta was scandalized in spite of herself. "Harry, I vow, sometimes you say the most improper things. You should be ashamed."

"I beg your pardon, my dear. I had not realized you were such an authority on the proprieties. I bow to your greater knowledge of such matters."

"Do be quiet, Harry, or I shall dump what is left of our picnic over your head."

"As you wish, madam."

"Now, then, tell me how you can be so certain my brother was not also involved in secret work for the Crown."

"The odds are that if he had been, he would have worked for me, either directly or indirectly. I explained that a chief portion of my duties consisted of directing the activities of others in the same line of work. Those people, in turn, collected a vast amount of information from their contacts and relayed it all to me. I had to sort through the bloody stuff and try to glean the wheat from the chaff."

Augusta shook her head in amazement, still unable to envision Harry in such work. "But there must have been a great many people engaged in that sort of thing, both here and abroad."

"Too many, at times," Harry agreed dryly. "During wartime spies are rather like ants at a picnic. A great nuisance, for the most part, but it is impossible to conduct the event without them."

"If they are as common as insects, Richard could have been engaged in such activities and you might not have been aware of it," Augusta insisted.

Harry munched his peach in silence for a moment. "I considered that possibility. So I made some inquiries."

"Inquiries? What inquiries?"

"I asked some of my old friends in the business to see if Richard Ballinger had by any chance been officially involved in intelligence work. The answer was no, Augusta."

Augusta drew her knees up and wrapped her arms around them while she grappled with the finality of Harry's tone. "I still think my theory has merit."

Harry was silent.

"You must admit there is a small possibility that Richard had gotten involved in such work. Perhaps he had discovered something on his own and was going to take the information to the proper authorities."

Harry remained silent as he finished the last of his peach.

"Well?" Augusta asked, trying to conceal her anxiety over his answer. "Won't you agree that there is at least a chance that was the case?"

"Do you want me to lie to you, Augusta?"

"No, of course not." Her hands clenched into small fists. "I merely want you to agree that you could not have known everything there was to know about intelligence activities during the war."

Harry nodded brusquely. "Very well. I will agree to that. No one could have known everything. There is a great deal of fog surrounding war. Most of the actions, both on and off the battlefield, take place in a gray murk. And when the fog clears one can only count the survivors. One can never really know all of what happened while the mist was shrouding things. Perhaps it is best that way. I am convinced there is much it is better not to know."

"Such as what my brother may actually have been doing?" Augusta challenged bitterly.

"Remember your brother as you knew him, Augusta. Keep the last of the bold, daring, reckless Northumberland Ballingers alive in your memories and do not tease yourself with what may or may not have lain below the surface."

Augusta lifted her chin. "You are wrong about one thing, my lord."

"And that is?"

"My brother was not the last of the Northumberland Ballingers. I am the last one of the line."

Harry sat up slowly, his eyes cool with warning. "You have a new family now. You said as much yourself last night in the picture gallery."

"I have changed my mind." Augusta gave him a too-brilliant smile. "I have decided your ancestors are not as nice as mine."

"You are not doubt correct in that regard. No one ever called any of my ancestors nice. But you are now the newest Countess of Graystone and I will make certain you do not forget it."

A week later Augusta went into the sunny gallery on the second floor and seated herself on a settee directly beneath the portrait of her beautiful predecessor. Augusta glanced up at the deceptively serene image of the previous Lady Graystone.

"I'm gong to repair the damage you did around here, Catherine," she announced aloud. "I may not be perfect, but I know how to love and I do not think you ever knew the meaning of the word. You were not such a paragon, after all, were you? You wasted so much when you went chasing after false illusions. I am not such a fool," she said firmly.

Augusta wrinkled her nose at the portrait and then opened the letter from her cousin Claudia.

My Dear Augusta:

I trust all is well with you and your estimable husband. I must confess I rather miss you here in town. The Season is drawing to a close and things are not nearly so lively without you. As agreed, I have been to Pompeia's on several occasions and have much enjoyed my interesting visits with your friend, Lady Arbuthnott.

