by Kate Breslin
She pushed her way inside, wearing her large hat, her purse slung over one arm. With the other, she carried the cloth kit bag. “Why did you change?”
“Because if I must go out in public and travel by train, I’ll do it as a British officer and not as a waiter.”
“Have you packed yet?”
She set down the kit bag and removed her gloves, scanning the room for his luggage. Colin saw her glance halt at the chair with his apparatus, and heat rose into his face.
Tucking the gloves into the small purse on her arm, she turned and reached for his shirt.
He brushed her hands away. “What are you doing?”
“I’m helping you.”
A snarl rose in his throat. “I do not need your help.”
Her smile was tight. “If we want to leave before nightfall, you do need my help.”
Again she reached for his shirt. He pushed her hands aside once more, and she gave him a hard look. “Allow me this, if you please.”
Colin gave up and expelled a breath that stirred a few errant wisps of blond beneath her voluminous brim. Be calm, man. He angled his head. “Why do women wear such hats? I imagine you must get migraines from all the weight on your head.”
She eyed him drolly. “Don’t be silly. ’Tis called fashion. Something I suspect you know little about.”
“And I suppose you do?” His frustration sought a target. “I didn’t realize Kilcoole was the center of haute couture.”
“In case it slipped your mind, I’ve lived in Paris two years. And don’t forget I attended boarding school in Poole.”
“Ah yes, a proper English education. How was that, by the way?”
She looked up at him, pain reflected in her expression. “I found unkindness doesn’t have limits, even among the well-bred.”
Colin’s hostility fled, and he sorely regretted his badgering. “Johanna—”
“You’ll have to take care of the rest.” She’d stopped buttoning midway down his shirt and stepped away from him. “I’ll get your things together.”
Colin continued with his buttons, watching her clean out the armoire and pack his clothing into the portmanteau. Again he thought about the harsh way she’d been treated most of her life, due to circumstances she had no control over. It put a new perspective on his own situation.
In the back of his mind, he’d always believed others ridiculed him for being different, yet no one had ever taunted him about his prosthetic or acted maliciously toward him. And while he despised anyone pitying him, Johanna did not seem the least bit disturbed by his injury.
By the time he finished with the shirt, she had all of his clothing packed. He ducked behind the screen to fetch his shaving kit, and when he returned, he found her holding his harness and the sleeve with his prosthetic. “Shall I help with this, or would you rather I take the luggage down?”
Her tone was matter-of-fact. Still, Colin wasn’t ready for that kind of intimacy with anyone. “I’ll do it. You’re certain you can manage our bags?”
“I’ll just use your handy cart.” She set his portmanteau on top, along with her kit bag. “I’ll get the rest from my room and meet you downstairs.”
“Thank you.”
Her smile broadened. He opened the door and held it while she exited and went across the hall. She turned to him. “Don’t be long.”
Leaning his head against the closed door, Colin chuckled. Part of their luggage included a contraband pigeon, and they were certainly breaking all of G-2’s rules by chasing an alleged German agent into Spain, a country to which Colin had never been before.
He and Johanna could be discovered by either side, especially if the bird got out of hand. If so, they could find themselves behind bars, awaiting trial as enemy spies.
Once more Colin considered the merits of predictability. He’d spent a lifetime following an established set of rules, always acting the sensible twin, balancing out his sister’s headstrong antics. And after his time in the war, he had tried to entrench himself deeper into those self-imposed standards, hoping to regain the part of himself he had lost—each time coming up short and feeling the lesser for it.
But now . . .
For the first time in his life, he was feeling just a bit reckless.
Despite their efforts to hurry, Jo and Colin missed the noon train by minutes and now sat in the next one, awaiting its departure.
Seated on the plush bench seat inside an empty compartment, Jo gazed at the opened kit bag near her feet. Considering the hours it would take to reach Barcelona, she was glad Little Corporal had enjoyed a brief change of scenery at Hôtel Blanc before being cooped up again in her bag. “I wish we could get this space to ourselves.”
“Will the bird attract attention, do you think?”
Colin sat across from her in his officer’s uniform. His brow creased as he glanced from the kit bag to Jo.
She shrugged. “I gave him a dropperful of the chamomile tea before we left, but I would feel much better if we didn’t have to worry about him causing a fuss with others about.”
He rose from the bench seat. “It’s early yet, and most of the other passengers haven’t boarded. I’ve got an idea.” He went to open the compartment door.
“Where are you going?”
“I need to speak with the conductor. I’ll be right back.”
He soon returned with a sheet of white paper tucked under his arm. After closing the compartment door, he withdrew from his pocket a small spool of adhesive tape. “Help me with this, will you?” He handed her the spool. “We need just a small strip.”
Jo tore off a short piece of the tape. “Now what?”
He handed her the sheet of paper. As she read the words on the opposite side, laughter bubbled up inside of her. “Brilliant.”
She affixed the tape and then rose to post the sign against the compartment door window so that the words le voyage de noces could be read by any boarding passengers who thought to enter their sanctuary.
