by Morris, Tee
“Good morning!” Eliza did her best to conceal her annoyance. It was after all not the other woman’s fault. “Off for a spot of lunch?”
“Yes, Brandon is quite buried in paperwork,” she paused, tucking her hands into her pockets. Her eyes looked aside as her dark skin grew slightly ruddier. “And I know he won’t have a chance to get out.”
Eliza raised one eyebrow. Ihita would not be the first woman to fall under Agent Brandon Hill’s curious charm. If she was lucky he might even notice her.
“You’re fetching something for Agent Books?” It was a neat way of changing the subject, but Eliza was only too ready to let off some steam.
“It serves as an excellent excuse to free myself temporarily from the Archives,” she muttered as she kicked a stone across the street, “lest I break his arm.”
Her companion chuckled, but then, on catching Eliza’s gaze, stopped short. “Oh, I see.”
Their stroll following the curve of the Thames was not what could be called “a scenic walk” such as you might find further up the river, but that was what Eliza needed. The smells of river life, unpleasant but familiar, distracted her from the pit of anger in her chest. The catcalls of the port workers and drivers were only to be expected, but Lord have mercy on any man who thought to lay hands on Eliza D. Braun this afternoon.
“It must be quite different where you come from,” the New Zealander offered. “I mean, I find it strange enough, but London must be even more of a shock.”
Ihita shrugged. “There are just as many people in Delhi, and men are the same the world over.”
“Unfortunately, that is very much the truth.”
Eliza’s tone made her friend jerk her head around. “I thought you and Books had come to a satisfactory arrangement?”
“Me too, but today we hit a little bump in the rails. In fact I think we are near to careening off them.”
Ihita slipped her arm into the crook of Eliza’s and gave her a gentle squeeze. “If you don’t mind me saying so, I think you are a little hard on our studious Agent Books. He is a good man, and he is only looking out for you and your position in the Ministry.”
It wasn’t what Eliza wanted to hear, but it made her curious. “How do you know what Books is like?”
She gave a little shrug and stated, “We’ve enjoyed one another’s company over lunch a couple of times.”
“Really?” Eliza gave a light chuckle. “I remember my first social night with him. I do hope you had more success in conversations with him than I did.”
“Oh, he was quite delightful.” Ihita thought for a moment and nodded. “A bit shy, at first. Later on, though, it can be hard to get a word in, depending on the subject at hand.” She considered Eliza for a moment, her smile turning sly, and then added, “You’d never guess it but he has a bit of a taste for saag. In return for my own recipe, he loaned me a novel of his. The Time Machine. It’s quite wonderful.”
She looked at Eliza with such innocence that the New Zealander could not possibly snap at her, so for a long moment she said nothing at all.
Ihita tilted her head at this oddity, wondering no doubt what was wrong with the other woman. “He takes his job very seriously,” she said softly as a goad.
Eliza cleared her throat. “That’s as may be—but he should also remember we have sworn an oath to protect the citizens of the Empire. That is more important than any silly bureaucracy. Far more important than any political nonsense.”
“Political?” Ihita asked. “Whatever do you mean?”
She opened her mouth, wanting to confide in her Indian friend about Wellington’s objection to her claims against Agent Campbell. Her instincts though, gave her pause. Sharing her revelations of what Campbell was doing could place Ihita in an awkward position within the Ministry’s ranks.
“Another time, Ihita,” she finally replied, “perhaps over a dinner at my apartments.”
Eliza quietly cursed her sudden moment of reason. This was Wellington’s influence, and she didn’t care for it—not one jot.
Their silence lingered as they turned left, the ports changing to shops that supplied services to the workers who could be found there. Many a gambling den, disorderly house, or pub was located here—but also the best sandwich shop this side of the Thames. Eliza was grateful that Albert Southward’s business was so close to the Ministry, and sometimes she wondered if that was not altogether by chance.