I must tell you, Lady A is a most fascinating female. I thought I would be somewhat put off by the eccentricities for which she is noted, but somehow, I am not. I find her delightful and am grieved by the severe nature of her illness.

The butler, on the other hand, is quite objectionable. Had I anything to say about the matter, I would not employ him for a single moment. He grows bolder with each visit and I fear that one of these days I shall be obliged to tell him he has overstepped himself. I still cannot escape the feeling I know him from somewhere.

To my surprise, I must admit I am rather enjoying Pompeia's. Naturally I cannot approve of such features as the club's betting book. Did you know several members placed wagers on how long your engagement would last? Nor do I approve of the rather extensive gaming activities. But I have met some interesting ladies who share my own desire to write. We have many fascinating discussions.

As to the social whirl, I can only repeat it is not as exciting without you. You always succeeded in attracting the most unusual friends and dancing partners. Without you by my side I seem to attract only the most proper sorts of people. Do you know, if it were not for Peter Sheldrake, I should find myself quite bored. Fortunately, Mr. Sheldrake is an excellent dancer. He has even persuaded me to perform the waltz with him. I only wish he were more inclined toward serious, intellectual matters. He tends to be rather frivolous by nature. And he teases me incessantly.

I would dearly love to visit with you. When will you be returning?

All my love, Claudia

Augusta finished the letter and refolded it slowly. It was surprisingly good to hear from her cousin. Rather pleasant, too, to be told that the prim and proper Claudia actually missed her.

"Augusta, Augusta, where are you?" Meredith flew down the long hall of the gallery waving a large sheet of paper in her hand. "I finished my watercolor. What do you think of it? Aunt Clarissa said I must get your opinion, as it was your suggestion that I take up painting."

"Yes, of course. I am anxious to see it." Augusta looked up at Clarissa, who had accompanied her charge at a more stately pace. "Thank you for allowing her to try her hand at watercolors."

"His lordship informed me I was to be guided by your wishes in this matter, although he and I are agreed that watercolor painting is not a suitably serious pursuit for Meredith."

"Yes, I know, but it can quite fun, Miss Fleming."

"One is expected to apply oneself with diligence to one's studies," Clarissa pointed out. "Not have fun."

Augusta smiled at Meredith, who was shifting her gaze anxiously between the two women, "I am sure Meredith worked very hard on this particular painting because it is quite beautiful, as anyone can see."

"Do you really think so, Augusta?" Meredith hovered eagerly as Augusta examined the work.

Augusta held the child's painting out in front of her and tilted her head to one side to study it. The painting consisted largely of a great deal of pale blue wash. Some interesting slashes of green and yellow were scattered about in an apparently random fashion and in the background was a huge blob of gold.

"Those are trees," Meredith explained, pointing to the green and yellow slashes. "The brush wobbled a great deal and the paint tended to drip."

"They are wonderful trees. And I especially like your sky." Knowing the green and yellow bits were trees made it a safe guess that the wash of blue was sky. "And this is quite interesting," she added, pointing to the blob of gold.

"That's Graystone," Meredith explained proudly.

"Your father?"

"No, no, Augusta, our house."

Augusta chuckled. "I knew that. I was just teasing you. Well, you have done an amazing job on this, Meredith, and if you will allow me, I shall see that it is hung immediately."

Meredith's eyes grew very round. "You are going to hang it? Where?"

"Why, right here in the gallery would be a very suitable place, I believe." Augusta glanced down the row of intimidating portraits. "Perhaps right here beneath the picture of your mother."

Meredith was elated. "Do you think Papa will approve?"

"I am certain he will."

Clarissa cleared her throat. "Lady Graystone, I am not at all certain this is a wise suggestion. This gallery is reserved for family portraits that were painted by renowned artists. It is not the sort of space in which one hangs schoolroom work."

"On the contrary, I think some schoolroom work is just what this gallery needs. It is a rather somber place, is it not? We shall liven it up with Meredith's picture."

