by Tee Morris
She also wanted to enjoy the kiss, but something was niggling at the back of her mind. Perhaps that they were in a dangerous woman’s home and that Diamond Dottie was merely knocked out?
Yes. That was it.
“Let’s go,” Eliza said.
Douglas took a deep breath, giving Dottie one final look. “With pleasure.”
The boys were waiting in the foyer as Eliza had anticipated. They may have been of the street, but there were some loyal undercurrents in these children’s hearts.
“Well, that could have gone better,” Eliza huffed as she and the boys burst from the doors of Dottie’s fine home and out into the streets.
“Could have gone worse,” Christopher retorted.
“Speak for yourself, mate,” Douglas winced. “I’m still trying to catch my breath.”
“Where to?” asked Callum, his eyes looking up and down the street.
Christopher gave the anxious boy a nudge. “Go on then, what are you looking for? Bluebottles?”
“It’s all right, Callum,” Eliza said, her eyes also sweeping the outside. “I doubt if we’ll have any crushers to contend with. It’s Dottie’s lot I’m more concerned about. If they think she’s in a spot, they’ll descend on us.” Then she recalled the ornithopters from the previous night. “And I do mean that literally,” she said, casting a glance upwards.
“Miss Eliza!” came Liam’s voice from up the street.
Eliza prided her Ministry Seven in their field training, or at least the training that she and Harry had been able to bestow on them in their time together. They were children, but wise beyond their years. Clandestine operations were best kept quiet, particularly when talking to one another in the streets of London where ears were everywhere.
For Liam to be calling out to her, something was wrong. Very wrong.
He was short of breath when he finally reached her, but Liam managed, “Serena. She’s hurt.”
Eliza’s heart sank. “Serena? Where is Wellington?”
“Mr. Books—” he gasped, took in a hard gulp of air, and then started again. “I told Mr. Books to take Serena to your house. You know Serena and doctors . . .”
Eliza shook her head. “Foolish girl.” She waved down a cab, and then nudged her companion. “Hail us a cab, darling. We need to go home.”
“Back to the secret headquarters of your merry little band, Eliza?” Douglas grinned.
The look Eliza loosed on him in reply tore the smug smile from his face.
Chapter Fifteen
In Which a Fallen Angel Is Given a Hero’s Welcome and Our Dashing Archivist Takes the Higher Road
Serena had only gotten worse since arriving at Eliza’s apartment. While Wellington had treated men in the wilds of Africa, those were wounds earned in the heat of battle. Here and now his mind was blank, a strange numbness that bothered him. Even when his special talents surfaced, Wellington’s brain was in a heightened state. All sensations were at peak. He could calculate trajectory and acquire targets as if the world were a parchment and he could sketch coordinates, angles, and mathematics in the air around him.
All that was gone at present. Nothing.
“Mr. Books,” Alice asked, looking up from Serena. “Are you well, sir?”
“Alice,” Wellington said and forced a smile that he didn’t expect to be convincing. In fact, the smile hurt. “I am the least of your worries.”
This was entirely different. This was a child.
“You did the right thing bringing little Serena here,” the maid said while placing the chilled cloth on her face. “Considering all the scrapes and bruises that I’ve had to tend to of Mistress Eliza’s and Mr. Thorne’s.”
“So you’ve had some practise on this sort of thing?”
“Not this severe, but you did right, now don’t you worry.” Alice positioned the large chunk of ice against the cloth and Serena’s face. “These little angels often come here after they have been through some rough and tumble, so we always have on hand whatever they need.”
She wouldn’t pander to him. Would she? Wellington rubbed his face, trying to find his composure.
“You have entrusted me with your secret. Continue to trust in me now. Serena needs you to be strong.”
“But . . .” he began, his voice dry and hollow. “I am a stranger to her.”
“No, you are Mistress Eliza’s new partner. The girl understands that.” She held out the wrapped ice. “You are her family now.”
