“And complete discretion,” Sir Charles Beaumont Phipps added. Balding and with bushy silver whiskers, Sir Charles showed the strain of his difficult situation. Though his official title was Keeper of the Privy Purse, those close to the throne knew his primary task was to rein in the excesses of the royal heir, Edward Albert, Prince of Wales. When necessary, Sir Charles was also required to ensure those excesses that couldn’t be prevented remained firmly under wraps. Tom hadn’t met the man, but as a Knight it was part of his job to know who was who in government.
Merrick dipped his head. “Of course, Your Majesty.” He did likewise with the other two men— “Your Grace, Sir Charles” —and gestured to Tom and Nell to follow his lead. The three of them pulled up chairs and joined the queen and her advisors beside the hearth.
“It should come as no great surprise,” Her Majesty said, “that our eldest son has, throughout his dissolute life, found himself in unfortunate situations, generally of his own making.”
Everyone nodded. The Prince of Wales was a noted rake and gamester. In fact, it was common knowledge that the queen held her heir responsible for the death of her beloved Albert, as the Prince Consort had taken ill during a trip intended to reprimand his son.
“Now that he has recently wed, We had hoped that these difficulties were behind Us,” the queen continued. “However, just when he is out of trouble, it seems that an old scandal has chosen this time to rear its ugly head.”
“How can we be of assistance, ma’am?” Nell and Tom remained silent, allowing Merrick to speak for all of them.
“Ahem.” Sir Charles cleared his throat. “Allow me, ma’am.”
Her Majesty gestured for her advisor to pick up the tale. “Some two and a half years ago, His Highness matriculated at Trinity College. Like most young men in similar situations, he was wont to take advantage of the…recreational offerings of a university town. One of those women, a Miss Paula Berkeley, claimed she was carrying a royal offspring, and demanded marriage from the prince. Since this, of course, could not be allowed, a significant sum was paid to silence the chit and her father. They were told that if any further rumors were heard, the two of them would immediately be sent to Australia. Wisely, they decided the matter was ended—until now.”
Paula Berkeley? The name could not be a coincidence. Had Polly, or whatever her real name was, continued to run the same confidence game for more than seven years? She’d only been seventeen or so when Tom had known her, so he supposed it was possible. But had there been a child born each time? Or had he simply been duped on that issue as well?
“What’s happened recently, Sir Charles?” Merrick asked.
“We assume it was last month’s royal wedding that brought Miss Berkeley back to the trough.” Sir Charles rubbed his forehead. Tom could only imagine the headaches the man had to deal with on a daily basis. “Her letter, demanding additional sums of money, arrived by this afternoon’s post.”
“The press has talked of little else for the past year,” Nell said. “The wedding was the spectacle of the decade. It would certainly have caught her attention.”
“Yes.” At this, Everett Lake, Duke of Trowbridge, handed Merrick a letter. “While I was discussing our current investigation with Sir Charles, we discovered a certain overlap with today’s extortionate missive.”
Merrick cleared his throat and read.
“Dear Madam:
I am out of the country now, so your hounds cannot reach me.
Nonetheless, I will have my due. Please deposit one hundred thousand pounds into the Bank of Paris within the week, or certain letters in my possession will be sent to every major newspaper in the English-speaking world. This page is merely a sample. There are dozens more.
Yours, most sincerely,
P. Berkeley.”
“This page?” Tom asked.
The duke handed over another piece of paper, this one heavy, expensive stationery bearing the embossed crest of the Prince of Wales. “A rather soppy love letter, but it does leave open the possibility of a secret marriage.”
Sir Charles added, “The seal and the handwriting are unmistakably those of His Highness. We dare not ignore this threat. If his new bride were to hear of this, chaos could threaten the succession.”
Visions of a furious German princess, a horrified public and threats of a royal annulment or even divorce filled Tom’s mind. Whether or not this was the same perpetrator, the blackmailer had to be stopped for the good of the realm.
