John remained silent as
she took a sip from the drink on the table between them. She was
becoming tired of the need to keep secrets, but it was gradually
becoming second nature to her to scan through everything she was
about to say to identify any potential pitfalls or phrases that might
lead to her being committed to the Bethlehem hospital.
“There is an
individual – an Englishman by birth – who was in France and
caught up in the war. Bonapartist soldiers discovered he had some
ideas for weaponry and have taken him to develop their own arsenal.
James has seen some of their developments as a result of his presence
and they have been reported to the British government who are
responding.
“Their response,
however, is predicated on an assumption which I know to be false but
cannot disprove except through circumstance. For the next few weeks
or months, the British government will attempt to assassinate this
man. If they succeed, we have no problem. They will not succeed.
“The only options
that I perceive at this point are to leave this man in his position
and risk that his developments will continue to improve the French
strength, or to intervene ourselves and extricate this man. We have
thus far made two attempts. The first failed due to the removal of
the man from the area we expected him to be kept. The second journey
was to confirm his location and form a plan.” Her eyes hardened and
her lips tightened as she stared into the distance for a few seconds.
She recouped quickly and looked straight at Mr Harper. “We were
successful in the sense that we have the required information, but we
lost a man unnecessarily.”
He nodded. As James'
cousin he probably had heard some highlights before this meeting.
That was unsurprising. Anyone who knew James at all could see the
impact his recent experiences had on him and she respected this
stolid man all the more as she knew that James was now safeguarding
his privacy. Somehow this man had convinced the newly fervent James
to break his new core rule and – observing him now – she
suspected it was a result of the genuine concern and protectiveness
he held for his cousin.
“Having heard the
outline, do you feel willing to contribute to our effort?”
He thought for a few
minutes, his facial features not reflecting any of the opinions
moving through his mind. “I believe your interpretation of the
danger this man poses to the war effort is accurate, particularly if
there is additional government action responding to it. This will
endanger several people I hold dear and so I will aid you in any
manner I am able in order to remove this man from the French hold.”
She nodded and touched
the bell on the table beside her. The door opened immediately and
Mary made a curtsey. “Thank you, Mary. Could you inform the boys
that they are welcome to rejoin us? You may, if you have an interest,
join us as well.” Mary nodded as she bobbed out of the room again
and retrieved the other three boys from the front parlour where they
had retired.
When the full group
were assembled, Melissa informed them of the current state of
affairs, their goal and their current resources. The addition of John
gave them a valuable history of experience working in hostile
territory – John had been a soldier in the Peninsular wars a short
time previously and had retired only on the death of his elder
brother which left him the unexpected heir to his invalid father's
position.
But as she unveiled the
more particular details of the plan, the specific details of the role
he was required to play became clearer. It wasn't one that sat well
with him initially and his disapproval was clear. Nevertheless, after
some persuading of the importance of his task, he agreed to it and
the party disbanded.
The next day in the mid
afternoon, John was sat smoking in the bay window of his club. A
passing gentleman spied him and entered, coming straight to his seat.
“John.”
“Phillip!” John
reached out a hand and waved his friend to the seat facing him.
“Deuced glad to see you.” His sombre tone and unfocused eyes
rather belied his assertions, but his friend did not challenge them.
Instead he took the seat offered him and extracted a cigar from the
box proffered by the waiter. Once both men were wholly settled,
Phillip looked at his friend with narrowed eyes. John seemed to feel
his scrutiny because he turned his head and, for the first time,
looked his friend in the eye. Still, he hesitated before asking the
question weighing on his mind:
“You know about this
business James has mixed himself up in, I suppose?”
Lord Phillip Penthvere
nodded, eyes still sharply focussed on his friend.
“Then you'll know
it's run by a woman. Intelligent and resourceful woman, I grant you,
but she's sending James and his friends out there while she stays
here.”
There was a silence of
a full thirty seconds as John rolled his cigar between finger and
thumb and tapped the excess ash. Phillip continued his steady
observation.
“She tells me that
you are sending men out to France to assassinate this chap.”