Following Alice’s instruction, Wellington gingerly placed the packet underneath her lips. With the dressings now surrounding half of her face, Serena looked a full stone heavier. The red was spreading across most of her face, and darker hues of purple and black were creeping from underneath the dressings.
The tiny brow furrowed, and she flinched ever so slightly. Alice leaned in and shushed Serena as would a doting mother over a child sick with fever. “It’s all right there. Mr. Books got you back to Mistress Eliza’s.”
She took a long, slow breath, and while the right eye was now swelling shut, the left eye fluttered open. “For now it is just Alice and myself.” Wellington cleared his throat and added, “Liam told me about your concern for doctors, so I did as he told me and brought you here.”
Serena gave a tiny nod. She then motioned for Wellington to come a bit closer. He gave his stained and soiled coat a futile smoothing-out with his hands before taking a place by Serena. Her hand continued to motion for him to come closer. Wellington placed his ear at her mouth and waited.
“Good. Job,” Serena whispered. “Mum would. Be. Proud.”
He looked back at the little girl who was forcing her swollen mouth into a smile.
“Tosh, child.” Wellington squeezed her hand lightly. “You are a brave girl, indeed, speaking for Miss Braun like that. I did so once, and I thought she would skin me alive on the spot.” Wellington looked up to the maid who gave him a wink. “A rather amazing adventure, that weekend in the country. And a valuable lesson learned.”
“Now, Serena dear,” Alice spoke gently, “you have some nasty bruising on your face. I’ve got the ice doing its work, but you must lie still. A little miracle in itself, to be sure, but it’s what you need to do.”
Wellington went to stand, but the girl’s grip tightened on his hand.
“Seems she would prefer you to stay.” Alice placed her hand gently on Wellington’s shoulder as she said to Serena, “A glass of warm milk would help you rest, and rest is what you need. How does that sound?”
The girl nodded, wincing as she did so.
“Very well then.” Pistons pumped and hissed as she stood. “And I’ll put the kettle on while I warm the milk.”
“Thank you, Alice.”
The brass-enhanced maid had only taken a few steps when the door burst open. From outside came a chaotic whirl of people, all of them grim and silent.
Eliza raced to Serena’s side, gently taking the child’s other hand into hers. The agent of ordinance and action looked very different now.
“Serena?”
The girl gave a little grin. “Miss Eliza . . .”
“Shhh, that’s enough from you.”
“You. Should. See.” Serena paused, took in a slow breath, and continued. “The other. One.”
Wellington wondered if Eliza’s brashness was countered presently by an equally stronger, less self-destructive force. Compassion.
Alice gave a nod and said, “I was just getting the kettle on.” She started to leave, then turned to look upon the scene. “I wouldn’t say no to some help. Colin, Eric, Jonathan, Jeremy, you’re the cleanest of the lot, do come along.”
The four boys quietly preceded Alice to the kitchen, the sounds of her hydraulics getting fainter until finally a quiet settled in the parlour.
“Did what you. Told me.” Serena closed her eyes, swallowed, and then managed a smile. “Fought. To survive.”
Wellington’s brow furrowed, and he looked up to Eliza.
Her eyes never left the girl. “Wh
en the Ministry Seven came to pass, I taught them the difference between fighting to win, and fighting to survive.” She enveloped Serena’s hand in both of hers now, but no tears were falling. Wellington concluded she was not going to show anything other than determination or fortitude in front of the child. “I taught them to fight in such a way that their opponents, if they walked away, would never want to cross paths with them again.” Eliza leaned closer to Serena. “What naughty thing did you do?”
“Bit off. Her ear.” The remaining boys and Douglas all flinched.
He wanted to give Eliza more time. There never seemed to be enough of that when in the field with her. “Eliza?”
She slowly sat up and then her eyes flicked to Wellington. The compassion there dissipated.
“I won’t be far, Serena. I need to talk to Mr. Books.”
“Wait.” Serena gave a little whimper, but she creased her brow and then squeezed Wellington’s hand. “Mr. Books. Did. Good.”
