by Renée Dahlia
‘Are you okay? You know I was just jesting before,’ whispered Claire. Josephine rubbed her cheeks.
‘I’m not sure. He just arrived in my life and he’s taken it over. I feel like I need time to adjust, and every time I feel like I might almost be able to get set again, he does something else to put me off balance. It’s unnerving.’
‘So he moves too fast for you. Yet you haven’t protested against what he’s done.’
Josephine tilted her head and looked her friend in the eye.
‘You know, that’s right,’ she said. ‘I ought to feel threatened by him. Van Percy has done much less than—’
‘Kiss you senseless in a café garden?’ Claire’s face broke out in a large smile and Josephine copied, her eyes crinkling. She shook her head slightly. Her face must be beetroot red by now.
‘If you must, yes. He goes way too fast for me, yet I feel safe with him. It’s confusing,’ said Josephine, and rubbed her arms.
‘He is following us,’ said Claire, as they reached their table and sat down.
‘Are you okay? I sent Claire out to find you after he dragged you out of here,’ asked Marie.
***
He had ended her arguments in the only way he could. He gave in to temptation and kissed her. Even as they were pressed hard together, Nicholas still wanted to be closer to her. He had kissed her to stop her complaining. He should have expected this. She aroused him just by being in the same room. Yet he didn’t expect this level of arousal. Her kisses were so innocent. Yet she was so naturally passionate. A quick learner. He’d sensed it when they’d first met and now he’d experienced it. They would be glorious together. And then her nosy friend Claire had butted in to rescue her. She didn’t need rescuing from him. As he tried to sort out why that annoyed him, the door slammed behind them. He was left to stand out in the cold with just the sweet memory of Josephine on his lips. The taste of her lingered in his mouth. The coffee she had been drinking, and underneath, a hint of rosehip tea, or maybe mint. Left out here with the sensation that his whole life had just changed.
He shook out his hands and paced restlessly back inside. Once in the door, he hung back from the three friends and watched them gather around Josephine like mother birds with a fledgling. They seemed to think that she needed reassurance and protection. The notion bothered him. She didn’t need protection from him. He was the protection. But he had to admit that spectacular kiss outside may have been a strategic mistake. It was time to get this show back on the road and do the job he had been sent here for.
He straightened his jacket and strode with purpose towards the table where the three women were huddled together.
‘Ladies,’ he said in his most authoritative voice. ‘I will leave you to your discussions. I have much to arrange for tomorrow’s dinner. Josephine, I will send a note to your house with the details. Good day.’ He bowed and made his exit.
Chapter 6
Nicholas awoke early on the morning of the dinner, satisfied with the arrangements he had made yesterday. It had been no surprise to see Josephine had been seated next to Professor Van Percy. Obviously, Van Percy had friends in the organising committee and placed himself where he could take advantage of her. Nicholas grinned, the corners of his mouth kicked upwards. Van Percy wasn’t the only one who could charm the organisers. He mulled over the next strategic step—to meet Van Percy before the dinner or to surprise him?
Decision made, he rolled out of the bed in the lodging room he had rented and pulled on some clothes. He chose a jacket that would provide warmth and would illustrate his stature in the world. Handmade to fit by the best tailor in London, his day suit shouted the role he was playing. The nuances of his rival’s character would play an important part in the strategy of this game. Therefore, this morning’s mission would be to gain an introduction to Professor Van Percy. He had been sent here to keep Van Percy at bay; it would be easier if he understood him.
Nicholas walked out of his rented rooms and went down to the collective breakfast. His best ideas came while eating or moving. The motion of doing something ordinary freed his mind to plan. He smiled at the landlady as he entered the room, and she directed him to a seat.
‘This morning we have a traditional omelette with turnip greens and goat’s cheese on a whole wheat toast.’ Nicholas nodded his agreement. He tucked into the meal and mused on her enthusiastic explanation of the food. He was accustomed to travelling and eating a variety of local cuisine, yet she had been quite particular in her efforts to show that it wasn’t too far from a typical English breakfast. She obviously thought he was a typical English Lord who might be upset by the idea of eating something different.
‘Coffee?’ he asked with an encouraging smile. The landlady nodded and rushed off to bring him a steaming mug. The coffee here in Amsterdam was fantastic, probably due to their long history of trade with the wilder parts of the world. He rather missed decent coffee when not in Europe.
He worked his way through the omelette, savouring the combination of soft eggs and tangy cheese. How to approach Van Percy? With such little time before the dinner, the only option was to meet him so he could quickly learn his rival’s weak points. Engineering a ‘chance’ meeting over lunch could be just the ticket. Nicholas finished his omelette and stroked his chin. He’d foregone a shave this morning to save time, and his whiskers chafed his fingers as he contemplated his next move.
A man with the title of Professor would surely have staff who kept his diary for him and would know where he was going to eat lunch. Nicholas swallowed the last of his coffee and stood. He thanked the landlady and walked out the door with that familiar bounce in his stride that was always present at the start of a new mission. There would be new things to discover today and his skills would be put to the test.
