Page 13 of Apt to be Suspicious
Edmund raised an eyebrow. “Is that where we’re beginning?” Papa and Mama had taught him how to play this game, though Major Manse had certainly refined his play. The first one to identify the topic lost, at least in terms of style. A moment later, Edmund deferred. “I am on pace for my reading and revision, along with some additional translation, both for Uncle Alexander and for my tutor. He allows as how I am making reasonable progress.”
Mister Balsdon, Edmund’s tutor for Greats, was highly respected both in the college and in the university at large. That did not make the prospect of Honour Mods any easier to deal with, because no sensible tutor wished to assume ahead of the results. At least not to a student’s face.
“I’m glad of it.” Major Manse nodded once. “Anything else of interest?”
That was an expected question as well. Having begun his adult life in Intelligence work, Edmund couldn’t help noticing things. And in this case, he had. “Sir, there are some odd patterns. People having money issues, and not in the more common ways. Gaps where someone will change the topic suddenly.” The aftermath of a war changed expenses, though this one had different implications than the Great War and many of the tax implications for the larger estates. “A few people behaving in ways that don’t seem as likely from them.”
“Blackmail?” Major Manse raised an eyebrow.
“I’ve wondered about that, but I haven’t seen any clear evidence. Not, sir, that it’d be mine to do something about, unless I had rather more direct evidence.”
“No.” Major Manse considered. “Though within the magical community, well. There are ripple effects to consider. But as you say, evidence. You’re only seeing shimmers, and they might mean a number of things. Including the entirely ordinary sort of troubles with gambling or addiction.” Those were sad, a waste, but not the same as blackmail, no.
“No, sir. I’ll keep an eye out, of course. Mostly it comes up when I’m making a point of being visibly social with that sort of set. I don’t always hear what they talk about more privately, no matter how diligent I am about being in Exeter’s JCR.” That was a disadvantage of living where he did. Even the time in the Junior Common Room took planning, and of course people weren’t always around for strategic chats when Edmund was free.
Major Manse nodded, then went on smoothly. “And how do you feel about the expectations, and what’s coming?”
There it was. It was not as if the question were a surprise. “You’ve had queries from others, sir.” Edmund did not form that as a question. If he’d been saying it in Latin, it would have had none of the grammatical forms that implied either a question or an expected answer.
“Indeed.” Major Manse just waited.
Edmund gave it a little space, a moment to respect the topic. “I cannot take up a position long-term within MI6, sir. You know that. There are consequences to my being away from Albion for years at a time. A posting here would be one thing, but abroad?” They’d gone through this before.
“But others do not know that.” That was the trick, of course. Edmund was reading Greats because of those expectations from people who had seen the quality of his mind and the quickness of his wit. And, to be fair, the range of his capability of analysis. Even if he’d learned most of that from Mama before ever arriving in London. “Have you seen any of them recently?”
“We’re having drinks on Thursday, sir. One of the clubs.” The knot of men just a little older than Edmund— the ones who had already finished at Oxford and Cambridge when the war began— had made a habit of inviting him at least once or twice during the vac. They did it at least partly to hear the gossip about dons still at Oxford, and Edmund was glad to store up some tidbits and oblige. “I’m aware I need to have something ready to say, of course.”
“And that is?” Major Manse was pressing.
“That I’m focusing first on Honour Mods, and then reading Greats. The world’s changing so fast, the situation will be quite different when I’m done, I’m sure. I’m leaving my options open, but I’d certainly consider coming back to MI6.” Edmund shrugged his shoulders. “I can consider it, knowing I am unlikely to agree. To consult, yes, ideally.”
“On the exams, well. There are reasons I didn’t read Greats when I was up at Oxford. Which are different from the reasons your father didn’t.” Major Manse had relaxed, enough for Edmund to see it, into amiable amusement.
