by Tee Morris
“Ah.”
He noticed Alice’s eyes catching the sunlight and an odd smile formed on her face. “But sir, would you mind after you ask your question that I ask a question of my own?”
“You? Ask me a question?” He chuckled. “It is not so much improper as it is unexpected, but certainly.”
“Very well then. We have an accord.” Alice grabbed a broom and started sweeping where shards of glass remained from the shattered window. “Ask me a question.”
Wellington finished his tea and set the cup and saucer aside. Then came his first query. “Do you tire quicker? I would imagine manipulating the weight of your limbs carries a toll.”
“It did, at first.” She moved to the nearest fireplace and began her dusting, sweeping into a small pan remains of figurines no doubt brought back from Eliza’s escapades. “Eliza and that clever gent, Mr. Axelrod, were most patient in teaching me how to work with, not against, the . . .” She paused, her brow furrowing. “Oh dear, what is that funny word Mr. Axelrod used? Started with an ‘m,’ I believe. Mo—”
“Momentum?”
“That’s the word—momentum. It was Mr. Axelrod who taught me how to use only a bit of myself and let the momentum carry me along. Like those dandies on the bicycles, you know?” She gave a little chuckle. “He is quite amazing in the sciences.”
Wellington sniffed. “That’s one word you could use.”
“Since then, I’ve been able to work a bit longer, not that Miss Eliza likes it when I do. But when the spirit moves me, I like to get more things done. Less of a burden on her.”
He nodded, and then picked up his cup and saucer. “Tea, Alice. Two lumps?”
“Certainly, sir,” she replied, giving a hiss-accented curtsey before moving towards him.
Wellington noted that when Alice quickened her pace, her limp disappeared. Perhaps it was easier for the maid to sprint and run rather than walk. The “cyclist” analogy was making more and more sense.
“So, if needed, you can move quickly.”
“Indeed, sir,” she said as she pushed the tea cart closer to Wellington. “I am a housemaid, sir, but I also must see to the apartments.”
“You mean, as a caretaker?”
On that, Alice afforded a wry smile. “Yes, sir. Something of the sort.”
She took the cup, placed two cubes at the bottom of it, and then began pouring.
“Does Miss Braun—”
“Pardon me, Mr. Books,” Alice interjected, keeping an eye on the tea. “You did promise me a question of my own.”
Wellington opened his mouth in protest, but his mouth shut as Alice pulled away from him. His cup was full, but he could not partake just yet.
“Very well then, Alice.” Wellington set his brew aside and sat upright in the couch. “Quid pro quo.”
Alice kept her eyes cast down for a moment. Then she shut them, took a deep breath, and when her eyes flicked open they fixed on Wellington Books. It was a look that made him start lightly. Had he been holding his tea, he would have added to the mess Alice was still tending to.
“Last night, one of those harpies had you. Had you dead to rights.” She was still as a statue, her eyes never faltering from their gaze on him. “And last night you handled that Samson-Enfield Mark III as if it was God’s divine gift bestowed upon you since your birth, sir. The first shot was an easy kill. The second? Sir, that lass was in full concealment. Based on a footfall, you were able to train your firearm on her and execute a lethal shot. There was no luck in that.”
Wellington took up his tea and savoured a sip. It did little to soothe him. “And your question, Alice?”
She took a single step forward. “If what Miss Eliza tells me about you is true—and she has never given me reason to doubt her honesty—you and guns are not on friendly terms. What’s your game, Mr. Books?”
“A valid question.” Wellington’s tea and saucer never clattered as he held it before him. He couldn’t understand why he was so calm, seeing as his secret was no longer secret. “As much as you want Miss Braun to walk through that door safely every evening, I wish the same thing. I would not hesitate to lay my life down for her. Not just out of duty to the Ministry, but because I . . .” His mind suddenly went blank. Why would he do this again? “. . . because I choose to do so. We are partners. While life in the Archives moves at a more pedestrian pace than her previous exploits, it is that other life I have caught glimpses of in our brief time together that has made me feel . . .” And his voice trailed off again.