Another nod. “She's convinced it won't serve, you know. She won't
say why, and she isn't posing or dramatising the situation which is,
I think, why James and his friends have been so swayed by her.”
Phillip stayed quiet, but his eyes became somehow less guarded and
yet more focussed. John was staring off past his left shoulder,
replaying the memories of the meeting he had with the group.
“Phillip, she's
sending James back out. There's another going with him – Michael
Castleford. Have you heard of him?”
“We've looked into
his background. A kid just up from Cambridge who had a chance meeting
with Andrew Fitzpatrick. Spent a few nights playing cards and
drinking, then met your cousin. His father is a baronet: not
especially wealthy, but sufficiently well off and reliable that he's
an unlikely candidate for any kind of blackmail. If the kid is in a
dangerous place, it's not visible. The only real explanation is that
a chance meeting led to a boyish adventure.”
“And if only it had
stopped at one,” ground out John, “I wouldn't care. Unfortunately
James is involved now, with no way out that I can see and I'm not
altogether pleased about the danger he's in.”
Phillip once more
contributed nothing to the conversation and instead mimicked John in
rolling the cigar he held and tapping the ash. His eyes remained on
John's face. There was an element of sympathy in his gaze.
John turned his gaze
towards Phillip and spoke with peculiar intensity: “I'm not going
to pretend she hasn't asked me to interrogate you. I'm going to ask
you some questions at the Wayton's soiree on Thursday which you may
choose to ignore. But for now, as a friend, can you please tell me
that James will be safe? Michael will be coming to see you and
exchanging information about what they're looking for in the hopes
that you will tell them where your assassins will be placed. They
anticipate that they can predict the likely location of their target
by that information. If you can give him some inaccurate information
– perhaps something that will guide them into a safer area –
while you assassinate your man, I can be easy.”
There was a moment of
silence. Phillip stared at John who seemed at first merely concerned
and then agitated. “You've already seen him.”
Silence and stillness
entirely from Phillip, then he sighed and nodded. John leaned forward
and broke impetuously into speech; “Can you... Phil, please, just
tell me he's going to be out of the line of fire.”
Clearly considering his
phrasing and the implications of what he was saying, Phillip paused
before speaking, then began in a hesitating fashion. “I was
anticipating that the lady had some subterfuge behind the questions
Michael put to me. My responses were as restricted as possible given
the circumstances. I cannot promise that he will be safe or out of
the line of fire. I have given him the location of some of the men I
have sent, which will give him a safe spot to find in the event of
danger. I cannot say more.”
“One safe space is
better than none.” John lapsed into a dark, brooding silence.
Phillip didn't appear
especially happy with the outcome of the conversation either and the
two men brooded in quiet companionship.
When John's cigar died,
Phillip still had an inch or so remaining and John kept his seat. As
the two of them watched the world go by one or other would make a
social observation. After some time, Phillip made to leave. As he
indicated his intention, his friend caught his eye once again. “Don't
forget Thursday evening. If you don't show at that soiree I'll have
the deuce of a time tracking you down.”
Phillip nodded, smiled
and returned to his role at the War Office. There he spent his day in
meetings, information consolidating and consultations.
The following Thursday,
as John had prophesied, Melissa attended the soiree. Lord Penthvere
was there as his friend had requested and convinced himself that the
scan he made of the assembly to locate her was simply part of his
job. When John arrived to interrogate Phillip, he was surprised at
how oblivious she remained. After several minutes of intense, to the
point questioning – no dissembling here – John bade Phillip
farewell and retreated. Still Melissa neither glanced their way nor
interrupted her social frivolities.
Phillip frowned and
watched her floating around the room. He was sure he was missing
something but couldn't identify any specifics. A full hour after John
had spoken with him, Phillip observed him at Melissa's side, finally.
At that point, Phillip realised he had severely underestimated
Melissa. He had assumed that her disinterest indicated oblivion, but
she had glanced at a clock three times in the five minutes before
John arrived at her side and it was clear now that it was only rigid
self control that kept her from hurrying the information he carried
out of John.
