Chapter 250 – Forged In Poetry

There is nothing harder in life. The prospect of your hardest working, most accomplished and innovative protégé, moving to your bitterest of rivals. Robert MacLeod was the shining diamond of Thompson & French’s staff, which Carey & Fortis has prized away with no recompense or favour.

I swirl the teaspoon in my teacup, provided by Mrs Struth, who is currently examining the floor for dust, as Mary stands by the window looking across Berkeley Street.

“Our strategy, our ideas, our philosophy and our plans, have all gone out the door in his head.”, I said.

“You didn’t tell him everything did you?” asked Mary.

These words cut right through me, and I spend the next minute recovering from this broadsword question.

“No. There are things you don’t even know about.”

“Excellent answer. Robert knows about our wider plans?”

I shuffle in my seat as blood refills my face with hope. “No.”

“And he didn’t know about Margaret’s idea for the final map?”

“No, we changed our plan after he fell sick.”

“Well, they have gone to a lot of trouble of finding out very little.”, laughed Mary. “He will work it out and come back in time; when he does, they will not know what hits them.”

“Helter-skelter, on we pelter.”, I said, paraphrasing Henry Smith’s famous poem.

“Exactly. Onward we march.”

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