The Diamond Conspiracy: A Ministry of Peculiar Occurrences Novel

by Philippa Ballantine

  Arthur Books, from what she had learned of him, would have hated that.

  “Bless my soul,” Wellington said as the fob in his waistcoat chimed, “I forgot about dinner.”

  “That makes two of us. I’m ravenous,” Eliza said. “You settle Khaled here. I’ll check and see if Alice has the kitchen crew at work.”

  Eliza walked to the end of the corridor and called the lift. Christopher and Liam had performed a true yeoman’s job in getting the manor’s boilers and generators back into full working order. She needed to make sure the boys knew before the end of the night just how proud she was of their assistance in making Whiterock ready for the Ministry.

  The lift descended to the main floor where hopefully dinner would be at least in the preparation stages. Just outside the kitchen, Eliza noticed a pair of weathered saddlebags. Bruce Campbell, apparently, had arrived. Her maid, Alice, hardly held Bruce in high regards following the odd times when he would call upon Eliza in London. That was why it was such a surprise finding the Australian cutting vegetables opposite of Alice as if they were old friends.

  No one could ever accuse the Australian of being charmless when it came to the ladies.

  “—strapping big woman, fists like slabs of meat. Tossed me right over the bar!” Bruce chortled. “Didn’t know whether I should get up and fight, or stay down on one knee and propose!”

  Alice laughed, and Eliza suddenly wanted to hear the rest of the story. Any tale which involved Bruce getting his comeuppance was worth the hearing.

  Brandon suddenly stepped into sight, with the remaining boys of the Seven clustering around him. He was speaking with them with a mighty large ham as the focus of their discussion.

  “Lads,” he began, “while it may be perceived by popular society that a woman’s place is in the kitchen—”

  “Best way to keep track of the birds!” Bruce interjected from across the room, earning a bit of laughter from everyone. Including Alice.

  Brandon merely waved him off. “If a man can master the kitchen, he will never go hungry. So the Good Lord says in the Bible.”

  “Where is that, sir?” Christopher asked.

  Brandon placed his hand on the ham and emoted, “Give a man a fish and you feed him for a day. Teach a man to fish and you feed him for a lifetime.”

  “Hold on,” Liam interrupted, “that’s a Chinese Proverb. Not in the Bible.”

  “Liam’s right,” Colin added. “Our Lord and Saviour did say he wanted to make his gang . . .”

  “Disciples,” interjected Christopher.

  “. . . fishers of men. And there was the five loves and fish parable.”

  Jonathan whispered something to Jeremy. “And that’s a ham. Not a fish,” Jeremy stated.

  Brandon looked lost. “Bright lads, you are.”

  “Good Lord,” Eliza said, attempting to rescue Agent Hill from this losing battle, “I thought you lot went into town earlier to pick up supplies, not Christmas dinner.”

  Christopher said cheerfully, “Mr. Hill here says an army marches on its stomach.”

  Brandon shrugged. “That and the balls of its feet.”

  “Are we an army now, Mum?” Liam asked.

  She wanted to tousle his hair and tell him no, they were certainly not, but she wasn’t so sure herself. Perhaps they were the last vestiges of the army of Britain, or at least the part that could be counted on to do the right thing.

  Doctor Sound popped his head around the kitchen door, just as Brandon returned the boys’ attention to preparation of the ham. “Campbell, there you are!”

  The Australian who had just finished with the onion chopping actually tensed when the director said his name. Eliza’s gaze narrowed. She knew that they really were not in a position to be picky, but she still wanted to keep Bruce at arm’s length.

  When the director gestured Bruce to follow him, Eliza folded her arms and watched. Wellington paused at the doorway, allowing Bruce and the director to pass. She too left the kitchen, joining her lover in the hallway. For a moment she felt his hand graze her waist. Then he remembered himself and withdrew it.

  “I am sure the director has some more stern words for Mr. Bruce Campbell,” he spoke softly into her ear as they watched the two men disappear around a corner.

