by Rebecca King
A companionable silence settled between them for the next several miles. Eventually, Joe could stand it no longer.
“Go on then,” he sighed.
Marguerite looked at him. “Go on what?” she asked blandly.
“Ask.”
“Ask what?”
Joe sighed and threw her a dour look. “I can hear the cogs turning. Ask me, why don’t you?”
Marguerite smiled suddenly, inwardly delighted that he could read her so well. Their eyes met. Her smile widened. Joe rolled his eyes and sighed.
“You know me so well,” she murmured gently.
Joe huffed but couldn’t help himself, he smiled back. “Go on.”
“How do you know this Sir Hugo? Who is he, and what connection do you have with the War Office?”
“That’s three questions,” Joe scolded.
“You said to ask,” she replied pertly.
“I work for him,” Joe replied bluntly. “But that is strictly confidential. I am not going to tell you any more than that, so don’t ask.”
“The War Office?” she prompted when he didn’t seem inclined to tell her more.
“It is where I work. Sir Hugo is my boss.” He couldn’t tell her more just in case Sayers did manage to get his hands on her. “I will tell you more when we have the time to go into more detail, and the current threat has gone.”
She squinted at him.
Joe felt her stare and sighed. “I promise, I will.”
“Promise?” she prompted.
“I just said I promise I will.”
“Good, thank you,” she said.
Surprising even herself, she suddenly leaned toward him and planted a soft kiss on his bristly cheek.
He turned to stare at her, but couldn’t hide his smile. Releasing her hand, he slid an arm around her shoulders and drew her against him.
“Whatever happens, just stay close to me,” he whispered.
“I will.”
“Promise?” he murmured, teasing her.
She tipped her head back to look at him and smiled. “I promise.”
Joe sighed when a companionable silence settled over them. He loved the fact that she wasn’t one of those women who felt the need to babble nonsense constantly. Marguerite was quite happy to allow the silence to fall and evidently knew when to leave him to his thoughts. Those thoughts, right now, were working through how he could keep her safe with Sayers so close by. It went against every instinct he had to take her with him. He wanted her to remain in the safe house where she would be warm, dry, fed, and safe. It was ridiculous to have to take her, the one person Sayers’ truly wanted, out onto the streets, but he suspected that as soon as he left she was going to head straight for her father’s workshop without him anyway. God only knew what would await her once she reached it.
“We are here,” Joe murmured when the carriage began to slow down.
Marguerite’s stomach flipped. Holding her elbows, she tried to quell the fear that threatened to overwhelm her as she slid across the seat and waited for Joe to open the door. The urge to tell him that she had changed her mind so she could go back to the house where it was safe was almost overwhelming; until she thought about her missing father, and what fate might befall him if she didn’t manage to find him.
Joe looked at her from the folds of his cloak hood as he handed her down. She looked terrified but was battling it well enough to at least remain calm-for now.
“Here, pull this up to cover your face. We will look as though we are bundled up against the weather, that’s all. Anybody looking for us will struggle to identify us from a distance because of the hoods,” he murmured quietly. “We need to stay hidden for as long as possible.”
His fingers brushed the soft strands of her hair when he tugged the voluminous hood over her face. It was a shame to hide such refined beauty, but he had no choice. At least with it covered up she was less of a distraction. Still, there was something about her that exuded femininity and drew forth all of his protective instincts. He took a moment to cup her face in his hands so he could look deeply into her eyes.
“Right, stay close to me and don’t speak unless you absolutely have to. If you do see something, try not to react. Don’t allow your step to falter. Just act normally. We will go to the rear of the shop first.”
Marguerite nodded. Her father’s shop was only a few streets away. Now that she was here she was terrified. It was the longest walk of her life. Her nerves were frayed, and she was about ready to jump out of her own skin by the time they turned the corner, and she the shop’s front door. The urge to race to it to see if her father was there was strong, but she forced herself to concentrate on keeping her step as even as possible.
“Do you see anything?” Marguerite murmured. She was aware that Joe had tensed beside her and was keeping guard. It was difficult to know if that was a good thing or not because his tension left her with no clue as to whether anything sinister lurked nearby.
“Just keep going,” he whispered.
Her gaze remained locked on her father’s shop as they approached it.
“How do we get round the back?” Joe asked.
“There is a small alley between the clock shop and the bakery,” she replied quietly. “Do you see it?”
Joe nodded but then realised she couldn’t see him because of their cloaks. “We will use that.”
He hated alleys, not least because all sorts of things could stop him from leaving again, but he knew it was the fastest way to get to where he needed to be. He knew Marguerite hadn’t had time to fetch any keys from her home because they had left in such a hurry so he had to break in. He couldn’t do that if he was on the main road and visible to anyone who passed by.
Joe signalled to Kerrigan, who coughed gently in response. Satisfied that his friend was in position and keeping watch, Joe led her to the alley.
With each step he took closer to the shop his gut warned him that Marguerite really should be back at the safe house. He wanted to stop and go on alone but suspected she would create a scene they didn’t need. So far, he couldn’t see anybody else but knew from experience that everything could change in a few seconds.