They had to pass the eel-jelly stand to get there—but that still did not put the women off. Watching Londoners slurp down with real relish something that looked like it had been sneezed out of their noses was another oddness that Eliza had not quite gotten used to. The smell alone convinced her that everyone in line was completely mad.
“And they call what we eat in my country strange,” Ihita whispered behind her hand.
They were both still chuckling by the time they reached Albert’s sandwich establishment. The crowd at the shop was miraculously short—so they had picked the right moment.
“So much better than jellied eel.” Eliza smiled.
“Oh, much!”
Eliza could feel her mood lift a bit, so much so that she felt herself capable of prying—just a little. “You know it suddenly occurs to me: there is nothing at all you can eat as a Hindu at Albert’s. It’s all very . . . well . . . beefy.”
“Oh, no,” her fellow agent responded quickly. “I’m here for Brandon’s sandwich.”
Eliza’s eyebrow shot up. “Fetching lunch for Agent Hill, Ihita? Isn’t that a bit forward of you?”
“It’s just lunch!” her friend protested, but she would not meet Eliza’s eyes.
“Well, if you ever want it to be more than that, you will have to tell him directly. Brandon is a handsome man, but truth be told he’s as thick as a brick about women fancying him.” Eliza tapped her fingers on her purse. “It will never ever cross his mind that you like him at all. Lunch will merely make him think you are mates.”
They moved a few more steps in the line while Ihita thought about that. “I couldn’t possibly tell him.” Her whisper was barely able to be heard above the hubbub of the street, so Eliza had to lean in to make it out. “What if he doesn’t feel the same?”
“Then you move on.”
Her friend vehemently shook her head. “I’m not like you, Eliza. I’ve been able to get past some of the traditions I was raised with—but I don’t know how to tell a man that I like him.” Her eyes gleamed with frustration.
Eliza’s first instinct was to offer to tell Brandon herself, but the look on Ihita’s face said that would be a very bad idea. “I promise I won’t say a word,” she said reassuringly, “but I can’t promise I won’t interfere. I am always so much better with other people’s problems than my own.”
Ihita blinked. “Agent Books, you mean?” She gave a small huff. “Perhaps if you stopped thinking about Agent Books as a problem . . .” she hazarded, but Eliza was already deep in contemplation.
The two men in front of them were taken care of and then Albert smiled broadly as they stepped up to the counter. “Miss Braun, Miss Pujari, what can I do for you lovely ladies?”
It was his usual greeting, but Eliza still smiled. “Nothing while your missus is looking on, Albert,” she responded tartly. Maybe a bit of harmless flirting was what she needed this morning to get the taste of Wellington’s betrayal out of her system. Ihita merely blushed.
Maggie waved from the corner where she was making quick work of the bread slicing. “Sure you won’t take him off my hands? He snores loud enough to wake the dead.”
“ ’fraid not,” she replied, casting an eye over the steaming pile of beef before Albert. “Though I do like the look of his meat.”
Wellington would have suffered a conniption hearing her banter in such a common manner with these two—and somehow that knowledge took the edge off her anger. Eliza’s companion couldn’t help stifling a giggle.
Albert’s laugh was deep and genuine. “Then what can I get you?
”
“One roast beef, and one ham . . .” She paused and smiled wickedly. “And make sure there is plenty of mustard on the last one if you please.” Albert’s knife moved with consummate skill, slathering butter on the bread, slapping on the meat, and giving it a good lathering of yellow mustard on the ham.
“And you, lovely Miss, the jewel in the crown of the Empire, what can I get you?” Albert leaned on the counter and smiled sweetly at Eliza’s companion.
“The usual for Mr. Hill, if you please.”
“Oh, I see—buying lunch for that smart co-worker of yours again?”
Her smile was bright, seeming even brighter as her skin darkened a bit when she blushed. “I am surrounded by matchmakers!”
While Albert took care of Brandon’s ham order, his daughter Ida took the sandwiches and wrapped them separately in brown paper. Eliza waited on her friend, and then together they went out onto the street.