  “Yes,” she replied, more to herself than anyone else. “He is not an agent. He’s an outsider, not to be trusted.”

  “You don’t believe in second chances, Eliza?” Wellington slipped his hands into his pockets and stared at her in a rather pointed fashion. “I thought you were the Mistress of the Return to Grace.”

  “If you are referring,” she said with a slight sharpness in her tone, “to my demotion to the Archives, then I hope you are not comparing that to Bruce’s failings.”

  Wellington pushed his hair back. It had grown rather longer than usual in their travels. “I don’t like the chap any more than you do, but he might be the one who makes a difference, that we need to get the job done. The Ministry needs all the help they can get.”

  “Just as long as it doesn’t involve us turning our back to him. I won’t be taking my eyes off him.”

  In the corridor, they were alone; so Eliza hazarded pressing her hand against his cheek. Feeling his beard under her palm reminded her of other—far more naked—moments between them.

  He nodded, breaking the intimacy of the moment. “Well then, let’s see how Alice, Brandon, and the children are doing in the kitchen.”

  It turned out rather well. Alice probably had more to do with the success of their evening repast than the Seven, but Brandon—quite the epicurean—was obviously a dab hand as well. The motley crew had resurrected the Whiterock kitchen and made it hum again. The smells of baking ham, pastries, and frying onions soon lured the other Ministry agents to the dining room where the children, under Wellington and Eliza’s direction, had set the table.

  They would dine very well, if not perhaps as elegantly as the manor might have been used to, as lighting was limited to light no brighter than three-branched candelabras, and windows were blocked by thick heavy curtains. The ham had been bathed in some of Arthur Books’ remaining wine reserves, and there were roast potatoes, vegetable pies, braised cabbage—which the children decided to avoid—and cauliflower au gratin.

  Still, the gathering of agents in the dining room was almost ridiculously small. Looking around at all their faces, though, Eliza could not help but notice those that were not among them. Too many had been lost. Her mind darted to Miggins Antiquities, and all the staff that had been there. Aside from the workers who knew nothing about the true nature of the building, there were many agents, researchers, and secretaries who at best disappeared underground, and at worst were lost.

  Within the warmth and welcomed mirth of Whiterock, the surviving agents assembled. Although bathed and refreshed from their rendezvous at the Red Lion, Eliza could still see bruises, cuts, and signs of a long, hard journey for them all.

  The sudden ringing of silverware against glass caught her attention. Doctor Sound, his eyes fixed on her and reading her expression as if it were one of the books of his new library, waited until the din of conversation ceased. He looked over each of them before speaking.

  “I am sure as we regroup, we will find more of our fellows. I refuse to believe the Department could best my agents,” he said raising his glass to them all. “I have placed messages in the Railway News as per protocol. We should expect more arrivals in the coming days.”

  That seemed to drain some of the tension from the room, and Eliza passed around the last of the three bottles of wine as the talk turned to the future.

  “Perhaps”—Wellington held up his hand—“the children should retire to bed, since we speak of Ministry affairs—”

  “Not blimmin likely!” Christopher crossed his arms and glanced at Alice for a second before declaring, “We’re as much
a part of this as you is, and besides we have to find Callum. We’re in the Ministry now.”

  “Now? I beg to differ, young man,” Sound chortled. “After all the service the Ministry Seven has provided Her Majesty in the past? I dare say you all joined our ranks the day you selflessly rescued Agents Thorne and Braun from certain death.”

  Eliza blinked. The director knew about the Ministry Seven? How?

  “You have lost as much in this whole affair as anyone, and the Department knows of your involvement. You have all shown remarkable prowess in the field, certain to grow into fine agents. You have earned the right to hear what goes on.” Sound leaned back in his chair, clearing his throat as he fingered the watch in his pocket. “But as we are now safe, I will not send children out to fight this.”

