From Fitzroy's Private Diary (Extract 82)

I’m not a man that minds children. My siblings being so much older than me meant that I was exposed to small children while in my teenage years. I generally found them delightful little creatures. As long as I smuggled them illicit biscuits, and occasionally threw a ball around, or some such easy pastime, they tended to adore me. I quickly learnt how to help them get around their parents’ tiresome strictures, and in doing so, became something of a hero to my young nieces and nephews. The fact I could also build a camp site and cook sausages for them over an open fire made me almost a god in their eyes.

I also found them to be refreshingly frank and open. Children see everything, even if they may not understand what they are seeing. Ever since my nephew, Egbert, once remarked on the fact that nanny was forever going into his father’s room late at night (he assumed his father needed hot milk to sleep, as he himself did) I have known that children are excellent sources of information. As I recall, I managed to extract a five-pound note from Egbert’s father in return for not repeating the story to his wife. Of course, I kept my word and said nothing. However, I advised young Egbert to tell his mother about his father’s late-night visits from nanny. I then sat back and watched the fireworks.

Hope doesn’t let things like this slip. I don’t know if it has anything to do with growing up among spies, but she is extremely reserved with visitors and loathe to repeat anything that Euphemia, Bertram or myself say to her. Which is probably just as well, as she gets everywhere.  I don’t remember my younger relatives ever being quite as active as Hope. But then, I might have lain a treasure trail for the older ones and watched them attempt to solve it. I might have found a soft ball, or a racquet, for the younger ones to play with, but I didn’t play with them. In fact, as I child, I don’t recall ever having a playmate. I was far too busy learning and exploring. However, I do play with Hope. Thank god no one in the department ever sees me on all fours, growling like a tiger!

Hope fell over the other day and hurt her knee. No more than a scratch, but it upset her. I think the fall shocked her. Without thinking, I picked her up to console her before she started to cry (always a wise move with Hope, who has excellent lungs). She threw her small arms round my neck and buried her face in my shoulder. I suddenly found myself overcome with a burning ambition to protect this little creature from any and all harm. The strength of this feeling quite staggered me. I mean, I’m fond of Jack, but he’s never engendered this kind of impulse in me.

There was something about her trust in me, to hold her and keep her safe, that was both incredibly rewarding and yet entirely terrifying. Try as one might, one can never protect another from all the vagaries of fate - as I know all too well.

Will this feeling lessen as she grows, or will I always feel so damned protective toward her? It’s all very well to say she has two doting parents, but that is very much beside the point. I have a duty to Hope. I made a promise and I fully intend to keep it.

The damned thing is that in general, outside of my profession, I hate responsibility. But I fear Hope has me over a barrel. I shall do my upmost to ensure she never realises this. Why, she might be the first female ever who could twist me around her little finger. A most humbling thought.