“Shades of George IV, no doubt. I can’t imagine anyone wishes to see those days return.” Merrick bowed his head to the sovereign. “Ma’am, we will do whatever is necessary to find this woman and make sure those letters and any other materials she may possess are destroyed.”
“Thank you.” The queen spoke determinedly, and with a faint German accent that had amused Tom since his first presentation at court. “If the possibility of a child could be ascertained, We would be interested in seeing to its welfare—perhaps sponsoring it as the orphan of a deceased military hero or something. We are not entirely heartless.”
“Of course not, Your Majesty.” Tom was damned sure going to find out about this question of Polly and her possible offspring anyway. “If there is a child, we shall, of course, see to its welfare even as we deal with the mother. As always, we are your devoted servants.”
The queen gave them a small, sad smile. “Indeed. Since We already owe your families Our very life, We have no doubt of your value to the realm. The Round Table and its Knights are ever Our most trusted warriors. Our dearly departed Prince Consort always found his visits with His Grace most convivial.”
After a few more pleasantries, the duke and Sir Charles escorted the heavily veiled queen out of the house. Soon, Everett returned and slumped into his chair. Only about ten years older than Merrick, he looked more like eighty tonight, his salt-and-pepper hair sticking up in every direction. “Well, Merrick? Have you a plan?”
“We believe the woman and her partner, whether he be father, lover or merely co-conspirator, departed today for Calcutta by sea. Tom and I will take an airship so we can beat them there.” Tom lifted an eyebrow. Now that the royal family was involved, Merrick suddenly had the time to tag along. How unsurprising. Neither man mentioned Nell’s insistence on being involved.
Everett held up a hand. “Not so fast, please. We’ve also gotten intelligence that she may have caught an airship for New York. The descriptions of the passengers are almost identical. Besides, this isn’t our only threat. Beyond this alchemist business, there’s another vampyre horde converging on Edinburgh and some sort of sea monster on the Kentish coast. I need you to split up. I’ve already telephoned Connor, Fergus and Kendall to cut their holiday short and get back to business.”
“Of course, sir,” Merrick replied. Everett may have been his friend, but he was also Merrick’s superior. “Tom, do you want India or New York?”
“India,” Tom replied without hesitation. “I’ve nothing to base it on, but I believe that’s where she was headed.” From the corner of his eye, he caught Nell’s subtle look of agreement.
“Very well.” Merrick turned to Everett. “We’ll be on our way at once, although I’d like Tom to explore one more possibility first. Since the ticket to Calcutta was on a seagoing vessel, he can afford a few days to finish up our investigations into the supposed Alchemist and his kidnapping business. My instincts tell me it bears some connection to Her Majesty’s concerns.”
“I trust your instincts, Merrick.” The duke gave a grim smile to indicate his approval. “See to it, Tom. Merrick, you’ll be out on the first airship in the morning. Might want to run home and telephone your wife.”
Tom and Nell shared a rueful smile. Caro was not going to be pleased. Merrick’s work had often been dangerous but had almost never taken him out of the country.
“We ought to get together with the Americans. I’m sure they have some sort of similar organization,” Tom said in the carriage as they drove back
to the Hadrian townhouse. “With the new undersea telegraph cables, we could have someone waiting on the docks for the blackguards, rather than having to follow them across the ocean.”
“Fergus, His Grace and I have spoken about that, as well as the possibility of establishing offices elsewhere in the Empire, like India and Canada. With all the new technologies, we can use more staff and fewer Knights to accomplish the same amount of work. Perhaps you can scout things out while you’re in India, after your actual mission is complete. His Grace will be sending a letter of introduction for the pair of you to the Governor General, so you may have a chance to talk to him on the subject.”
“Connor mentioned something about that back at Black Heath. Who knows, I may even volunteer to head up a colonial office, if the climate suits.” Tom’s attempt at joviality fell flat as Nell turned away.