  “Then we can be your eyes and ears.” Serena sat up very straight at the table, her face awfully mature for one so young. “No one really notices us in the street. You lot . . . you stick out.”

  He raised an eyebrow at the child’s honesty. “I see your mentor has made quite the impression upon you.” That earned him a soft rumble of laughter. Sound pressed his lips together, scanned his remaining agents, and nodded. “Very well. And you, Alice”—the maid jumped to hear her name called—“considering how well you served as guardian of the children and of our Agent Braun, may we count on your help in this matter?”

  The maid unconsciously tapped the side of her leg where her shotgun resided. “I hope I can, sir.”

  Sound drained the last wine from his glass and set it on the table. “Well, the very first order of business is to save the Archives.”

  Wellington sat up straight, as if he’d been electrocuted. “Save? I thought the whole building was locked down.”

  Bruce, leaning back from the table, took a break from picking at his teeth to let out a short laugh. “Those Department boys aren’t the most intelligent folk, but they do have persistence. Given the right tools, even they could break in eventually.”

  Eliza had never seen Wellington look quite so pale.

  “Don’t worry, my boy.” Sound shot Bruce a significant look. “I have a plan to save everything. What say you and Agent Braun here take a quick trip to London and Miggins Antiquities with me?”

  “But, Director . . .” Eliza paused, thought, and then smiled. “You have a secret way in!”

  “But of course.” He chuckled. “Every lair must have a hidden door or two.”

  “Big enough to empty the whole Archives out?” The archivist was probably already doing the horrific calculations. “We’ll need every one of the Ministry to—”

  “As I said before, I have a plan.” The director tapped his nose significantly. “Our presence is needed to make certain the Archives is secured. Now the rest of you.” The remaining agents and urchins sat up a little straighter. “We could be gone for a significant period of time.”

  “How much?” Maulik asked, his breathing apparatus leaving some doubt as to the emotion behind the question.

  “Some time,” the director said as he turned to Miss Shillingworth. “Cassandra will speak with my voice, and you should treat her as your director in my absence. Each of you will find on the desk in the library directions to what you need to do while I am gone. I know you will perform them admirably.”

  Eliza caught Bruce tensing in the corner. The idea of leaving a woman in charge of their merry little band was bound to rub him the wrong way. A delicious bonus, as far as she was concerned.

  Doctor Sound rose from the table. “I think, despite these forty-eight hours, we should head out at first light.”

  Eliza knew how much this would mean to her lover, so there would be no discussion. Wellington would return to Ministry headquarters, and there was nothing Eliza would not do to help him secure the Archives.

  “As for the rest of you, get some sleep. Our security is assured here, is it not, Mr. Books?”

  Wellington got to his feet, his face set and resolute. “Chances are the locals believed we were the Whiterock’s maintenance staff. As far as Hebden Bridge is concerned, Whiterock is still quiet, still private.”

  “If you would indulge me, sir,” Maulik said, “I will stand watch. I spent most of the day asleep in order to do so.”

  “Excellent.” Sound stepped away from the table. “Good night, everyone. And, Agent Books, thank you.”

  One by one, the agents raised their glasses. “Thank you, Agent Books,” they echoed in unison.

  As the table began to clear, Eliza pointed at Bruce. “Behave while we’re gone.”

  Shillingworth was the one who responded. “I’ll make sure of it Miss Braun, you can count on that.”

  Eliza and Wellington assisted Alice and the children in clearing the table. With food put away and what was left of the ham stored in the icebox, they all ascended upstairs to their respective rooms. The quiet falling over Whiterock was reminiscent of when they had first arrived. Their five-branched candelabra being the solitary light in the massive corridor, Eliza and Wellington lingered for a moment, perhaps to make certain everyone had retired for the night.

  “I never,” Wellington whispered as he closed the master bedroom doors, “expected to find myself here again.”

  “I am sure,” Eliza said, taking the light with her to the side of the master bed. “And I don’t doubt you are exhausted with everything that we have done . . .” Her words trailed off.