Meredith glowed. "Will it be in a frame, Augusta?"

"Most certainly. Every fine picture deserves a frame. I shall see about having someone make us a frame immediately."

Clarissa harrumphed and looked sternly down at her young charge. "Enough of this entertainment. It is time you returned to your studies, young lady. Run along, now. I shall join you in a few minutes."

"Yes, Aunt Clarissa." Eyes still bright with pleasure, Meredith bobbed a curtsy and hurried out of the gallery.

Clarissa turned to Augusta with a severe expression. "Madam, I must talk to you about the nature of the activities you are introducing to Meredith. I realize his lordship is permitting you to take a role in the education of his child, but I cannot help but feel you are pushing her into less than serious pursuits. His lordship has always been most adamant that he does not wish Meredith to grow up to be a silly, shallow female incapable of anything but idle conversation and socializing."

"I understand, Miss Fleming."

"Meredith has been accustomed to a strict course of study. She has done very well with it and I would not like to see that habit altered."

"I take your point, Miss Fleming." Augusta gave the woman a conciliatory smile. The lot of the penniless relative in a household was not a happy one. Clarissa had obviously done her best to create a niche for herself and Augusta sympathized with her. It was not easy to live in someone else's home, as she herself knew all too well. "Meredith has flourished under your capable instruction and I do not seek to change that."

"Thank you, madam."

"I do, however, feel that the child needs a few nonserious activities. Even my Aunt Prudence felt it was important that young people develop the ability to enjoy a variety of improving pastimes. And my cousin Claudia is following in her mothers footsteps. She is writing a book on the subject of useful knowledge for young ladies and she is devoting an entire chapter to the importance of sketching and water-color painting."

Clarissa blinked owlishly. "Your cousin is writing a book for the schoolroom?"

"Why, yes." Augusta suddenly realized where she had seen that look in Clarissa's eyes. It was in the gaze of quite a few members of Pompeia's, especially the ones who spent long hours at the writing tables in the club. Claudia frequently had that expression in her angelic blue eyes. "Oh, I see, Miss Fleming. You had perhaps entertained some notion of writing a book for the edification of young people?"

Surprisingly flustered by the question, Clarissa turned an unbecoming shade of red. "I had given the subject some thought. Not that anything could ever come of it, of course. I am well aware of my limitations."

"Do not say that, Miss Fleming. We do not know our limitations until we test ourselves. Have you written anything on the subject?"

"A few notes," Clarissa mumbled, clearly embarrassed by her own presumption. "I thought of showing them to Graystone, but I fear he would find them quite paltry. His own intellectual abilities are so superior."

Augusta waved that aside. "I would not deny his intelligence, but I am not at all certain he would be a good judge of your efforts. Graystone is writing for a very small audience of academic types. You would be writing for children. Two entirely different groups."

"Yes, there is that, I suppose."

"I have a much better notion. When you have finished preparing a manuscript, bring it to me and I shall give it to my Uncle Thomas, who will send your work off to a publisher."

Clarissa took a deep breath. "Show a manuscript to Sir Thomas Ballinger? The husband of Lady Prudence Ballinger? I could not possibly impose to that extent. He would think me far too forward."

"Nonsense. It will be no imposition whatsoever. Uncle Thomas will be happy to do it. He used to attend to the matter of getting my Aunt Prudence's works published, you see."

"He did?"

"Oh, yes." Augusta smiled confidently, thinking of Sir Thomas's vague approach to the details of daily life. It would be no trick at all to persuade him to put Clarissa's manuscript in the mail to a publisher with a recommendation to print it on the grounds that it followed in Lady Prudence Ballinger's footsteps. Augusta decided she would write the letter of recommendation herself, to save Sir Thomas the trouble.

"That is most kind of you, madam." Clarissa looked and sounded dazed. "I have long been a devoted admirer of Sir Thomas's work. He has such a commendable grasp of history. Such a fine eye for the important detail and nuance. Such a scholarly style of writing. It is truly a pity he never had the inclination to write for the schoolroom. He could have done so much to mold young minds."