“Alive, Mr. Books?”
He nodded appreciatively. “Well put, Alice.” He took another sip of tea, and then continued. “What is ‘my game’ then?” He paused, considering the question. “Alice, I have no simple answer to give you other than this. You have seen a glimpse of what I am capable of. So, ask yourself this question—why am I not in the field, but in the Archives, a place that no doubt your mistress has shared her displeasure for spending time there?”
She gave a little shrug, a most curious smile crossing her face. “Well, for the most part.”
He inclined his head to one side. “I’m sorry?”
“There are some things in the Archives that have caught Miss Braun’s attention.”
“Really?” Wellington shook his head. “Damned if I know what they are.”
He waited for Alice to recover from the sudden giggle that had overcome her before continuing. “It may not surprise you that I was influential in our escape from the Havelock estate this previous summer.”
“No surprise at all,” she said, returning to her duties in reclaiming the parlour. “I found it a bit unlikely that Miss Eliza couldn’t recall a firefight. She has a mind for such things.”
“So why would I, possessing such skills of marksmanship and survival, be down in the Archives, except by choice?”
That question made her pause in her duties. “By choice?” Alice’s furrowed brow then relaxed, and her hand went to her chest. “Sir—”
“I wish to serve at Her Majesty’s pleasure, but on my terms.”
The maid nodded. “I understand.”
And what struck Wellington so deeply was that she did. Completely.
“The mistress,” Alice began. “She doesn’t have an inkling, does she?”
“Your mistress is a superlative field agent, but this secret I have managed to keep from everyone at the Ministry, including our Director.” Wellington gave her a warm smile. “I will tell her. When I’m ready.”
Alice glanced at the door, and then said, “Beg your pardon, sir, but would you mind if I spoke freely?”
“I have no objection.”
With another quick look at the door, she turned to face Wellington, but suddenly she seemed to have a difficult time looking him in the eye. “Miss Eliza is quite special. You can trust her.”
“I know.” Wellington took a sip, but he still felt cold, even with the drink’s warmth in his stomach. “When the time is right.”
“Considering what you and Miss Eliza do in secret,” Alice said, motioning around them both, “time is not to be taken for granted.”
Wellington was impressed with Eliza’s tutoring of the young girl. For a house servant, Alice was quite savvy. He could not imagine the anguish she had suffered on losing her legs, but perhaps it had been a blessing in disguise.
He watched her clean for a few minutes longer, and then asked, “Does Eliza ever share mission details with you?”
She gave a bark that Wellington assumed was a laugh. “If I may be so blunt, I dress, sometimes bathe, and—as you now know—stand watch over the mistress when she sleeps. With such intimate knowledge, what do you think?”
He gave a nod. “Well, Miss Braun is hardly one to stand on Ministry policy.” Wellington smiled, as he could now, at least for the moment, relax a bit and enjoy his tea. It was, as per usual, perfect. Alice had needed only a few tries before finding exactly how Wellington took it. “She is hardly your average employer, is she?” Wellington ask
ed, setting aside his cup. “She has encouraged from you a rather forward demeanour with her house guests, wouldn’t you agree?”
“No, sir, just with you.”
He nodded, his lips pursing as he did. “I see.”
“In private, though, Miss Braun has welcomed me to speak my mind, be bold in my heart, and remain confident in my abilities.”
“Of that, I have no doubt,” he said. “I’m curious about what you intend to do if something were to happen to her.”
She continued to sweep shards of wood and glass up into the dustpan as she asked, “Whatever do you mean?”
“The risks we are taking . . .” Wellington leaned forward, keeping his eyes fixed on hers. “The Ministry does not know we are investigating this case. As far as they are concerned, we are in the Archives. If they were to find us in the field . . .”
His voice trailed off on that thought. He meant to say, “If they were to find her in the field . . .” but it had instead come out as it did. They were partners, after all. He had lied for her, and she would—without hesitation—do the same. The little side jobs she carried out while they were away on official Ministry business were easy to cover, but now they were at it again with this case. Or in this situation, cases. They were both daring the devil with this little confidence game of theirs.