Merrick lifted one eyebrow and snorted. “You have met your mother, right? India? You might as well tell her you’re moving to the moon. She’ll lock you in the cellar at the Hall. A mission is one thing, but she prefers to have her chicks as close as possible—at least on the same continent.”
Tom and Nell made arrangements to meet the next morning for their trip to Birmingham. The driver dropped them at their front door and took Tom to his solitary lodgings above a shop on Bond Street. It was an odd feeling, riding away from that door near St. James Square. Once he’d have gone inside with the others, retiring to his room across the hall from Nell’s. How many nights had he lay there in mental and even physical pain, knowing she was there, so close, but that she could never be his? At first because of their odd, sibling-like relationship, but he’d eventually gotten past that. Foster siblings married all the time, so why shouldn’t they? She was the one woman who would never look down on him because of his Wapping origins, and she wouldn’t be shocked to learn about the Order. She’d understand his need to go off on missions without making a fuss. He’d been about seventeen, sure he understood the entire world. It was a matter of time, and all he had to do was wait. Then he’d gone to university and made the stupidest mistake of his life, thinking with his prick instead of his heart or even his brain. And that one, idiotic action had defined the rest of his life, and left a question that would likely never be answered. Even if they found Charlie and Polly, learned for certain whether or not Tom was legally wed, as long as Charlie was Polly’s son, Tom would never know if the boy was his.
Well, not unless the child had the magick of a Knight. Odds were slim that Polly had rooked two members of the Order at the same time, since to Tom’s knowledge, he and Connor had been the only two in the Cambridge area at the time, and Connor had fancied redheads, being deep in calf-love with Wink. Nell had said Charlie was gifted. If that gift turned out to be Order magick, Tom would know. Otherwise, he’d probably take his doubts to his grave—a punishment he surely deserved for being disloyal to Nell, even if it had happened shortly before he’d told her about his love. He got together everything he’d need for the morning, checking his weapons and looking over a map of the Birmingham area and the list of businesses and their owners that Wink had printed out. Finally, with nothing left to do, he lay on his bed, trying to shut off the clicking and whirring of the gears in his brain.
His attempts at sleep were pointless. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw Polly’s mocking face laughing from the top of the Tarot deck tower, or even worse, Nell wearing the gown of the queen of swords, her beautiful eyes filled with hurt and mistrust. Then the card shifted, showing an older, stouter woman veiled in black. The literal bereaved queen. Perhaps the cards hadn’t been telling him about Nell, but about the monarch? He rubbed his aching forehead. There was no good outcome to this scenario, but the stakes had certainly gone up with the threat to the crown.
Chapter Seven
“Papa left on the dawn mail airship.” Nell removed her air mask as she settled into Tom’s steam car for their trip to Birmingham to visit the address Nancy had given them. Their research had turned up no more than that it was an old pottery, now owned by the man whose card the girl had seen. Nell carried a Babbage-engine copy of the composite drawing Caro had done based on Nancy’s description. There was something naggingly familiar about the face, but she couldn’t put a finger on it. She also wore her electronic stun gun in a holster on her belt under the cover of a light cape. This was no pleasure jaunt.
“I know.” Tom wasn’t in the mood for conversation. The trip was uncomfortably silent until they reached the Reading, where they stopped for fuel and tea. Over the rough wooden table of the roadside inn, he finally spoke. “I’m sorry about Braithwaite. The man is an idiot. I’d be happy to beat the tar out of him for you.”
“There’s no need to be sorry.” She stared into her teacup. “He’s not an idiot; in fact he’s a clever man. And he did nothing perfidious. I don’t blame him a bit for panicking. Most normal men would, and Roger is just normal. Besides, once Roger informed me that he did not wish me to continue teaching, I’d started having doubts anyway. I’m quite content with the outcome of the entire situation.” She looked up at Tom and gave him a smile. “Don’t worry about me, big brother. I shall be much happier teaching than I would be as the housewife of a gentleman farmer.” She hoped calling him brother told him the rest, that she’d completely given up on her dream of him as anything more than kin.