Augusta grinned. "I'm not so sure about that. Personally, I've always found my uncle's prose rather dry."

"How can you say that?" Clarissa demanded passionately. "It is not at all dry. It is brilliant. And to think he might look at a manuscript of mine. It is overwhelming."

"Yes, well, as I was about to say, I myself have always felt that the thing that was greatly lacking in books for the schoolroom was a work on famous women in history."

Clarissa looked at her in astonishment. "Famous women, madam?"

"There have been some very brave and noble females in the past, Miss Fleming. Famous queens, for example. And tribes of fierce Amazons. Several rather interesting Greeks and Romans. Even some female monsters. I find the notion of female monsters quite fascinating, don't you, Miss Fleming?"

"I have not given much consideration to the matter of female monsters," Clarissa admitted, looking thoughtful now.

"Only consider," Augusta said, warming to her topic, "how many famous heroes of antiquity have been absolutely terrified of female monsters like Medusa and the Sirens and such. It certainly leads one to believe women might have had a great deal of power in those days, does it not?"

"It is a most interesting notion," Clarissa said slowly.

"Imagine, Miss Fleming. Fully half of the world's history has never been written because it concerns females."

"Good Lord, what a stimulating thought. A whole new field to explore. Do you think Sir Thomas would find it an appropriate area of study?"

"My uncle is a very open-minded man when it comes to intellectual matters. I think he would find a new avenue of historical inquiry highly stimulating. And just think, Clarissa, you could be the one to point it out to him."

"I am humbled by the very notion," Clarissa breathed.

"It would take a great deal of research to even touch the surface of such a vast subject, of course," Augusta mused. "Fortunately, my husband's enormous library is available. Are you interested in undertaking such a project?"

"Extremely interested, madam. I have occasionally wondered why we do not know more about our female ancestors."

"I will strike a bargain with you, then," Augusta concluded. "I shall give Meredith instruction in watercolor painting and the reading of novels on Monday and Wednesday afternoons. You may use the time to pursue your research. Does that sound reasonable?"

"Most reasonable, madam. Most reasonable. Extremely gracious of you, if I may say so. And to have Sir Thomas's opinion and assistance, why, it is almost too much." Clarissa made an obvious effort to collect herself. "If you will excuse me, I must go back to my duties."

The dull brown skirts of Clarissa's gown swung around her with a new snap and fresh vivacity as she hurried out of the gallery.

Augusta watched her leave and then she smiled thoughtfully to herself. Clarissa was just the sort of female her uncle needed. A marriage between Clarissa and Sir Thomas would truly be a marriage of like-minded individuals. Clarissa would understand and share his intellectual passions and Sir Thomas would find Clarissa every bit as admirable as Lady Prudence had been. Definitely something to think about, Augusta decided.

She put the notion aside for the moment and reread Claudia's letter. It occurred to her, as she refolded it a second time, that as the new Countess of Graystone, it was time to start planning her debut as a hostess.

Planning parties was one of the things at which the women of the Northumberland Ballinger clan had always excelled. No doubt because of their naturally frivolous turn of mind, Augusta decided. As the last of the line, she would strive to uphold the family tradition.

She would give a house party here in the country and it would be the most spectacular event in Graystone's social history.

With any luck it would take her mind off the conversation about her brother that she had had with Harry the day of the picnic. The memory of that unpleasant discussion still rankled.

She could not and would not ever bring herself to believe that Richard had been selling secrets to the French. It was unthinkable. No Northumberland Ballinger would sink to such depths.

And most especially not her daring, dashing, honorable Richard.

It was far more difficult to believe Graystone had worked as an intelligence agent for the Crown than to believe her brother had done so, Augusta thought resentfully. Somehow Harry just did not strike one as a spy.

Of course, there was that ability of his to pick locks and he did have the most annoying habit of showing up when one least expected him.

Nevertheless, Harry? A master spy?