“That’s odd,” Marguerite whispered as she studied the shop front.
“What is?” Joe asked glancing up and down the street as far as he could see.
“My father’s shop is closed.”
Joe looked at her. He knew it should still be open by now, the trading day still having a few hours left to go.
“Come on, we will find out why soon enough,” he murmured.
He placed a firm hand on her back when she hesitated and propelled her forward with a forceful motion that left her with little choice but to move ahead of him.
With more and more mysteries surrounding them, he was starting to feel he was fighting every shadow and half of London. It was odd because he had always been a quite calm and controlled kind of person. Someone who, when faced with a plethora of problems, identified which was most important and steadily worked through it until it was resolved. Now, his mind was jumping from one thing to another in a random direction that left him unsure of everything. He hated it, especially when his step faltered and he found himself studying the shop front again.
“Come on, let’s get this over with,” he murmured softly.
Marguerite opened the gate into the yard at the back of the shop and stepped through it. Once Joe was beside her, she turned to look at the small cobbled courtyard.
“Papa?” Marguerite whispered. She turned to the green door of her father’s workshop. It was closed, and there was no sign of the small candle her father usually had lit even in the height of day when the sun was shining. Everything was eerily quiet.
“Hello? Mr Donaldson?” she called.
She tried the door knob, but the workshop was locked. Shaking her head, she hurried across the yard and tried the back door to the shop. That was also locked.
“What’s this to?” Joe murmured. He nodded at
a second door beside it.
“That’s to Mr Donaldson’s flat.”
She lifted her hand to knock on it only for Joe to stop her. She jumped at the warmth that suddenly encased her chilled fingers and turned her head in time to watch him press a finger to his lips. To her surprise, he slowly turned opened the door to Mr Donaldson’s flat. Her eyes widened when it opened.
“How did you know it wasn’t locked?” she breathed.
“Lucky guess,” he replied with a grin.
Once inside, Joe studied the depths of the hallway. It was too dark to see much except for the stairs disappearing into the gloom of the upper landing. He had to take the risk that nobody was at the top of the stairs waiting for them.
“Come on,” he whispered. “But stay behind me.”
“I want to go into the shop first, just in case they are both there,” she said nervously.
Joe shook his head. “It’s locked. We will get into the shop later, right before we leave.”
Marguerite shook her head. “The outer door is locked. This is the inner door. It is always kept open.”
Joe turned the knob. His brows lifted when the door swung silently inwards.
“Not very good security,” he grumbled.
“Mr Wreake insisted it was always left unlocked because he kept forgetting his keys. I don’t think my father has bothered to lock it since,” she replied. “I want to check in here first.”
Joe considered that for a moment but reluctantly nodded. At least they would have less to explain to either man if they were found in the shop. If they were found in Donaldson’s flat then that would be a different matter entirely.
Marguerite entered the rear of the shop. Her nose wrinkled at the chill that pervaded even her voluminous cloak when she stepped inside the darkened room. It was too cold, as though it hadn’t felt the warmth of the fire for several days.
The back room contained a small square table that was littered with cups and plates, and was bracketed with two chairs. A small cupboard sat on the opposite side of the room, its drawers spilling over with polishing cloths and various paraphernalia used by the men. It didn’t look like anything had been touched for several days.
Shaking her head, she followed Joe into the main shop. It was small and adorned with nothing more than a small counter. The silence was broken by the rhythmic ticks of the clocks lining the walls. There was no movement of any kind except for the various pendulums which swung to and fro.
“It’s odd for it to be closed, I don’t mind saying,” she whispered, even though there didn’t appear to be anybody around to hear her except Joe.
“What’s your father’s friend’s name?”
“Hugo Donaldson,” Marguerite replied absently as she poked around in the drawers behind the counter. When nothing stood out at her as being amiss, she turned to Joe.
“Upstairs?”
Grimly, Joe nodded.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
The narrow staircase creaked alarmingly beneath her weight, shattering her nerves further until, by the time she had her hand on the latch to Mr Donaldson’s door, she was positively trembling with fear. Suddenly, she stopped and couldn’t go any further. She was too scared.
“I will go first,” Joe murmured when he saw her fear. He nudged her aside and withdrew his gun from his cloak.
Grateful for his chivalry, Marguerite cowered behind him, glancing nervously down the stairs at the still open door. It cast the hallway into some light but also left them vulnerable because anybody could come in without being heard.
“Should we close it?” she whispered.
Joe looked over his shoulder at her and glanced at the door. He nodded and raced down to close and bolt it before he ran back up the stairs. Without pausing for breath, he then opened the door to the flat.
“Where can they be?” Marguerite murmured when she had finished a slow perusal of the flat. There was no sign of her father or Hugo Donaldson.
“There is nothing moved at all?”
She shrugged. “I don’t know. I have never been up here. It isn’t appropriate for me to want to venture anywhere near it because it is a gentleman’s lodgings. There is no sign of anything upturned, though.”