“I shouldn’t worry, sir,” Alice said, returning to her dusting by the fireplace. “If Miss Braun were to find herself without need of my services, I have her recommendations and accolades to find me work at another house.”
That jarred him back to his original question to Alice. “I’m sorry. Another manor?”
“Well, yes.”
“But what about all the choices you have in the world, choices that Miss Braun is encouraging you to explore?”
Alice snorted. “Mr. Books, this is who I am.”
A strange dichotomy, Wellington pondered as he watched her return to her work. The girl possessed a voice in this house, under the wing of his partner Eliza D. Braun. His spirited cohort was, no doubt, stressing to Alice the importance of having a say in society and making sure it is heard. As Wellington had observed earlier, Eliza was hardly the average house mistress.
It was a sweet voice Alice was finding, and it would be silenced at any other manor. Even if the women were to receive the vote, the right would never befall on Alice as she was—as his father impressed upon him—merely a contrivance to the manor that, if for any reason was showing counter-productive behaviours, would be replaced. Alice was a house servant, more invisible than a roomful of privileged women all demanding an equal vote in the government. Idly, Wellington wondered if those same women would insist the same right be extended to those “sisters” who cooked their breakfasts, tended to their estates, and served their tea.
“Besides, why would I worry about all that?”
He blinked. She was cleaning up remnants of a full-on assault from assassins using ornithopters, and she didn’t find that worrisome or concerning?
Alice, as if reading his thoughts, smiled and said to him, “She has you. I have your promise you’ll look after her, make certain she comes home.”
Wellington smiled. “Naturally, Alice.”
“Well then, there you are, right as rain.”
The commotion at the door made Wellington’s head turn, and over his shoulder Eliza’s face appeared at the door. Her eyes made contact with his, but her greeting was lost in a small “Whoops!” as two rows of grime, filth, and boundless energy snaked on either side of her into the parlour of her apartments. The serenity that Wellington had been waiting in was now supplanted by the screams and calls of children. Street urchins very familiar to him, as a matter of fact. They called out to one another in wonder and amazement as they surveyed what little damage now remained to Eliza’s flat.
“Children! Children!” Alice called out, clapping her hands over her head. “Line up!”
It brought back memories of his days in the cavalry when he would inspect his regiment. The Ministry Seven, without hesitation, lined up in front of Eliza’s fireplace, ranked by height. Little Serena stood to the far left while Christopher stood to the far right. Between them, apparently organised by height, were the others. Wellington looked at the urchins, his eyes going back and forth.
It seemed that this morning was a morning for asking questions.
As Alice reviewed the troops, Wellington joined his partner in the foyer as she hung up her heavy winter coat. He whispered, “Eliza, I have been meaning to ask . . .”
“Oh? Has this been on your mind for some time, Welly?” she whispered back.
His head tipped to one side as he eased into his query. “More like a revelation. Eliza, when are you going to let your Ministry Seven know that they have been dramatically misnumbered?”
Eliza looked at the Ministry Seven, and smiled. “Just noticed, have you?”
“Well, usually I was distracted by something, mainly assuring that my wallet did not take flight while in their company.”
“Fiddlesticks, Welly, I told you that your person was completely safe around the Ministry Seven.”
“All eight of them?”
She gave a sigh and brushed her finger quickly on the tip of his nose. “If you must know, the Ministry Seven have always been, in fact, the eight children you see before you.”
His brow furrowed. “And these eight children were able to somehow make you and Agent Thorne see seven where there were eight?”
“In a manner of speaking.” Eliza was now looking over them all, a gleam of pride in her brilliant sapphire eyes. “Harry and I discovered that while we did hold out a bit on the Ministry Seven early on, they were not entirely open with us either. Things came to light for us all on one particular case, a haunting that seemed legitimate.”
Wellington’s eyebrows raised slightly. “A legitimate haunting? Really?”
“Hard to fathom, I know; and Harry and I were not entirely convinced. We had set the stage for an exorcism, the nine of us. In the middle of our little sting, the mark got the jump on us.”
