To Sketch a Sphinx - Rebecca Connolly Page 0,63

as he had worked on a number of cases and ciphers in his career with the Home and Foreign Offices, the War Office, and the individual groups such as the Garden, the London League, and special missions from the Convent. This was his forte, his strength, his gift, and his calling. This was what he offered to the Crown as a show of his loyalty and fidelity.

And he was tired.

He sat back in his chair roughly, shaking his head at himself. There was very little more he could do without the cipher for this next layer, and until he had some proper rest, he would not find the strength or capacity to discover it. There was nothing to indicate that any of these messages were time-sensitive or crucial to England or her interests, so he could only hope and pray that nothing would be risked by his pausing the process.

Surely, there was room for him to be human.

John blinked and looked across the room where Hal dozed on the divan, her head tucked down as it laid against the armrest, her body curved into itself. She’d changed out of her supper finery some time ago, though he was still dressed in his. His cravat was long gone, and the buttons at his throat were undone, his jacket slung over the chair, but in all other respects, he was dressed the same.

Somehow, John hadn’t been much aware of Hal’s change in attire, so focused was he on his work. She’d donned her nightgown and worn a dressing gown over it, cinched at the waist and entirely modest. Still, there was something stirring about the woman he loved in her nightgown, hair completely loosed and magnificent about her shoulders, remaining out in this parlor with him while he worked rather than seeking the comfort of her bed.

She’d done what she could to help him with the decryption, proving herself quite useful in the more menial and time-consuming task of applying the code to each letter. Then, when that had all been done, she had encouraged his thinking aloud at what the next layer could be, challenged him to think deeper, reach further, and expand his possibilities wider than he possibly had ever done before.

She was a magnificent wonder, his wife, and he had no understanding of how he might deserve her.

Sighing with exhaustion, John rose from his chair, stretching out his back and groaning at the pain there, then shaking out each leg as it cramped, protesting his rising. He yawned and paced about the room for a moment, stopping at Hal’s sketches, all laid out on the floor.

She must have pulled them out at some point while he was whittling away at the words of each letter. The likenesses of each were startling, and, but for two or three, John could identify each one. Some slight color had been added to each, if for no other reason than to indicate the coloring of each man, but the features were unmistakable.

They had names and faces, and hopefully soon, they would have words as well. But what did they want? What were their aims?

And why did those aims include England?

Oh, he had no doubt that there would have been operatives in France had the interests only extended there, purely to keep an eye on things and keep significant parties informed. They’d done so during the Revolution, in fact, which had been of real value to England herself. Eagle had been one of the chief operatives there, and Weaver, too, though he had been coded Fox at the time.

Weaver would have been in the very earliest days of his operative career. What an assignment to be given so young!

Had that been why he had sent Hal to France now? The face of France had changed greatly since then, but there were likely some things that remained the same. Weaver could not function as an operative himself now, not being so public a dignitary and almost-ambassador to all of Europe, but he could very likely still have interest in certain members of France. Had he wanted to see faces he might know from missions long ago?

It wouldn’t make much difference, John supposed as he stepped back to look at the sketches on the whole. Weaver had long proven his selflessness when it came to England, and if he had suspicions that had been founded from previous missions, they would be well-founded now.

A soft sound from behind him brought John around, and he smiled as Hal