  “And dealt with?” he asked.

  Eliza turned to look at him. “Are you all right?”

  Wellington crossed the room in wide strides to take Eliza into his arms and kiss her fiercely. The want in his kiss, in the taste of his tongue, in his embrace was all evident. She tugged at his coat and frantically worked the buttons free of his waistcoat.

  Her lover, however, was hesitant. He wanted her, but he wasn’t undressing her.

  “What is it?” she panted between kisses. “Does sound carry in Whiterock?”

  “It can,” he said, tasting the skin of her neck, evoking a small cry of ecstasy from her. “Oh dear God in Heaven, Eliza, I want you so much.”

  “I need to feel your skin on mine, Wellington,” she demanded, tearing his ascot from his neck.

  “I’m just concerned,” he confessed before kissing her deeply.

  Their lips parted and Eliza gasped for air. “About what?”

  A soft knocking came from the door.

  “That,” he huffed.

  Swallowing back a wild desire to scream at the door, Eliza picked up the candelabra and crept over to the door as Wellington ducked behind a folding screen.

  “When we finally find that time alone without interruption,” Wellington said from behind the blind, “oh, Miss Braun, I will have you dancing amongst the stars.”

  Eliza gave a soft laugh as she opened the door, then her breath caught in her throat. Little Serena, in the light of a solitary candlestick, looked as pale as the nightgown they had picked up for her the day before.

  “I’m sorry, Mum,” Serena mumbled. The child was exhausted, pale and wan in the candlelight. “I can’t get to sleep.”

  Wellington emerged from behind the screen, another nightgown in his hand which he handed to Eliza. “Your turn, Eliza,” and Wellington led Serena to the large bed as she slipped behind the screen to change.

  “Bad dreams then?” she heard Wellington ask. Whatever could upset the street urchin must be truly terrible. She had been through hell and back again on the street, and with the Ministry.

  “I keep seeing you and Mum getting grabbed like Callum did.” Serena’s voice started to crack. “I couldn’t do nothin’ to save you and Mum. Just like Callum.”

  “You were back at the doctor’s house?” Wellington asked gently. “We’re nowhere near there, little Serena, and Miss Braun and I aren’t going anywhere.”

  Once her nightgown was on, Eliza eme
rged from behind the screen. She found Wellington on his knees, eye level with the child sitting on the bed, his hands gently holding Serena’s in his own. The girl didn’t say anything, her serious face giving little away. A child of the street, she’d learned, Wellington was sure, not to cry or make a fuss because it simply made no difference. Like a wild animal, any sign of weakness could in fact lead to death or worse.

  “We’re going to get Callum back,” Wellington said slowly and deliberately. “We haven’t forgotten him, any more than you have.”

  Over Serena’s head Eliza frowned a little, and mouthed the words he would discern quite clearly. “No promises.”

  This was a slippery slope he now found himself on, but knowing what few certainties Wellington had in his own life with his mother’s death, Eliza understood his desire to give Serena hope.

  It might have been a foolish pledge, but when she came around to see her face, the child was smiling.

  “I haven’t forgotten him,” she said, in between tiny yawns. “I know he’s out there waiting for us. I just wish he was here to see everything. France, Germany, this place . . . we never even seen outside of London before.”

  “Come along, Serena,” Eliza said, motioning to the middle of the master bed. “We should get rest.”

  “I don’t want you to go,” she implored.

  “We have to,” Wellington said gently, “and you need to be strong. For the Ministry.”

  “The big man said he didn’t know when you will come back,” Serena said. “You are coming back?”

  Eliza looked at Wellington and then curled up next to Serena as Wellington went to change. Both of them curled up next to Wellington after he extinguished the candelabra. Serena was trembling while Wellington gently stroked Eliza’s forearm with his fingertips.

  “Mum?” Serena asked.

  “We’re coming back, Serena,” Eliza said. “We’ve made it this far together.”