The thing about spying was that it was not considered a strictly proper career for a true gentleman. Most people held the notion that there was something rather unseemly and distasteful about the business. And Harry was such a stickler for the proprieties.

Augusta paused abruptly as the recollection of how very improper the earl could be in the privacy of their bedchamber flashed into her thoughts.

Harry was a very complex man. And she had known since the first time she had looked into his cool gray eyes that there were vast areas in him that lay in shadow.

Perhaps, just perhaps, Harry could have been an agent. The thought made Augusta strangely uneasy. She did not like to contemplate the notion of Harry taking grave risks. She pushed the possibility aside and began drawing up a list of people to invite to her house party.

After a few minutes more work on her plans she rushed off to find her husband. She discovered him in his library, pouring over a map of Caesar's campaigns.

"Yes, my dear?" he asked without glancing up from his work.

"I am thinking of giving a party here at Graystone, Harry. I wanted to ask your permission to go ahead with my plans."

He dragged his gaze reluctantly away from Egypt. "A party? A houseful of people? Here at Graystone?"

"We shall only invite close friends, Harry. My uncle and my cousin, for example. Perhaps some friends from Pompeia's. Mr. Sheldrake, of course. And anyone else you like. It is a pity Sally will be unable to travel. I would love to have her here."

"I don't know about this, Augusta. I have never bothered much with entertaining."

Augusta smiled. "Nor will you need to start bothering about it, sir. I shall take care of everything. My mother taught me a great deal about this sort of thing. A house party will provide a perfect opportunity to entertain our neighbors, too. It is high time we did so."

Harry eyed her morosely. "You are quite certain this is necessary?"

"Trust me, my lord. This is my field of expertise. We all have our talents, do we not?" She glanced meaningfully down at the old map on his desk.

"One party. That should be sufficient. I do not want to get into the habit of entertaining on a frequent basis, Augusta. 'Tis a frivolous waste of time."

"Yes, my lord. Most frivolous."

In spite of her instinctive feelings that Harry was a deep and mysterious man and in spite of her knowledge of his enigmatic and frequently autocratic ways, nothing prepared Augusta for the Graystone who summoned her downstairs to the library a week later.

Augusta was startled when a maid knocked on the door of the bedchamber and told her that Harry wanted her downstairs at once.

"He said at once?" Augusta looked at the maid with surprise.

"Yes, ma'am." The girl looked distinctly anxious. "Said to tell you it was most urgent."

"Good heavens, I hope nothing has happened to Meredith. " Augusta put down her quill and set aside the letter she was writing to Sally.

"Oh, no, ma'am. 'Tweren't nothin' like that. Miss Meredith was with his lordship until just a few minutes ago and she is back at her studies now. I know because I just took a pot o' tea to the schoolroom."

"I see. Very well, Nan. See that his lordship is informed I shall be downstairs immediately."

"Yes, ma'am." Nan bobbed a quick curtsy and hastened off down the hall.

Curious to know the reason behind the unexpectedly urgent summons, Augusta paused only long enough to check her appearance in the looking glass. She was wearing a cream-colored muslin gown with a delicate green print. The low-cut neckline was trimmed with green ribbon and there was more green trim on the flounced hem.

Aware from the maid's nervous expression that Graystone was apparently not in a good mood, Augusta plucked a filmy green fichu from a dresser drawer and draped the scarf around her neckline. Harry had made it clear on more than one occasion that he found her taste in clothes a trifle immodest. There was no sense irritating him further this morning with the sight of a low-cut bodice if he was already annoyed about other matters.

Augusta sighed as she hurried out the door. A husband's foibles and moods were one of the many things a woman had to begin taking into consideration after she became a wife.

To be fair, however, she had to admit there was no doubt but that Harry had been obliged to make a few changes in his attitudes since their wedding. He had actually surrendered on the subject of watercolor painting and novel reading for Meredith, Augusta reminded herself.

Augusta swept into the library a few minutes later wearing a cheerful, placating smile. Harry got to his feet behind his polished desk.