Joe shook his head but didn’t look at her. He was busy rifling through the contents of a bureau located next to the shuttered window in search of any papers that might be incriminating in some way, or at least give him some clues about what was going on.
Suddenly, the gate in the yard slammed.
“I thought I had closed that,” Marguerite murmured. She hurried to the window to peer around the shutter.
“You did,” Joe replied. His gut instinct was warning him that danger was circling all about them and it was only a matter of time before they were attacked.
“Come away from the window,” he ordered.
“Who could it be?”
Their eyes met. Her stomach lurched when she read the silent warning in his eyes.
“It will be alright,” he assured her. “We knew he was not going to allow anybody near this place unhindered.”
“Do you think he wants something from the shop?” Marguerite asked as she considered Sayers’ penchant for burglary. “Is it likely to have something to do with one of the clocks my father has?”
“I don’t know, sweetheart,” Joe sighed. “I really don’t.”
Given the nature of some of Sayers operations, Joe wondered if the clocks being shipped up and down the country contained more than the mechanisms. Anything, all manner of small and precious gems, could be spirited inside the main body of a clock and nobody would be any the wiser.
In spite of his dislike for the man, Joe had to concede that it was an ingenious way of getting the gems transported in a way that nobody would think of.
“Damn it,” he muttered.
“What is it?”
Joe shook his head. He couldn’t tell her that it was looking more and more likely that Eustace was involved in Sayers’ gem smuggling operation, voluntarily or not. Right now, he didn’t quite know what to think, or what to tell her. It sounded a little far-fetched, even to Joe’s way of thinking but there could be no other reason for both Donaldson and Eustace to go missing at the same time.
“What could they be up to?” Joe whispered with a sigh when a search of the flat revealed nothing except for a few unpaid bills. “Does the man have any relations in the area?”
“I don’t know,” Marguerite sighed. “He is just as reclusive and withdrawn as my father. I think that is why they chose to work together.”
“How long as Donaldson been working here?”
“Mr Wreake took ill and died last summer. Hugo Donaldson applied for the job. Eustace liked him and so gave him the job. Like I said, when mother died, my father didn’t work for a while. During that time the shop remained open. Mr Wreake, my father’s partner, insisted that he had nothing else to do and the clocks shouldn’t be left there to gather dust, so continued to open up until he became ill. When he died, and there was nobody here to open the shop, my father decided to keep it going himself for a while. I think once he got here he started to become more involved with work and realised he needed help. He advertised, and Hugo Donaldson applied. Eustace liked him, I think, and had no reason to doubt him.”
“When did Mr Wreake die?”
“Last summer,” Marguerite replied.
“What of?”
“He caught influenza, but was elderly and infirm. He couldn’t fight the infection and it took him I am afraid,” she replied sadly.
Joe nodded and turned his attention to the room.
“Your father then changed the nature of his work to more bespoke clocks for the wealthy,” Joe sighed.
He wondered if it was those wealthy people Sayers was interested in.
“Has your father said much to you about Donaldson?” Joe knew she was going to say no even before she shook her head and tucked that little snippet away to search her father’s study for later.
“I think we need to get out of here,” he sighed when it became evident that he wasn’t going to find anything helpful. Joe was painfully aware that his colleagues were waiting outside and, with each minute that ticked past they were more likely to be attacked if Sayers and his men turn up.
One thing Joe had learned in his work for the Star Elite was to keep moving. It never bode well for anybody if one was caught standing in the same place for too long. With that in mind, he ushered her out of the flat. He was going to come back later to search it more thoroughly but needed Marguerite out of the way and, preferably, one or two of his colleagues at his back.
“We need to search the workshop,” Marguerite sighed.
She dreaded the thought of it, especially given that someone had slammed the gate closed, but she had to see with her own eyes that her father was not in there either.
“Does he usually lock the door when he is working in there?” Joe asked with a frown. He suspected they would do better leaving the shop out of the front door but wanted to take a look at the workshop as well.
“Yes, especially when he is here at night.” She looked at him. “This is London you know.”
In spite of the seriousness of the situation, Joe’s lips twitched. He was on the verge of telling her just how dark and dangerous London could be but then froze. He grabbed hold of her elbow and forcibly stopped her from descending any more of the steps. The flat door behind then wasn’t quite shut. A thin sliver of light descended the stairs enough to allow them to watch the latch on the back door slowly and silently slide upwards. It wasn’t the quick and confident snap of someone who was going about their business. This was too slow to be anything other than furtive.
Someone was trying to get in.
Her gaze flew to Joe’s. She opened her mouth only for Joe to shake his head and place his finger to his lips. He crept quietly down the stairs and beckoned to her to stay close. He had little doubt that it was one of Sayers’ men.
There could be little doubt that they only had a few more minutes before whoever was trying to get in realised they would have to use force. Joe didn’t doubt that they would kick the door down if they needed to. He nudged Marguerite behind him, and into the back room of the shop. Once in there, he closed the door and slid the bolt across before he ushered her to the front room.
