She sighed wistfully, only to be startled when the library door swung open wider, revealing a quite determined-looking Morgan.

“Ah, there you are. Finished with holding court and not a moment too soon. Come with me, will you?” He waited for her nod and then left the room.

Joan stood and followed him to his study.

Morgan closed the door with a muted click and then went to his desk, his forehead furrowed.

“There’s a situation, and I am at a loss for what to do, Joan,” he started, his stare lingering on the desktop as if searching it for clues.

“I will help in whatever capacity I can,” she assured him, curiosity nibbling at her thoughts.

“It’s not that I doubt your ability. Rather, I doubt whether it is prudent to ask for your assistance.” He met her look.

“You fear for me?” Joan asked, reading the truth in his eyes.

“Yes.”

She nodded once, then leaned forward, splaying her hands upon his desk. “I fear nothing but treachery.”

Morgan’s lips twitched, not with amusement but with the weight of decision. “With the War Office, all is loyalty or treachery. There is no middle ground.”

“Then it is good that I fight on the right side of it.”

Morgan sighed. “That you do. That you do.”

“So? What is it?”

Morgan withdrew a rolled linen paper from his front coat pocket. It was held fast with a single red ribbon. “We have received several…riddles. They all are related to different parts of the Bible, and we think they hold some sort of significance for those who wish to create dissent in England. Napoleon is on St. Helena and will not escape again, but that doesn’t mean the French loyalists and the few French sympathizers in England are willing to give up completely on their cause.”

“I see. Is that one of the riddles?” Joan held out her hand.

“Yes.” Morgan handed the paper to his sister.

The ribbon slid off easily, and Joan unrolled the paper and held it flat against the desk as she read it.

“A time to be born, a time to die.” She glanced up to her brother, then back to the words and kept reading. “A time to plant and a time to harvest. A time to be born and a time to kill.” She frowned as she reread the words.

Hadn’t she been thinking about that same passage? It was from the very book and chapter she’d been musing over before Morgan had come to find her. “What makes you think it’s a message for dissent?”

Morgan waved his hand over the desk. “We intercepted it from a long-standing French sympathizer.”

“I see.” Joan studied the words again, then closed her eyes. “This isn’t as easy as figuring out which is the ruse and which is accurate, like last time.”