Augusta took one look at him and dropped the cheery smile of greeting. The maid had had the right of it. Harry was in a dark and dangerous mood.

It struck Augusta quite forcibly that she had never seen him this coldly intent. There was something distinctly predatory about the stark, grim lines of his face.

"You asked to speak to me, my lord?"

"I did."

"If it is about the house party, sir, you may rest assured that all is under control. The invitations went out several days ago and we have already begun receiving responses in the post. I have contacted musicians and the kitchen staff has begun ordering supplies."

"I do not give a damn about your party, madam," Harry interrupted grimly. "I have just finished the most fascinating conversation with my daughter."

"Yes, my lord?"

"She tells me that the day of the picnic when you were extolling your brother's virtues, you mentioned a certain poem he left in your possession."

Augusta 's mouth went dry, although she had no notion of where this was going. "That is correct, sir."

"It seems this poem was about spiders and their webs."

"My lord, it is just a simple little poem I had not planned to show it to Meredith, if that is what you fear. I do not think it would have frightened her unduly, even if I had shown it to her. Indeed, I have often found that children rather enjoy scary verses."

Harry ignored her hasty assurances. "I am not concerned on that score. Do you still have this poem?"

"Yes, of course."

"Fetch it at once. I want to see it."

A chill went through Augusta. "I do not understand, Graystone. Why should you wish to see Richard's poem? It is not a very good poem. Rather nonsensical in many places. In fact it is a terrible verse. I only kept it because he thrust it into my hand the night he died and bid me to keep it safe." Tears burned in her eyes. "It had his blood on it, Harry. I could not throw it away."

"Go and get the poem, Augusta."

She shook her head in confusion. "Why must you see it?" Then a thought struck her. "Does this have something to do with your suspicions about him?"

"I cannot tell you that until I have seen the poem. Bring it to me at once, Augusta. I must have a look at it."

She took an uncertain step back toward the door. "I am not certain I want to show it to you. Not until I know what you think it will prove."

"It may answer some long-standing questions."

"The sort of questions that have to do with spies, sir?"

"It is just barely possible." Harry bit each word out between set teeth. "Not likely, but possible. Especially if your brother was working for the French."

"He was not working for the French."

"Augusta, I do not want to hear any more of the elaborate theories you have constructed to defend the circumstances in which Richard Ballinger died. Until now I have had no objection to your maintaining your illusions as long as you liked. In fact, I encouraged the process. But this matter of a poem about a spider and its web changes everything."

Augusta braced herself, her mind racing. "I will not show it to you unless you promise me you will not try to use it to prove Richard guilty of treason."

"I do not give a damn about his guilt or innocence. I have questions of my own to answer."

"But in answering them, you might very well seek to prove Richard's guilt. Is that not so, my lord?"

Harry came around from behind the desk in two long, prowling strides. "Bring the poem to me, Augusta."

"No, not unless you will give me your word that what you discover will not harm Richard's memory in any way."

"I will only give you my word to keep silent about his role in whatever was happening at the time. That is the most I can promise, Augusta."

"That is not enough."

"Damnation, woman, it is all I can give you."

"I will not let you have that poem. Not if there is the least chance it can hurt Richard's reputation. My brother was an honorable man and I must protect his honor now that he is no longer here to do it."

"Bloody hell, madam wife, you will do as you are told."

"The war is over, Graystone. No good purpose can be served by showing you that poem. It is mine and I intend to keep it. I am never going to let anyone see it, especially not someone like you who believes Richard was guilty of treason."

"Madam," Harry said in a soft, deadly voice, "you will do as I command. Bring me your brother's poem. Now."

"Never. And if you try to take it from me, I swear I shall burn it. I would rather destroy it, even though it is stained with his life's blood, than risk allowing you to use it to further tarnish his memory." Augusta whirled and fled from the library.

She heard the muffled crash of shattering glass just as she slammed the door shut behind her.

Harry had thrown something very heavy and very fragile against the library wall.