“Bad luck, that.”
Eliza winked at him. “Wait for it. So with all Ministry Seven and their chaperones present and accounted for, our mark—Frederick Fellowes, travelling under the alias of Count Zanzibar, professional medium—called for his men to sever a few gas lines, leave us for a few hours, and then return to untie us, make it appear as death due to unexplained circumstances.
“That was when the spirit awakened. It was their spirit, a trick of light, smoke, and mirrors, but Fellowes and his fellows were accounted for. I will not lie to you, Welly; Harry and I were both a bit alarmed. The children, however . . .”
“Dare I ask?” Wellington asked.
“We noticed they were grinning. Like Cheshire Cats, the lot of them. Fellowes and his men buggered out double-quick, leaving us to the shrill screams of these illusions. Then the phantasms disappeared and out from behind a set of curtains from where Fellowes worked his magic popped Jonathan.”
“And this is significant because . . .”
“Welly, Jonathan was already with us, bound as we all were.”
He blinked. “I’m sorry, Eliza. You lost—” and then his eyes fell on the twins. “Just a moment . . .”
“And that was the night Harry and I met Jeremy, the backup who was told by the others to stay in the shadows in case Harry and I called the crushers on them. As Jeremy saw us all in a tight spot, he decided we were indeed loyal to his friends. We found the Ministry Seven as a moniker still appropriate, seeing as we have two for one with the twins.”
Wellington clicked his tongue. “You and Agent Thorne must have made quite the incorrigible pair.”
Her smile was dark. “You have no idea.”
He felt a slight pang on that saucy comment of hers.
They both joined Alice and the Ministry Seven at the fireplace, their expressions a little dismayed at seeing Alice’s concern.
“Mistress, these children could be eat
ing better.”
“Oh?” Her eyes went to Christopher. “Been sneaking a quartern or two from the Hunter and Fox?”
Christopher looked down and away from the others. His shoulders shrugged.
“Rotter,” Liam mumbled.
Christopher went to strike him but Eliza stopped him cold with a look. All the children noted Eliza’s stern expression, and any mirth they possessed coming in to her apartment, disappeared.
“Gentlemen,” she said with authority. “Serena.”
No smile of hero worship. The child remained completely still.
“I have asked you to take a few chances with me in the past. This time, things are very different. As you see by the mess, we were attacked last night. And we know who was behind it.” She took a deep breath, her eyes touching one of them before she continued. “Diamond Dottie.”
Little Serena’s hands went up to her mouth, quickly silencing the gasp she made. The boys either shuffled nervously or leaned forward to where Eliza stood, their jaws dropping.
Christopher, the eldest and one closest to Eliza, stood a hint taller. When the boy spoke, Wellington thought his voice sounded a bit deeper than usual. “Are you sure?”
“I wish I had a reason to doubt, but yes, I am most certain.”
“And she’s the cause of your trouble?”
Eliza opened her mouth to answer, but Wellington interjected. “She’s a constant in this case, but that is the extent of it. Nothing more.”
A single eyebrow of Eliza’s crooked up in a silent reply. Wellington didn’t flinch.
“Diamond Dottie sent five of her girls here last night to call upon me. I was fortunate to have Alice and Books standing watch last night.” Eliza walked down along the length of the children, speaking as she did. “We are in need of the Ministry Seven; but unlike other jobs you have taken for your Queen and Country, this one may carry consequences that could haunt you in the streets.”
Serena and the twins raised their hands.
“A consequence is the result of your actions, such as when a crusher grabs you for nicking a purse,” Eliza said.
The three nodded in understanding.
“We’re asking you to take on a job against someone who could make your lives very uncomfortable. I cannot ask you all to take that risk without understanding them. If this job has the outcome I think it will, you will have to protect one another when you all are together. If you ever find yourselves alone, you will either be casting glances over your shoulders, or hiding here. Survival is nothing new for you all, I know this; but it’s a different sort of life you will live from this day forward. Do you all under—”