Eliza looked back at Serena, and then returned to the Archivist. Wellington let go of the child’s hand and went to where Eliza had motioned. Instinct was telling him this little chat between himself and Eliza was going to be most unpleasant.
“What the hell happened?” a man’s terse whisper came from behind him.
When he turned around, the unpleasantness increased a thousandfold. Douglas Sheppard was standing near his partner, his hand resting gently on her shoulder.
“I’m sorry,” Wellington asked Douglas, “but I believe I am having a discussion with my partner here. May I help you somehow?”
“The way you helped that little girl back there?” Douglas snorted in reply. “I doubt it.”
“I suggest, sir, you change your tone with me.”
“And I suggest that the both of you stuff the cock of the roost routine before I become testy,” Eliza broke in.
Douglas blinked. “What? You’re not testy now?”
Eliza and Wellington replied in unison, “This is agitated.”
The odd colonial out looked at them both. “I’m sorry, Eliza, but what did I do?”
She slowly turned to face Douglas. “Did I ask you to accompany us on our intrusion of Diamond Dottie’s sanctum?”
“Well . . .” And he stopped, his lips puckering as if he were a fish out of water, taking final gasps of water that was not there. “Well, no.”
“And there is your answer to what you did, Douglas.” Her eyes shot back to Wellington. “What happened, Welly?”
“I made a mistake, if you must know. A slip of the tongue.”
Eliza started, her mouth open as if to loose a barrage of insults; but instead her hand slowly ran down her face, stopping at her mouth. She stared at him over her palm and then, and then lowered her hand as she asked, her voice a thin veneer of calm, “A slip of the tongue?”
“The deception was moving at a pace until our target grew more insistent on leaving. The woman she set upon me had a club. I had a cane-sword. We had eyewitnesses. Not the best of combinations.”
“Wellington, it was a simple operation. Delay her—”
“And I did, but then the plan began to unravel. I did the best I could.”
“You call this your best, mate?” Douglas snapped. He pointed back to Serena.
“Douglas, I am more than capable—”
“As a gentleman,” Douglas continued, “it is your responsibility to assure the child’s safety!”
“Douglas . . .” Eliza warned.
The tall man stepped forward, looking down at Wellington. “How can you call yourself a man if you fail to protect a child properly?”
“Douglas!” Eliza whispered tersely.
“Miss Braun!” another voice snapped.
All of their heads turned to where the scolding had come from. The children and Alice stood, surrounding Serena. It appeared that Alice had reached a breaking point of her own.
Alice’s voice pierced them all as a sharp, cold blade. “That. Will. Do!”
Wellington looked again at Douglas, or at least the back of his head. He hated to admit it, especially in front of Eliza, but, “Yes, Mr. Sheppard, you are quite correct.” Both Douglas and Eliza turned to face him. “I did fail. I failed both Eliza and Serena. While I have been assured by Alice that the child will heal, the burden of this falls upon me.”
Eliza’s gaze kept hopping between Douglas and him. She went to speak, but Wellington lifted his hand, shaking his head. “Please, Eliza. The truth is that yes, my mistake put all this into motion. Now we are compromised, and I must bear this responsibility. Therefore, I humbly ask for your pardon and will trouble your investigation no more.” He gave a nod to Eliza and walked around Douglas, saying nothing to the Ministry Seven or Alice as he went to the door.
“Books—”
“I have done enough today. Perhaps in this case, you are best working alone.” He cast a glance at Douglas. “Or perhaps with a man more suited to your talents and particulars. Good day, Miss Braun.”
The door closed behind him, and Wellington made his way down the staircase. Once outside, he took in a breath of air, hoping it would clear his mind.
One more failure to add to today’s list.
Interlude V
Wherein Doctor Sound Retires to the Archives for Research on a New Project
Tick . . .
Tock . . .
Tick . . .
Tock . . .
Sound watched the clock as would a big game hunter waiting patiently under camouflage. He was waiting. He had to wait.
Tick . . .
Tock . . .
