The Detective and the Spy

by Angela Misri

  CHAPTER 21

  I WOKE TO THE sunrise peeking around the edges of the large train door.

  “Welcome back,” said Gavin, startling me from my relaxed position propped against a barrel.

  “Gavin,” I whispered, struggling to my feet in the moving train. “How did you …? What are you doing here?”

  He sat comfortably in the shadows of the train car still unlit by the sun, his suit impeccable and Italian-made, his long legs drawn up so they tented and his arms hung between them.

  “I might ask you the same thing,” he answered, looking up at me with those eyes that could see so much. His cheekbones were less pronounced than when last I saw him, the Austrians must have fed him well. There was a silver pin on his lapel I didn’t recognize, featuring a male lion holding a trident.

  “Me?” I demanded, stepping forward and nearly losing my footing as the train seemed to curve around a sharp corner. “I’m chasing a murderer and evading being wrongfully thrown in jail for … what do you have to do with this, anyway?”

  “What makes you think I have anything to do with this?”

  The train swerved again, and my shoulder took the brunt of it as I hit the wall of the train car.

  He didn’t stand, or try to help me, and seemed unaffected by the violence of our shared journey.

  “This is a dream,” I said, ignoring the pain in my shoulder. “That’s why you can understand me.”

  “I always understand you. And I’m not surprised you continue to dream of me,” he said, his mouth lifting into that mocking grin I used to love. “I do the same. We are connected. Whether we like it or not.”

  I squatted down so that my centre of gravity would give me the stability he seemed to have, but felt no more secure. He, on the other hand, looked like he was part of the train car, he moved in unison with the shaking and swerving.

  “Dreaming of you means nothing,” I replied, dropping to my knees to try crawling closer to him. “I just saw your photo in a newspaper. You’re in my mind, but you’re not relevant. If you are part of this, I don’t see how and I don’t see why.”

  “I don’t believe in coincidences,” we said in unison.

  A particularly hard turn slid me into him and he caught me between his legs, his arms wrapped around me in a way I remembered well and not without fondness. “I’m not the man you should be worried about,” he said, softly now, his breath on my face. He kissed my forehead.

  I woke with a jolt.

  “Who’s Gavin?” asked Lancaster from beside me, a question I read from his lips because the silence had returned in my waking state. He looked better for resting, a light line of stubble tracing his jaw, his eyes less sunken. He was eating an apple with one hand and patting Nerissa with his other.

  “My ex,” I said, experimenting with my speech.

  He nodded, reaffirming that my mouth was saying what my brain wanted it to say. I couldn’t count on it remaining, but I would never take that ability for granted again, even if it seemed less reliable than the return of my hearing. I reached into my pocket and was only mildly surprised to find that my package of pills was missing. They must have been lost in our rushed escape. I had failed in so many ways tonight, not the least in returning Brian’s medicine to him.

  “We need to get off this train before it reaches Cardiff,” Lancaster said, getting up to pull on the train car door. It slid open to reveal the brightening countryside.

  “We should jump as soon as it slows down into the station,” I suggested, looking out at the countryside dotted with farms.

  “That seems to be imminent. We’re slowing down already,” he replied, glancing at Nerissa.

  “I’ll go first,” I said. “If I know Nerissa, she’ll be right behind me, but if she doesn’t …”

  “I’ll get her out,” Lancaster promised. I squeezed his hand in thanks. I was relatively sure she’d leap after me, but in case she didn’t, I didn’t want to leave my dog to the mercies of whoever was waiting for us at the Cardiff station.

  I waited until the ground stopped whirring past me at an unseeable speed and leapt, hitting the ground hard and rolling immediately to try to distribute my re-entry. Nerissa made a much better landing a few feet in front of me, racing to my side with a look on her face like, “Next time, warn me, would you?” I pushed myself upright, feeling the bruises that would pattern my body within hours, and watched Lancaster land in much the same way as I did. Before I could do more than help him up, he and Nerissa turned to look ahead of us, where the train was pulling into Cardiff. The police had found us and were running our way from the station where they had been positioned. This was not going to be a clean getaway by any means.

  Lancaster led the way, his stride outpacing mine, Nerissa fully able to overtake him, but choosing to run at my side. Lancaster might have been calling for me to keep up as he ran, but Nerissa suddenly stopped mid-sprint, her nose pointed at the forest to our right.

  “Lancaster,” I yelled, pulling at her collar. “Wait!”

  Nerissa took off at full speed in the direction of the woodland and I had no choice but to follow her, calling her name the whole way. If she was after a rabbit … No! From the density of the wood I saw a horse emerge carrying the elegant figure of a woman. She rode out just far enough that I could see her and then expertly backed up so that she was again hidden by the distinctive birch trees. I laughed aloud as Nerissa made the edge of the trees, panting, waiting for me to catch up. My grandmother had arrived.