“Not much in the vegetarian line in there,” Eliza wiped a line of mustard off from top of the packaging and licked it off the tip of her finger. “I take it you bring your own food to the Ministry.”
Ihita shrugged. “Actually, though I do not consume anything that came from a cow, we do eat lamb dishes. Unfortunately, Mr. Southward does not often have it for his sandwiches.” She tucked her hand under Eliza’s elbow. “If you like, tomorrow I shall bring extra of my rogan josh. It’s my mother’s recipe.”
The combination of Albert’s sandwiches and talking about Indian delights was making Eliza quite hungry. The bundle in her hand began to smell more and more tempting.
“You know Albert’s secret,” she said, trying to stave off hunger pangs. “He always has the best beef and ham—mostly because his brother is a well-to-do butcher in the West End. Quality ingredients, even done simply, always make for the best meals. My mum taught me that while working in our pub’s kitchen.”
“Isn’t it the way of the world? The way to a man’s heart is through his stomach, and we are lucky to have mothers that love us and look out for us.” Ihita nodded appreciatively. “I’ll make sure I bring home a new recipe when I visit my mum next month.”
Eliza swallowed hard. She’d gotten a letter from back home last week, but it didn’t ease the tight feeling in her chest. A worry that she might never see them again. It seemed like an age since she’d felt her mother’s arms around her, and despite outward appearances she needed that now and again. For some reason Wellington’s turncoat attitude had struck her deeply, and made her yearn for someone who was on her side. Someone who understood that things needed to be set right.
“I miss my mother too, Eliza.”
She blinked at the comment. Ihita was smiling warmly, and Eliza considered herself quite fortunate to have a comrade in her. “It is a long way back to Delhi and seeing my home once every two months . . .”
“But that is what makes us different, Ihita. You can go back home.”
“All we have to make up for that is the work we do.”
Such bitter, melancholy thoughts were occupying her mind as they turned the corner, reluctantly making their way back towards the Ministry, and the men who awaited them. That was why she didn’t see the gent whose path intersected with theirs, and why, for an instant, her reflexes failed her and both sandwiches began to topple to the muddy earth underfoot.
The man she had collided with stepped deftly off the pavement, pivoted on one foot, caught the first sandwich, then, twisting about, ducked down to catch the second on top of the first only a breath above the muddy road. Eliza felt the apology on her tongue, and even tried to summon up a soft smile, but that was before she looked into his eyes. All words and thoughts failed her.
For the second time in two days, she had run straight into her past, into the world—or at least a part of it—she thought was far and away from England.
He looked exactly the same as when she had last seen him—tall, handsome, and dressed impeccably—but with the rakish smile that had always been able to melt her.
Once he had smiled at her. Once those dark eyes had sparkled with love. Once those lips . . .
Eliza D. Braun, who had faced death and disaster time and time again, who always had a witty reply or a pistol at the ready, found herself completely and utterly speechless.
“Good afternoon, Eliza.” The gentleman tipped his hat, flashing a brilliant smile. “What a delightful happenstance.”
“Douglas?” Eliza finally managed. A heat surged beneath her cheeks. The history between them could not have been more complicated. “A bit far from Lambton Quay, isn’t it?”
“Quite.” He cleared his throat and held up the sandwiches balanced on his fingertips. “Your lunch?”
Perhaps it was the smell of the sandwiches, the comforting warmth they still had, or feeling her fingertips brushing his; but suddenly Eliza’s wits returned—with a vengeance. “A delightful happenstance? Really, Douglas?” She fixed him with a sharp look, and eventually even he succumbed to it.
“I misspoke,” he conceded, standing a little taller, “since you are correct. I came here hoping to find you. One of the local suffragists recognised you from your rather daring exploits the other day.”
“Daring? Tosh.” Eliza stared down at Wellington’s slightly crumpled lunch for a moment, and then her eyes flicked up to his. “You know very well my line of work, Douglas.”