Tick . . .
Tock . . .
Miss Shillingworth had poked her head into his office and bid him good night with a smile and a wave. He knew few in the Ministry would have believed his secretary could smile. In reality she was a very pleasant woman. He waited until he heard the lift gate shut behind her. Now there were only the muted sounds of the dockside to keep him company.
He flexed his fingers as the clock continued in its futile service. Every second, every minute—lost forever for what? To sit? To remain static? Losing time was truly a shame, if not a tragedy.
But this would not be time wasted. He was a rogue of many colours, but he had made his honest pledge to Queen Victoria on assuming this office. He would not fail her, and the secret he kept would only remain secret if he was patient.
Tick . . .
Tock . . .
Tick . . .
Tock . . .
Thirty minutes. Perhaps that would be long enough. Agents rarely wished to stay in the offices any longer than necessary. That was their nature, after all. The incredible men and unique women of the Ministry’s ranks preferred the wide, open spaces of the world. Their theatre. A grand theatre it was, too. The lush, smothering forests of the Amazon. The open barrenness of the Kalahari. The harsh, untamed savagery of Nepal. The agents faced danger as part of their day’s work, and some of them fed off that.
Yet here he was, standing at his desk, his eyes fixed on the dossier of an agent asking for a change of pace. Quite out of character. Quite out of place.
With a final long, deep breath, Doctor Sound looked at his own pocket watch, walked over to the clock at the mantelpiece, and set it accordingly.
Then it was out into the receiving room and to the lift. When it arrived, clattering and rattling, he stepped in, pulled the cage door shut and set the Chadburn to take him down.
As it descended, Sound looked down into the gap between lift and walls. Below in the shadows of the shaft, he tried to make out any sounds from the Archives; but only the lift’s motors whined and groaned in his ears.
Reaching the bottom, he opened the lift gate and walked down the small corridor to the iron hatch. When he wrenched it open moments later it moved with a grating, high-pitched whine. Before him lay the Archives—the history of the Ministry of Peculiar Occurrences and its many adventures throughout the Empire and the world. His footsteps echoed around him, a light counterpo
int to the rumble of the massive generators powered by the strength of the Thames. He continued down into the darkness, its heaviness pushed aside by many gaslight globes suspended from the shelving units marked by year. Sound paused on reaching the archivists’ desk. No cups of tea or morning newspapers present. Some signs of work, but nothing extraordinary. Clutter present on either side of the desk caught his attention. His eyes narrowed as he studied the details.
If he were to describe the mess on Books’ and Braun’s shared desk in a single word, it would be intentional.
Perhaps tonight’s personal project would take a little longer than he had anticipated.
Doctor Sound continued along the shelves, casually noting the years as he stepped further and further back in time. Reaching Year One, he turned right to see the heavy iron door marked “Restricted Access.” Withdrawing the two keys from his inside breast pocket, Sound inserted both into the hatch’s locks and turned them away from each other in one fluid motion. The latches released with a hiss and then the Director pulled the door open. With a final look behind him, he removed the two keys from the hatch, slipped the keys back into his pocket, and stepped into the soft sapphire glow.
The hatch hissed shut behind him, and the low hum and dark shadows of the Archives were replaced by the warm blue light and slightly higher-pitched thrumming of the Ministry’s Restricted Area. Doctor Sound continued further along the metal grating of the walkway, looking around as he was prone to do when he first entered this deepest of the Crown’s secrets. He smiled every single time. Perhaps you never got too old for wide-eyed wonder.
Sound walked up to the terminal at the end of the walkway and, from the vest pocket opposite of his pocket watch, produced a small brass key, which he inserted into the keyhole and turned. Twice, anti-clockwise.
“Now then,” Doctor Sound said aloud, rubbing warmth into his hands as he watched the screen before him flicker to life, “let’s see what we can discover about our ambitious agent Bruce Campbell.”
Chapter Sixteen
Wherein Eliza Sees Things She Shouldn’t and Learns Things She Didn’t Know