  In a trice, we were all on horseback, my grandmother leading the way through the forest, her loyal body man, Jenkins, bringing up the rear, Nerissa running at my side. About fifteen minutes into this run we made it to an old dusty Vauxhall 30 parked behind a barn and then we were back on the road, Lancaster in the passenger seat next to Jenkins and my grandmother holding my hand in the backseat as Nerissa lapped at a bowl of water, having had the hardest escape but for the horses.

  “Oh, my dear, what have you gotten yourself into this time?” were Irene Adler’s first words to me. She said them aloud while writing in a notebook on the seat.

  “Honestly, I have no idea,” I replied, covering her hand to indicate that she didn’t need to do that anymore.

  “Your speech …!”

  “I know. I can hear you again, and for now, you can understand me, though that basic skill seems to come and go to be honest,” I said, glancing at the front seat where I could see Jenkins and Lancaster were eyeing each other distrustfully. My grandmother meanwhile pulled me close and I sank into her arms, enjoying the feeling of safety and sharing the responsibility of the situation. We weren’t alone in this anymore.

  “I hardly need ask how you knew where to find us,” I said. “Did Brian tell you the Yard knew we were on a Cardiff train?”

  She released my hands, her mouth compressing into a thin line that made it harder to read her lips. “We will discuss Constable Dawes soon, but for now, I have other sources at the Yard who alerted me to the ridiculous plans to apprehend you. I knew better than to think you would be fool enough to roll right into their hands on a train, so I picked my spot where I thought you would make a hasty exit. I was about a mile off, it turns out; you should have jumped when you saw the safety of the trees.”

  I don’t think I’d ever heard my grandmother refer to Brian with such anger in her eyes.

  “M’lady,” Jenkins said, turning to face us from the driver’s seat. “You said you wanted to get out with the young miss here.”

  “Yes,” my grandmother agreed, her eyes on the waterfront where two burly men approached the car. “You will meet us tonight?”

  Lancaster had put his hand on the passenger door handle, but Jenkins said something I couldn’t catch and he withdrew it. “We will,” Jenkins answered, turning to face me so I could see his answer. “And we’ll take care of Nerissa, don’t you worry.”

 
CHAPTER 22

  I FOLLOWED MY GRANDMOTHER out of the car, giving Nerissa a pat and telling her to stay put in the back. She seemed to understand that I was in good hands and that she needed to watch out for Lancaster because she climbed into the front seat between the two men. The car drove off and I turned to see my grandmother hand some money to one of the burly men as they led us to a small boat and started rowing us across the water. The port of Cardiff had once been a bustling one, but the coal industry had moved its trade routes after the Great War and we were one of only a few boats out on Cardiff Bay. Nonetheless, the men said nothing, but pulled up to a small white church on the opposite bank and rowed away as soon as we were on shore again.

  “No one will bother us here,” my grandmother said, leading me in through a back door. I recognized it as a Lutheran church, possibly as much as fifty years old if the iron window struts were original. It was empty, but in good condition and I followed the older woman into the small kitchen where a fine meal awaited us. My stomach must have made an audible sound because my grandmother bullied me up to the table and would answer no questions until I’d filled a plate and made a start. The strawberries were bright red and sweet, the warm loaf of bread I recognized from my favourite bakery on Lidwell Street with the toasted sesame seeds, and the cheese tray was as diverse in flavour as it was colourful. There was even a tiny pot of homemade royal jelly made for the queen bee of a hive. I had missed real food on my escapades.

  “I will not be staying,” she said finally, sipping at a glass of wine she had poured while I ate. She was wearing less makeup than usual, even for country life, and, looking at her boots, I noted the distinctive ash around the heels. I watched her use her pinky finger to tap a tiny amount of royal jelly at the corners of her eyes before she continued. “I must make an appearance in London to maintain this charade, but first we will take you to a safe house in Merthyr Tydfil. The city councillor there owes me a favour and will not betray us. Meanwhile, I have three lawyers on retainer working on your case in London.”

  “My case?” I asked, nearly choking on my bite of cheese. “What case? Grandmother, you must know that I have nothing to do with the bodies at Paddington station.”

  “Of course not,” she said, shaking her head at me, making it harder to read her lips. “But that odious man, Kell, cannot be dissuaded that you are involved with the bombing, neither by bribe, threat, nor truth. He’s been at three of my homes and he only released your friend Lord Beanstine yesterday morning after questioning the poor man overnight. Something about financing a weapons deal or something ridiculous like that. And I’m sorry to say that some government men have been picking through your Baker Street apartment looking for God knows what since you escaped into the Thames. The sooner we can throw them onto a new scent, the sooner you can come home.” She handed me a change of clothing as she spoke and I thankfully started pulling on the tweed pants, a blue sweater, and a vest. All three were new and of course, fit perfectly. I folded my old clothes into a bundle and shoved them into my satchel along with the new underclothes she had provided.

  “Digby killed the constable at Paddington and then himself, poor man. The forensics will be clear at least on that,” I said, changing my socks and then putting my worn boots back on. “His daughter, Ilsa, is a whole other kettle of fish. I still think she’s involved in the bombing, though her death would seem to indicate that she at least had an accomplice.”