“And I know you, and how you tend to tempt Fate.” His smile darkened slightly before he added, “Thank you, Eliza. It could have been my mother in that grate instead of poor Melinda.”
Eliza felt heat rise in her again—but this time not only in her cheeks. Catching her breath, she noted Ihita looked between them, one of her eyebrows crooking. In her confusion, she had almost forgotten her colleague was with her. “Ihita Pujari, may I present Douglas Sheppard.”
Douglas tipped his hat to the Indian. “Charmed.”
Eliza had never seen Ihita’s eyes grow so large. “Douglas Sheppard?” she asked. “As in Crossing the Void: My Adventures Across the Serengeti? As in Touching Heaven: On Scaling Mount Everest?”
“Oh, you’ve read my journals?” Douglas blushed slightly, earning a silent eye-roll from Eliza. “Thank you so much for taking the time.”
“Eliza, you never told me you were friends with the adventurer and explorer Douglas Sheppard!”
Now it was Eliza’s turn to blush. “Ihita . . .”
“Just friends?” Douglas smiled ever so slightly. “Well, I shouldn’t be surprised. I should have tried harder, I suppose.”
Ihita looked back and forth between the two New Zealanders, and then understanding washed over her face. “Oh. Oh, I see. Well then . . .” Her imagination had to be running at a pace rivalling the White Star hypersteam. “I have no doubt the two of you have a lot to catch up on, so I’ll be off. Good day.”
Then she was gone, clutching Brandon’s sandwich with both hands.
Eliza knew there would be many questions to answer over luncheon tomorrow. She turned to her new companion. “I am glad to see you, Douglas.”
“And that’s why you stopped to chat up Mother after saving her life? Find out if I had come along, how I was managing?”
“Douglas—”
“Perhaps the Good Lord gave you a sign the other morning? You are not some villain in our eyes. You’ve saved Mum’s life. Twice now.”
“The first time the cost was too high,” she stated.
“Are you still carrying that burden? It was Premier Seddon, not Mother, who sent you away. We miss you.” He dared to gently lift her chin up to him. “I miss you.”
They stood there for a moment, their eyes locked in a stalemate of wills, until he relented by offering her the crook of his elbow. She took it easily. Despite it being years since she had seen him, some habits and relationships remained etched in the memory. His cologne also had not changed—clean and crisp, it reminded her of the Pacific.
“So tell me,” Eliza began, breaking the momentary awkwardness, “what
would truly possess Douglas Sheppard, gentleman, adventurer, and New Zealand man-about-town, to go just a bit out of his way—”
“Oh, come now, would passage across two airships, one transcontinental train, and the Manchester express really put me out?”
“Douglas, please don’t.” She kept her voice light, though being this near to him was reminding her how they had once promenaded around Auckland in such a manner, but with her head resting against his shoulder. “Why are you here? Talking to me?”
“Do you think you really could just give my Mother a quick kia ora and then disappear without so much as a word on how you’ve been?” He cleared his throat. “I came here with her on this tour, more for moral than physical support. She’s got that bloody honour guard, the Protectors, courtesy of the local chapter after all. This was the first time she actually had something for me to do.” Douglas looked at her, crooking his eyebrow. “She sent me to find you.”
“Oh.” Eliza hadn’t meant the sound to give such an impression of melancholy, but now that it was out there, she went on. “Forgive me if I seem surprised that she did so.”
They turned the corner and once again, there was the Thames. The boats of all shapes and sizes disgorging the spoils of the Empire, and ferrying people up and down the river, provided a moment’s diversion where former sweethearts did not have to talk to each other. With the right company, Eliza thought to herself, it is almost scenic here.
“Eliza, you need to stop this. Now. She’s mended well enough—some have even suggested she is better than before. The only reason I have not heard her speak your name aloud since the incident was on account of your departure.” Douglas adjusted his ascot, a gesture she remembered well. “That brought on more pain than her surgeries, I can attest,” he said, a touch of spite in his words.
