by Ava Morgan
“What else should I have done? I wasn’t going to be bullied and ordered about by my older sister.”
“No, but you would rather sweep floors and hand out cough syrup at an apothecary. Now you’re in the employ—not to mention the arms—of an eccentric physician. You see why I worry.”
“You concern yourself about Dr. Valerian because of rumors and half-baked tales cooked by Hammond’s associates. They don’t truly know Dr. Valerian. In fact, they shunned him after he came home from India.”
“And you know him, after spending only three months working for him?”
Abigail conceded to some of her rebuttal, but not all of it. “He’s shared things with me that I will not repeat out of closed confidence. But if you could just see what he has overcome and what he’s doing to aid those that most of London tends to forget about, you wouldn’t say those things.”
“You’re in love with him.” Catherine stared at Abigail as though she were a strange and foreign object.
Abigail didn’t flinch. “I suppose I am.”
“Egad, if I didn’t believe in Heaven, I’d say our mother and father must be spinning in their graves.”
“They’re looking down on us now and shaking their heads at our relentless bickering. I’m trying to put a stop to it. I don’t want us fighting anymore.”
Catherine maintained silence.
Abigail looked to the promenade behind her sister. “Your friends grow impatient, and Dr. Valerian waits for me. If we can’t reconcile, then let’s at least go our separate ways peaceably.”
She started walking up the path and looked back to see if her sister would follow. When Catherine remained, she fought a rise in her throat and went on to the promenade alone.
She found Jacob at the statue where he said he would be. He wore his spectacles in the face of the afternoon sun as it began to lower. He stood, offering his arm, which she took, knowing that Catherine and her friends were in all likelihood watching. Abigail didn’t bother to look behind her to confirm it.
“I apologize for my sister’s behavior.”
Jacob escorted her to the park entrance. “She was just trying to protect you.”
“I don’t need protecting from you. I wish she could see that.”
“Abigail, I know that I am not the most well-received of gentlemen in London. I’ve come to accept that many will never understand the choices I’ve made. I can live with their disdain, but I would rather you didn’t.”
Did he call himself protecting her now? Abigail tired of being discouraged from making her own decisions. “What do you mean?”
Jacob hailed a carriage driver across the street. “You’re bright, resourceful, and your presence is filled with light. Have you considered what type of life you will have after we complete this project and you continue as my assistant?”
They crossed the street as Abigail answered, “One that has purpose and meaning beyond earning a wage. Isn’t that how you also feel?”
“It is.”
“Well, then,” she said, as he assisted her into the vehicle, “you should know that I, too, won’t have my life dictated by the rumor mill.”
He got in and the carriage started off. “But you may be isolated.”
“You’re not isolated. You have the friendship and loyalty of Struthers and Maria. You have patients, colleagues, and the COIC who seek your consultation.”
“True, but there are those who avoid me because of my injuries. Your sister sees that, and doesn’t want you to be ostracized by association. I know that you care for each other, even while you argue. I do not wish to cause a permanent rift between you.”
Abigail saw what he was doing. “You’re testing me again, trying to protect me by pushing me away. Why, Jacob?” Her voice strained with frustration. “I’ve shown you that I care. I’m not like those that rejected you because of your injuries. I’m not your former fiancée.”
His eyebrows slanted. “How did you know that I used to have a fiancée?”
Abigail silenced as she scrambled to contemplate what she just uttered.
Jacob’s features formed a stone mask. “You’ve been listening to the rumor mill after all.” His voice cooled as he audibly began to distance himself from her. “Even though you say you’re not influenced by it.”
“Jacob—”
He cut her off. “I never told you about my former fiancée because our engagement ended before I even left for India. I didn’t know how long I would remain abroad, and she wished to be married immediately. But our parting was amicable.”
Abigail felt as though she swallowed a mill stone. She sank deeper and deeper into the realization of her error. She criticized Catherine and Hammond for relaying gossip, yet somewhere along the way, she relied on their words as fact instead of coming to Jacob and inquiring about his past. “I’m sorry.”
But already, she saw the hurt and anger in his eyes. She saw through his protective mask of calm resignation that he employed to deflect emotion.
He crossed a foot over one knee and traced his fingers around the carvings on his walking stick. “We’ll continue to test the gauntlet gun as planned tomorrow. As for this discussion, it’s finished.”
An invisible wall went up around him that Abigail did not begin to know how to penetrate. Their combined silence lasted until the carriage reached her address. She got out. Jacob saw her to the door and returned to the vehicle. She watched it drive off.
Now she had a rift with Jacob as well as her sister. What was she going to do?
#
Jacob slept poorly that night. Whether it was the knowledge that he deepened the rift between Abigail and her sister, or Abigail’s revelation that she delved into the rumors surrounding his past, both circumstances created a draught of insomnia.
He tossed in bed.
The former he should have seen coming. His reputation preceded him as an unconventional physician and a castaway son of one of the landed families. Of course Abigail’s sister would be wary of him. It didn’t help things a bit, either, that he forgot himself and kissed Abigail in public.
