“With pistols.”
“Thea!” Lord Willowdale stared hard at her. “They are not soldiers, they do not know how to fire weapons.”
“Then teach them,” she snapped. “And me. If they permit us to leave, feigning cordiality, then send someone along behind us to kill you, we can protect ourselves.”
“Charles?”
“Though the very idea goes against everything footmen are hired and trained to do, My Lord,” Mr. Noonan replied, rubbing his chin with his finger. “It does make some sense, as well. And the situation would only be temporary. Once all returns to normal, so do the footmen. And Miss Miller.”
“Humpf,” Thea snorted. “Maybe I might grow to like becoming a pistol carrying dragon. Then I can protect myself against rampaging Barons.”
“Youreallydo not like him, do you?”
“How many times must I answer that question?”
Lord Willowdale sighed. “Very well. Once we get a response from the Bradford estate, we will decide whether or not to go armed. Meanwhile, we must carry on with our lives. And breakfast. Charles, you may still join us, but I am going to finish my breakfast.”
* * *
After the dining room had been cleared, and the plates, glassware, and silver cleaned, Liam, followed Mr. O’Bannon to his small office. He had been inside it a few times before, and, as it ever had, still appeared the same. A small polished desk had nothing on it save a quill pen set precisely beside the inkwell. A few books lined a shelf behind it, and a small window stared down into the courtyard. There was nothing else in the room, not even a chair for Liam to sit on.
Mr. O’Bannon, however, sat in his, behind the teak desk. He carefully folded his hands atop its sleek wood and gazed at Liam as he stood with his hands behind him.
“Speak, Mr. Carter.”
“Sir,” Liam began. “As you are aware, someone is out to murder Lord Willowdale.”
“Yes.”
“Lord Willowdale and Miss Miller believe someone is hiding in the walls or cellars of this very house, listening to conversations via the tunnels, then acting on those conversations by trying to kill Lord Willowdale.”
“Why does this bring you to me?”
Liam felt sweat trickle down his spine. “Sir, with your permission, I would like four of us footmen to conduct a search of the tunnels, the cellars and the unused rooms for this spy.”
Mr. O’Bannon blinked.
“In the course of our work, of course, sir,” Liam went on. “We servants may be able to ferret out this miscreant, sir.”
“Why would Lord Willowdale not conduct this search himself?”
“By doing so, sir, I believe the spy would then know he is being sought after, then flee. When the search turns up empty, he would return with no one the wiser.”
“I see.”
“We servants come and go, sir,” Liam said, wishing he could read the man’s face or eyes. “We are all but invisible, and we know this house better than anyone. No one, not even this spy, would wonder at a footman going into the tunnels behind the walls to get to another part of the house faster.”
“And if you find this spy?”
“We hope to find at least evidence he is there, sir,” Liam replied. “Then we would inform Lord Willowdale as to the location of where he might be found.”
“Who are your companions in this, Mr. Carter? You did say ‘we’, did you not?”
“Yes, sir. Ben, Jack and Luke all agreed to help.”
“I see.”
Mr. O’Bannon continued to stare at him for a long moment, his countenance as impassive as ever. Liam sweated, hoping he would not insist upon turning the search and the quest for the villain over to Lord Willowdale. Liam knew that by doing that, the spy would run, then return days, or even weeks later, and Lord Willowdale might not survive the next attack on his person.