Tom snorted, making Nell want to smack him. “Right. And no family of your own? Bollocks.”
She gave in to the urge and smacked his hand where it rested on the table, even though he was right. “You have no say in things, sir. However, I have decided that I shall have children, just not a husband. I have decided to adopt Nancy, if it turns out he doesn’t have any parents, Charlie as well. Perhaps even another one or two along the way. As we both know, family isn’t about who gave birth to a person. I don’t need a man to have children in my life.” And without one, there would be no one with the power to break her heart again by playing her false.
“Granted.” He shut up again. “But I don’t believe that will make you happy.”
“Well, it’s the path I have decided to take. I’ve even discussed it with Mum and Papa, who both approve. So your opinion matters not a whit.” Roger’s defection hadn’t hurt her in an emotional sense, but it had driven home her utter lack of judgment when it came to male affections. Adopting children would be the best of both worlds. Why hadn’t she thought of it before? Merrick and Caro had assured her that they would accept any adoptees into the family without a murmur.
Tom’s only answer was a grunt.
They started out again, not speaking. This time, the silence endured long enough that Nell was dozing in her seat by the time they arrived in Birmingham. Sleepless nights were all too familiar, and beginning to take their toll. This time her fragmented dreams were full of plans. She would have a small but busy school, some of the children paying, some not and some her own. With so many unwanted children in the world, this was a perfect way for her to make a difference, the way Jamie did in the army or Wink did with her inventions. Nell would teach, and find homes for pupils in need. And she’d never again have to wonder if she could trust a man with her heart.
She came to full wakefulness when Tom turned off the engine. They parked around the block down from the factory and approached on foot. Nell wore one of her teaching dresses and Tom appeared to be a middling sort of gent, possibly a factory owner, but more likely a well-to-do clerk. Arm in arm, they strolled down the street in their coats and hat-mounted air masks, looking for all the world like anyone else who might be passing by in this part of the city.
“I don’t see any guards,” Tom whispered.
Nell smiled as if he’d said something witty. “Building looks deserted. There are three newspapers piled by the stoop.”
“Shall we try the front door?” He paused, looking about, she supposed, to see if anyone watched them. Since the buildings on this street were all industrial in nature, what few people were about seemed intent on minding t
heir own business.
“I believe we shall.” She stood back a few feet with her hand on the stun gun beneath her cloak while Tom stepped up to the front door, lifted the heavy brass pommel of his walking stick and knocked.
The thump echoed, but no other sounds issued from inside. Nell joined him on the stoop and Tom rapped again, harder this time, while Nell closed her eyes to focus on listening. Hearing nothing but the reverberations of the knock, she gave Tom a tiny shake of the head. She sincerely doubted there was anyone inside. His chin tipped a fraction of an inch in agreement.
With an almost undetectable movement, Tom handed her his cane and had his lock picks in his hands and the door opened, without attracting any attention whatsoever. He held the door for Nell and she entered first, sliding her weapon out from under her cloak, but keeping her head held high, as if she were just stopping by for Sunday supper. “Good afternoon. Is anyone home?” She cooed the words with just enough compulsion in her voice that a listener would instinctively answer, then silently slid Tom’s stick back into his hand.
Nothing.
Tom shut the door behind them and they both blinked in the semi-darkness, taking in the view. The middle of the square factory floor was lined with three long tables filled with vials, beakers and gas burners. Along the south wall, to their left, large bins and bottles were crammed on flimsy wooden shelves.
Two men stepped out from the walls beside the door, so silently neither of them heard a sound until a hand closed on Nell’s shoulder. With a shriek, she pulled her stun gun, turned and fired. The man crumpled in a heap at her feet, twitching more than she’d ever seen anyone do.
Meanwhile, Tom was engaged by the other. The large thug seemed immune to the blows of Tom’s fists, which was no small feat. Finally Tom picked up a crowbar from the floor and swung it at his opponent’s head. The bruiser went down hard, moaning incoherently. After one more whack, he stopped moaning.
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