  “Not to put too fine a point on it dear, but the dead are not as useful to us as a live suspect,” she answered, lighting her tiny ceramic pipe. “Surely you have one.”

  I opened my mouth and closed it. I had so little evidence on the queen’s lady-in-waiting that even mentioning her felt ridiculous and O’Duffy was just a convenient suspect with all the right …

  “Wait, Grandmother, where is Lancaster?”

  “Who?”

  I got up from the table, my appetite gone. “Where has Jenkins taken him?”

  “Portia …,” my grandmother said, a warning in the tone of her voice and just as clear in her eyes.

  “You mean to use him as a scapegoat,” I whispered, anger displacing the warmth of feeling safe. I grabbed the tweed hat that completed the outfit and was out the back door before she could stop me, but the men and the rowboat were long gone. I couldn’t see a car, boat, or person in sight of the church, and of course that was by design. Irene Adler had isolated me so that I couldn’t halt her plan. She might be planning to keep me isolated out here, but she wouldn’t leave us unguarded. If by some miracle the police found us, she would have an escape. She always did.

  She hadn’t followed me outside at all, patiently waiting for me to come to the right conclusion that I had no choice but to allow Lancaster to take the fall for crimes neither of us had committed. I closed my eyes against the wind, smelling the rain that was about to douse the countryside and something else. Cheap tobacco. We weren’t alone. I opened my eyes, scanning the docks.

  “The bread was too fresh,” I said into the wind, looking for an innocuous boat garage. I sprinted at the one closest to me and saw the trail of smoke coming up from behind it and the giggling sound of a woman he was spending his time with. I opened the door to the boat garage and found what I was looking for — an older model Ariel Red Hunter motorcycle with a generous side satchel for deliveries and a small silver key still in the ignition. I ran my hands over the controls, which weren’t exactly like the ones on the motorcycle Brian sometimes borrowed from the Yard, but were similar. I’d ridden on the back a few times and had tried my hand at driving it once, finding the weight of the machine the biggest deterrent to comfort.

  I carefully walked the motorcycle out of the boat garage so as not to alert its owner and only started the machine up when I gained the main road. I glanced back at the church where I thought I could see the door opening. Perhaps my grandmother had come out to mollify my concerns, but she was about to be sorely disappointed. That said, I knew she would grudgingly cover the cost of this motorcycle with its owner rather than allow it to be reported stolen. I turned my face back to the wind, instinctively driving towards London, which would be a three-hour ride north and then east. But Jenkins was coming back for Adler … she had told him so in the car and she had said herself that she needed to return to London to maintain her charade of not being in league with me (which at this point she would not be lying about). That meant Jenkins was going to dump Lancaster somewhere closer than London. Sherlock’s maps had never tracked out this far so I didn’t know where the nearest police station was, but surely it would be closer to the town. I took St. Mary Street, looking for a sign to the nearest constabulary when I noticed a pair of teenagers digging through a rubbish bin in an alley, throwing half-eaten fruit over their shoulders. Instead of hightailing it when I slowed down next to them, they turned with snarls on their faces. The older of the pair had a makeshift cudgel at his belt, which he put his hand on when I took my foot off the pedal.

  “I can tell you where your mates hid last night’s haul if you can direct me to the police station,” I said, looking to the older one. “Or you can try to rob me, find I have no money on me, and be no closer to finding your stolen booty.”

  The younger boy’s mouth dropped open and he looked wide-eyed at his compatriot whose snarl changed slowly to an assessing smile.

  “What stolen booty?” he asked, crossing his arms in a challenge.

  “You’re not hungry, or you wouldn’t be throwing away perfectly edible food — I know that from personal experience. No, you’re looking for something you lost. Not sure what it is, but I’m guessing more than you could carry away last night when you robbed whomever you robbed against this wall. The scuffle is obvious in the way this dirt has been kicked around and there’s an eye tooth over there that I’m guessing your victim lost in the fight since you both have all your front teeth. Did the police surprise you? Is that why you dropped whatever you took?” />
  The way they glanced at each other confirmed my guess.

  I nodded. “Well, whomever you worked with on this ill-advised caper hid what you dropped with the intention of coming back here by themselves to re-acquire it. Would you like to know where it is?”

  They made their decision quickly, describing the two police stations in the vicinity, and I in turn advised them to look for the stolen goods on the second-floor balcony above us. The metal stairs had been let down sometime yesterday, from the condition of the mud on the struts, and left down, which meant someone had gone up and come back down (rather than climb up and open a window to perhaps gain entry to a locked apartment). Chances are the stolen goods were hidden up there rather than down here.

  I climbed back on the motorcycle and headed in the direction of the police station that was further away. If Jenkins had dropped Lancaster at the first station, it wouldn’t take him this long to get back to the church. I pulled up far enough away from the building that I could hide the motorcycle in an alleyway and made my way across the street from the station, putting my foot up on the railing of a storefront to pretend to be tying my bootlace.