“By the time I went up, it was far too late to hide my brains. Especially the clever young men of our mutual acquaintance.” For so very long, the intelligence services of Britain had recruited from well-bred young men who’d gone to a handful of public schools before going on to Oxford and Cambridge. And specifically, from people who were clever enough in a particular way to go into classics in some form. The thought was that such men would understand service, discretion, and fitting into the necessary systems. It was snobbish, classist, and not entirely wrong as a working model. They had recognised enough of themselves in Edmund, and he now had to live with the consequences. “If I hadn’t read Greats, they’d have wondered why.”
“Your father had it much easier.” Papa had read History and come away with a first. But the implications of reading history were different from reading Greats. A strong background in Greek, Latin, and the history of the ancients was the foundation of everything the British empire wanted to instil. Very much including the empire-building parts of the Roman world. Now, Major Manse considered. “You look very much like him at that age. You must have seen photographs. Allowing for the changes in clothes.”
“He brought out an album the other day, sir. Some photographs of you as well. A picnic, a punt.” The thing with Major Manse was that he was a family friend. Edmund had called him Uncle Lap until Edmund had gone to work for MI6, for all he’d not been around a great deal while Edmund was growing up.
He knew that Major Manse and his parents were not only friends, but that the Major had been his parents’ handler in intelligence matters since well before Edmund was born. It made things both delicate and tremendously sturdy. Major Manse had been one of the very first to read Modern Languages formally, which had stood him in good stead for work in Europe.
“Hah.” Major Manse snorted. “I was a different man then. I suppose we all were.” Edmund tucked that away in order to ask Mama to see about having some copies made. Major Manse, he thought, kept very little of his personal history at hand. “What would you say if I had a thought about your summer?”
“That I have a great deal of reading to do in the long vac, sir,” Edmund said promptly. “But of course I’ll hear you out.” He owed his mentor that much. Far more than that, but hearing him out, certainly.
“Would you be willing to consider a trip? Greece and Italy, optimally. We could use a pair of ears and eyes not committed to any particular line of thought. You’d travel, have a meal or such with a handful of people, report to the proper offices in each place. Nothing strenuous. You’re exactly the useful age for it.”
Edmund had to admit that he was. And, well, with a little planning and a trip into some more remote areas, he could earn his own membership in the Explorers’ Club in Trellech. His parents would certainly approve of that, and Merry would cackle and be glad of the company. “I’m glad to consider it, sir. Is this the sort of thing where there will be a formal proposal? Or is it the sort where you send me a note in a fortnight and leave me to arrange the details?”
“Letter laying out the itinerary desired within a month. I’ve already had a word with Benton, of course. He’s glad to see to the practical arrangements.” That put a different weight on it. If Major Manse had talked to Master Benton, that meant it was needed and that his parents already knew and approved of the idea.
Master Benton, their estate steward, had been Papa’s batman during the war, before going into intelligence work beside him. As Papa put it, they’d saved each other’s lives too many times to count. On the third hand, if Master Benton was making the arrangements, they would have an optimal combination of practical comfort and making the right show. All to the good. There would be risks, of course, especially in the chaos and aftermath of the war. But Edmund had more resources for coping with those than most. And he really had a perfect excuse for wandering around peering at things.
“In that case, sir, I agree in principle.” Edmund was sensible enough not to fight it. “How long a trip, so I can pace my reading?”
“Six weeks, most likely. You’ll have plenty of time at home, and a good long train trip each way.” Major Manse leaned back. “You may tell the clever young men I had a thought about occupying some of your time as a consultant and let them theorise.”
Edmund grinned suddenly. That would make the conversation over drinks rather more enjoyable, yes. “Quite, sir.” From there, the conversation wound around to other topics. Major Manse enjoyed hearing the latest from Ytene— the horses, the falcons, the way the New Forest was returning to its more usual rhythms finally. And he’d had several interesting conversations— none of them too confidential to share— that Edmund found intriguing. Those were about what information was moving freely in the world these days, and which pieces were far more sluggish.