The blood heated beneath his skin as he thought about holding her, breathing in her scent. She had been so warm in his arms. Her slender body fit perfectly against his. Her lips were soft. Their taste was sweet. The response of her kiss was equal in passion to his, but with an innocence that made him break. And this time, she gave it freely, with full clarity of mind and heart, unrestricted of pity. It was too much for him to break away. On that, he took full responsibility that he should have been aware of the chances of them being seen by others.
He threw the covers aside, for the room had grown too warm.
But did he have a right to be angry with Abigail for listening to rumors? He didn’t share much of his past with her beyond the details surrounding his injuries. She showed her willingness to learn more about his life. He had chances to tell her, but settled on his usual way of dealing with the curiosity of others. He kept himself guarded, irritable, even, when Abigail extended her hand to him gently. Yes, her inquisitiveness got the better of her at times, but never had she forced the issue well beyond the bounds of propriety.
She was right about him testing her. In his mind, hidden deep below his conscious thoughts, that was what he had been doing since they met. All because he wondered if and when she would flee like so many other people because his condition, his work, he, would get to become too much.
Jacob shook his head at his own misdirected reasoning. Assumption without strong basis is practically useless, he once told Abigail. He would have done well to bear that in mind all along when he assumed Abigail wanted nothing to do with him because of his injuries.
But she didn’t have to be tested. She did not run away from challenge or adversity. Abigail had proven herself to be exactly what he needed well before she knew anything about his amputated leg, his family troubles, or his broken engagement. She appreciated and respected him. She wanted him as a woman desired a man.
&nb
sp; And in return, he certainly had much more to offer her than a lonely, isolated life. Everything he had, he wanted to give to her.
Was it too late to tell her? Was he too far beyond correcting his mistakes?
Jacob rose from bed at first light and was dressed even before Struthers entered with his first cup of tea. Thoughts of Abigail spurred him on. Even though he had no appointments until the afternoon, he was downstairs and in his practice going over the ledger before the grandfather clock struck seven.
“You’re up and about early this morning, sir,” Maria observed, as she went into the practice and dusted the end tables. “Are you expecting patients in the next hour?”
“No, Maria, but I want to put some things in order before Miss Benton arrives.”
Her feather duster stopped moving. “She’s not in any trouble, is she?”
Jacob saw anxiety pass over her usually cheerful face. “Of course not. Why would you think that?”
His housekeeper twiddled the handle of the duster between her fingers. “It’s not really my place to say.”
“Maria, you’ve never been one to hold back on your words before.”
She fidgeted with the handle some more. “It’s just that I noticed you and Miss Benton have seemed to reach a friendly accord as of late. But she didn’t come back to the practice with you yesterday afternoon. I thought something happened while you were out.”
“Miss Benton and I did part ways after our sojourn to Regent’s Park. But she will be here as we can expect this morning, with five minutes to spare.” At least, he hoped she had not come to a decision overnight to put in her resignation. He knew he certainly gave her enough reason to.
The doorbell rang, followed by a terse knock.
“Perhaps that’s Miss Benton now,” Maria said, brightly.
Jacob rose from his desk with his walking stick. “If it is, then she’s terribly early.” Perhaps she didn’t sleep well last night, either.
He went to the front of the house and saw Struthers standing at the open door. The COIC Secretary had one foot over the threshold and looked as though he intended to barrel past the valet any second.
“You’ll forgive my unannounced arrival , Dr. Valerian, but it was most urgent that I come to you.”
Jacob nodded to Struthers that it was alright for the gentleman to enter. “What brings you here?”
“A most alarming event has occurred concerning your work and your assistant. You must come with me to the agency headquarters at once.”
Chapter 15
A disturbing knot formed in Jacob’s chest at the thought of Abigail. “Is Miss Benton alright?”
The Secretary’s face belied his urgency, but was otherwise unreadable. “I can’t tell you more outside of headquarters. My driver is waiting to take us there now. Bring the project.”
“I’ll get your coat and hat, Doctor.” Struthers hurried to retrieve the items from the rack.
Jacob turned and found Maria peeking from the door of his practice. Her frantic expression mirrored what he felt inside. She stepped out of his way as he marched into the room. He unlocked the cabinet containing the gauntlet gun and attached breastplate and put the weapon in the black case. “Maria, close the practice, please,” he said, upon leaving.
Struthers returned to the door with his outer garments and assisted Jacob in putting them on.
“Struthers, if I have not returned in three hours, you’re to send word to my patients that they will need to reschedule.”
“Yes, Doctor.” Even Struthers’ normally stoic face betrayed itself with the furrowed brow of concern. “I hope this matter will be addressed quickly.”
“As do I.” Jacob donned his hat, picked up the case, and his walking stick. “After you, Mr. Secretary.”
The Secretary led him outside, where the blustery March cold returned after yesterday’s uncommon warmth. The wind blew against Jacob’s neck as he climbed into the coach. Immediately, his eyes took to the armored interior. Steel rivets lined the walls. The window had iron bars over the panel.