Many hours later, Nicholas paced along the city street. He kept his eyes focused on the pavement in front of him. His arms swung at his sides with vigorous intent. It had taken the best part of the day to track down Van Percy. The professor’s assistant hadn’t any ideas about where he might be today. Lectures were finished. There were no surgeries noted in his diary. As the assistant said, that didn’t preclude him from being at the university hospital. It was just that there were many places within that location that he might be. Or he could be anywhere in Amsterdam. There was nothing keeping him on campus at all today. Nicholas had ventured to the hospital, and with some carefully placed comments in several different ears, he had finally tracked Van Percy to the Ship and Anchor. He approached the door of the small pub with its dark green paint job. It was a lovely little building with painted bricks and large windows with cream trim. Inside, it was open and airy compared to a traditional English pub. Those generally gloomy establishments at home could learn something from the atmosphere here. The whole place had a good vibe and was warm with rich colours and a large fire to heat the space.
Thanks to the over-sized windows, he could see a large crowd gathered inside. A neatly attired man stood at the front giving a lecture. It was a comforting type of place that drew him into the warmth of the room, his body grateful to be away from the cold street.
‘Workers unite! Wealth and rank have contempt for us, and we must show our contempt for them. They are few and we are many yet they hold power over us. They assume their superiority, both moral and political. History has given us an opportunity to shape our future.’ The neat figure punctuated his speech by shaking his fist at the crowd. They responded with shouts of agreement.
‘Just fifteen years ago, disciples of freedom at The Hague Congress discussed how to create change through revolution. Yet here we are. Still waiting. We cannot afford to mistake optimism for complacency. It is past time for action. Now it is time to rebel. We can wait no longer and fairness cannot wait for us. Together we can change history. Unite, workers, and fight.’
Nicholas stood at the back of the crowd as they chanted Van Percy’s name. He leant back against the wall, and arranged his body into a relaxed stan
ce to disguise his surprise at seeing his rival in such surrounds. He tried to school his face into a neutral expression while his gaze flicked around the room, collecting information. Lord Walstone had mentioned the possibility of a socialist uprising based in Amsterdam. He had found the source. A loud cheer went up around the room, and Nicholas forced himself to join in. His mind raced and his heartbeat matched them as he realised the massive potential for unpleasantness as his two missions collided in one person.
He stretched back against the wall, his stance appearing open and relaxed to anyone who might notice him. His blood pumped, as the effort of projecting an aura of normalness continued under the assault of Van Percy’s grandiose rant. He loved this part of his job, the energy that buzzed inside his body as he acted in whichever role was required in the moment.
Van Percy’s speech concluded and the crowd erupted again in congratulations as they roared his name. Nicholas pushed off the wall. He had some sympathy for the unionist cause. The world was changing and he understood that his family would have to change along with it. That or continue to suffer the slow erosion of the estate happening under his father’s watch. Nicholas grinned, imagining his father’s outrage. His face would be red and his jowls would shake if he heard the topic at hand. Nicholas’s eyes sparkled and he moved through the crowd copying them as they clapped each other on the back.
The workers in the pub were enthusiastic for Van Percy’s words. Nicholas scratched his head as he pondered the implications of the anarchist methods Van Percy pushed onto this crowd. Here he was preaching anarchy and violence to the masses, yet violence doesn’t change policy. That takes money and political influence. And, Nicholas frowned, the professor was simultaneously making an outright attempt to snare Josephine, presumably in marriage for some unknown gain to himself. Nicholas frowned, the question had to be asked. Why? Had the professor unearthed some of her background, including her father’s name? Perhaps Van Percy did understand that change came through knowing the right people to influence and he wanted Josephine’s connections for his own.
Lord Walstone was a careful, clever man and Josephine herself had been furious when he had mentioned a connection to him. Perhaps she was correct to be mad. She could easily be a target, so far from home, if it was widely known who her father was. She was a target. Blast and damnation. Nicholas reached the bar and slapped it. He had been lax yesterday. From Josephine’s fierce reaction, it wouldn’t have been from her that any connection could have been made by Van Percy. If Professor Van Percy pursued her for her political connections, he must have unearthed the information from a different source. Who?
Laughter broke out around the room and Nicholas forced himself to concentrate on the moment at hand. Golly, this language sounded so harsh even on the rare occasion that when a joke was told, it was hard not to recoil against the guttural sounds. Thankfully, his privileged upbringing had included several language tutors, and he had realised quickly in his current career that he had a gift for picking up new languages. The laughter subsided and Van Percy again bowed on his platform. The room erupted in cheers and the crowd started to disband. Nicholas turned from his position at the bar to hunt down his prey.
‘A beer?’ he asked Van Percy as the crowd dispersed. Van Percy was distracted in his affirmative response, still basking in the glow of his rousing speech.
‘We should discuss Miss Tobinbury,’ said Nicholas. That got his attention. Nicholas forced his mouth to stay neutral as a smug smile threatened. Van Percy spun around on his heels. His top lip was curled up in a sneer.
‘Miss Tobinbury,’ Van Percy said.
‘Yes. My fiancée,’ Nicholas replied. He lived for these interchanges. Years of practice had his voice smooth and calm while adrenaline pumped through his body.