“You see that within our agency, we keep even the personal transports heavily guarded, Doctor.”
Jacob’s gaze shot back to the Secretary. “Now will you tell me what this is about?”
The Secretary remained on the edge of the seat as the coach rolled forward. “I already said that it must wait.”
“Then at least tell me that Miss Benton is not in any danger.”
“I cannot.”
Jacob gripped the handle of his walking stick so hard that the carvings dug into his palm through his glove. “Cannot or will not?”
The older man was clearly surprised at being spoken to in such a demanding fashion. “There are things at stake here that go beyond you and your distress over your assistant, Doctor. Well beyond.”
The Secretary turned his aristocratic, aquiline nose to the window, refusing to say more. Jacob gritted his teeth as he tried to tamp down his anger, control his anxiety over where Abigail was and what was happening to her. The frustration of not knowing made his mind race, and the possibility that something terrible occurred to involve her made him sweat beneath his clothes.
The coach finally stopped. The driver opened the door and saw the Secretary out immediately. Jacob moved to stand. Every muscle in his body was locked and tense.
The COIC’s headquarters looked like any other government building in London: austere, both impressive and intimidating, and entirely unreadable as to its function simply from a glance. Jacob had been to the headquarters several times in the past year for discussions involving his work. But today, Jacob was unimpressed with the COIC building, its diverse mix of agents both male and female, and its collection of acquired scientific oddities.
He just wanted to know if Abigail was safe.
He kept up with the Secretary as he was taken past room after room of conferences being held, intelligence-gathering, presentations being put on, and experiments being conducted.
The Secretary came to a door at the end of the corridor and tapped a set of buttons into a metal panel on the wall that sounded remarkably close to the new Morse code. The door opened on its riveted iron hinges, reminding Jacob of a bank safe. He entered after the Secretary. They stopped short at another door. A large window beside it showed two agents standing over a man seated before a table. The man appeared to have his hands restrained behind him.
“Dr. Valerian, what you see is a French spy our agents caught around two this morning near St. Giles parish. I told you of the spy ring Broussard has crafted within our own city. This spy admitted to being his liaison. We’re interrogating him.”
“While I applaud your efforts to ensure London’s security, what does this have to do with me or Miss Benton? And why did you have me bring this along?” Jacob raised the box containing the gauntlet gun and breastplate.
“The weapon must be strictly safeguarded after what we have uncovered. As for Miss Benton, our agents confirm that she is safe at her address. We had better go inside.”
Why were agents even at her address?
The Secretary keyed in the code to open the door. Jacob entered the room with the agents and the captured spy. He took a look at the spy’s rumpled, worn suit and bowler. The spy glanced at Jacob and the Secretary before turning a grizzled cheek.
“We think he’s been operating in London for the past four or five months, disguised as a vagabond,” the Secretary explained. “We also think he may be paying members of the working classes and vagrants to secure information for him. Doctor, this is why I brought you here.” The Secretary signaled to one of the agents, who reached for a folded document behind his coat lapel. The Secretary took the document and unfolded it.
Jacob recognized Abigail’s early sketch of the refurbished gauntlet gun.
“We found this on the spy. We have reason to believe that your assistant has been stealing and trading your armor designs.”
#
“I’m telling you, I am not a thief.”
Abigail sat at the small table in her room under the watchful eye of a female COIC agent and the agent’s male partner. The landlady stood at the door and shrugged helplessly at Abigail as the male agent searched through her closet and hope chest.
Ransacked was the better term, Abigail thought. She cringed as she heard fabric ripping. The agent tore through the pocket lining of one of her best skirts. The next minute he ran a knife through the inner seams of her finest dress. Boots, jackets, blouses, and her spare reticule all were thrown out of the closet for the chance to find more supposed evidence to support the COIC’s outlandish claim.
“Why would I steal from Dr. Valerian and trade to a criminal spy ring?” she asked the female agent standing over her.
The agent, severe in her prim black skirt and jacket, shook her head. “It’s not for me or Agent Ford to say why you’ve done anything, Miss Benton. What our fellow agents found on that French spy is enough evidence to warrant a search of your room.”
“You still haven’t told me what it was you found.”
“A sketch of the weapon that Dr. Valerian commissioned for the agency. The shading technique looks much like those on the table.” She pointed to the sketches Abigail worked on for leisure.
Abigail was speechless. She couldn’t figure out how any of her sketches could wind up in the hands of a spy. She went to no places other than Jacob’s residence, the college, and the laborer’s hospital. Of the last, she went there but three times, and she never carried a sketchbook and pencils with her.
“You’re silent now, Miss Benton. Is that an admission of guilt?”
She met the female agent’s superior gaze. “Absolutely not.”
“What were you hoping to gain for trading that sketch over to one of Broussard’s men?”
“I did no such thing. In fact, I have no idea who this Broussard man is. How did a spy get his hands on my drawing?”