‘I did hear something about that recently. How much did she pay you to play this role?’ Van Percy’s voice was snide as he turned away. Nicholas grabbed him on the shoulder and glared at his rival.
‘Are you serious? My fiancée is not your business, neither is the story of how we met. As soon as she wrote to me and told me your sorry tale, I felt it best that I visit her so I could introduce myself to you,’ said Nicholas, his voice taut.
‘I don’t believe you or your obvious fabrication of a story. You just show up and put about that you are her fiancé, yet no-one has previously heard of you. It’s absurd.’ Van Percy gave Nicholas a half-smile with twisted lips, his voice snarky with sarcasm.
Nicholas stared at his rival. This man’s egotistical view of the situation was too close to the truth. For once in his life he was unprepared. He had been blindsided by Josephine and hadn’t done his homework. He used his grip on Van Percy’s shoulder to give him a modest shove and spat out his response. ‘The facts don’t change because you don’t like them. Keep your distance from her.’
Nicholas turned, not waiting to see the results of his aggression, and stalked out of the pub into the bracing winter air. It blasted against his angry face and the shock made him realise he had been neglectful to the task. And uncharacteristically furious with Van Percy. He stomped down the street. He had let this situation go quickly from a normal game where he stayed detached and moved the players around for his own advantage, to this fury that he could barely control. He’d overplayed his hand. He growled as his feet thudded against the pavement.
That man made him feel so tribal about Josephine. And now he had gifted an advantage to Van Percy by using his best cards early. His much-vaunted finesse had deserted him. It was quite undisciplined of him. As he walked, the anger slowly abated. His breath slowed and his blood stopped pumping wildly. It was time to plan his next move. To take this setback and find a way to make it an advantage.
Nicholas pulled out his pocket watch and frowned as he realised it was later than he’d thought. He had only a few hours to get ready for the dinner, less if he was to arrange matters with Josephine. He called out for a cab and sat heavily. He slapped his gloved hands on the leather seats. God, he needed to punch something.
Pull yourself together. In a few hours, we need to present as a team, and nothing is ready. He scratched his head above his ear as the cab drove him to Josephine’s cottage.
Chapter 7
‘It’s just a dinner, Betsy, I’m sure I don’t need to fuss this much,’ said Josephine, a slight whine to her soft voice as her companion hovered around the room while the household maid, Helga, brushed and pinned her hair. Josephine hadn’t been to a society dinner for a long time and she couldn’t sit still as she recalled her disastrous season all those years ago.
Her aunt, Lady Hillary, had prodded her out into society, attempting to paint a picture that seemed to be entirely falsified. To avoid the pressure of socialising and of marriage, she had spent more and more time with her studies and less time in society. Thanks to her own choices, she was now terribly out of practice. She twisted her hands together and her leg refused to stay still. She pushed down on her knee as it bounced up and down of its own accord. It was slightly absurd to get dressed and pampered just to go to dinner with the same people that she saw every day in class. Claire called it armour for the occasion. Josephine would rather have worn a real suit of armour, or perhaps she could send Betsy in her place. She started to shake her head to get rid of these thoughts, and Helga tugged at her hair.
‘Stay still, miss,’ she admonished. ‘You’ll mess it all up if you move, and I’ll have to start again.’
A loud knock banged on the door and she jerked in her seat earning her another sharp tug from Helga’s comb.
‘I’ll just go and see who that is. It’s too early for Lord St. George to be here. We agreed on seven and it’s just gone five,’ said Betsy who raced out of the room. Josephine’s heartbeat started to gallop at the mention of St. George. Perhaps she needed that armour after all. She thought she had herself under control, but the mere mention of him sent shivers of delight across her body as she relived that kiss at lunchtime yesterday. Was that his voice she c
ould hear in the hallway? She sighed.
Betsy opened the door a crack and leant her head in.
‘He’s here,’ she whispered. ‘He wants to talk about strategy with you. I don’t know what that means and it’s not appropriate that he comes into your bedroom. What should I do?’
‘Be a companion,’ Josephine said. She clenched her fist to prevent the reflex to rub the back of her neck as her skin tingled in anticipation. Betsy disappeared again and she could hear muffled voices in the hallway.
‘Helga, how long will this take? I should go and see what he wants. At the very least, to send him away until the time we agreed.’
Her stomach rolled with nerves over tonight’s outing and St. George’s presence only exacerbated that. She wrapped her arms around her middle and took some big breaths. In this age of medical experimentation, she had practiced relaxation techniques until she had evolved methods to calm herself when nervous. Betsy’s comment about strategy wiggled its way into her consciousness. She went to stand.
‘No, miss, wait.’ She sat again and frowned at the imposition.
‘I really need to go and see what he wants to talk about.’
‘You can’t move just yet, this part is difficult and requires concentration.’
‘Well, he will just have to come in here. Can you call Betsy to let him in? I am perfectly well covered and with the two of you in here, I am as modest as need be,’ Josephine said in a pragmatic attempt to shake off her nerves. She may as well talk to him now and get matters organised. It would be better than sitting here overthinking and imagining the worst case scenarios.