He stood behind her. “That should keep most of them away.”
“I believe it shall.” She turned to him, still smiling. “You really are a clever fellow, Lieutenant Mabry.”
He grinned at her. “I’ve been known to have an idea or two, Mrs. Mabry.”
When Jo returned to her seat, Colin followed and settled close beside her. Heat rose in her cheeks as she leaned away to eye him curiously.
“The sign says honeymoon, so if we want to convince people to stay out, we should at least look the part of being newlyweds.” His eyes glinted with humor. “Of course you’ll need to remove the hat. There isn’t enough room on this bench for all three of us.”
“Oh yes, of course.” Jo’s pulse thumped against her throat at his lighthearted banter. She reached to unpin the voluminous hat, and he rose to take it from her, placing it in the upper rack behind them.
As he returned to sit beside her, she considered the anxious, regimented man she’d first met in Paris a week ago. Jo couldn’t help marveling at how relaxed he’d become, as though he too was eager for their upcoming adventure.
To find Jewel. Her thoughts cooled as the reality of her relationship with Colin returned. They were friends, nothing more—partners in Jo’s search for her family.
Clearly, he was still anxious to pursue her sister, the woman he intended to marry.
Jo ignored the tightness in her chest as she watched passengers begin filing steadily past their compartment. Women in stylish mourning black gave her nostalgic smiles through the glass while a pair of American soldiers on furlough grinned and applauded before moving on.
She smiled at them, relieved for the privacy, but her secret longing for a real husband and a honeymoon made her ache.
When Petit’s face appeared at the glass, she and Colin shared an uneasy look. The American carried a French newspaper and now posed as a businessman in his dark linen suit and felt hat. Jo held her breath as he lingered a moment; then he smiled and gave Colin a brief salute before moving on
toward the back of the train.
Jo pushed out a deep breath. “That was close. He is the last person we want in here with Little Corporal.”
“Agreed.” Colin leaned back against the seat. “I’m glad you mentioned wanting privacy.”
“I wonder why he didn’t catch the earlier train.”
“I would imagine he was sent along to keep an eye on us.” He turned to her. “Perhaps it’s the reason he told you about Kepler and Jewel’s departure in the first place. Petit knew we were not going to give up, so better to have us where he can see us.”
Jo considered his words. “Or perhaps Petit still hopes you will have another chance to meet with my sister.”
“Yes, I thought about that, too. He may not have had a chance to talk with his office, and he does seem keen to confirm she’s Jewel Reyer.”
“I admit feeling the tiniest bit guilty for keeping him out. Petit has been helpful after all, and we’re not certain he’s the one who trespassed into my room the other night.” She glanced at him. “You did tell him we were not man and wife, so he knows our honeymoon sign is a ruse.”
Colin flashed a contented smile, his face so close to hers that Jo’s heart leapt. “Petit will get along fine sitting by himself, Johanna. He can read his newspaper.”
Marcus Weatherford sat in a corner of the last compartment, the brim of his hat pulled low over his brow as if he slept. The coach seats outside the space had filled up fast, so the sooner Petit arrived, the better. Trains had ears, and Marcus didn’t have much time.
As the door opened, he tipped his brim back and stared into the face of the American. Once Petit sat down across from him, Marcus got right to the point. “Has he returned to Paris?”
Petit removed his hat and shook his head. “He’s with her, here on the train.”
Marcus growled. Two nights ago, he’d been stunned to run into Colin Mabry while leaving Le Bibent. “You had your orders. He was to leave Toulouse days ago. Why didn’t you get rid of him?”
Petit stared into his hat. “I suppose I could have shot him, Captain. Would that satisfy you?”
“Hardly the time for jokes, man. This is still G-2’s operation, but Mabry is a British officer and happens to be an acquaintance of mine, so you will be careful with him.”
Petit looked up as if assessing Marcus. Marcus had only known the man a few days, but he recognized a poker face when he saw one.
He didn’t like poker faces.
“You know I’d planned to get the lieutenant to leave, but once I found out about Johanna Reyer, the situation changed. I realized the only way to get her to come along willingly is if he’s part of the deal. Since they’re both determined to rescue Jewel and find the father, I made a decision to string them along.” Petit shifted against the seat. “Because of the fix we’re in, we need to keep them hot on the trail.”
“I know about the fiasco. I was briefed by your local office.” Marcus gave him a hard look. “I’m also aware, as acting liaison for this mission, that your people have put me in a tight spot.”
“Believe me, Captain, it wasn’t planned.”
Marcus glanced out the window at the train terminal, his anger simmering. After arriving in Toulouse two days ago, he’d been informed by the Americans that they had failed in the one condition Zero demanded before he would hand over the Black Book.
He turned to Petit. “At this point, we must continue with the mission. Especially now that we have another chance.”
Marcus adjusted the brim of his hat and rose from the seat. “When you arrive at the Spanish border, delay the lieutenant. Bring the woman to Barcelona, and we’ll talk then. You know the place and the hour.”
“I’ll meet you there.”
At the door, Marcus turned to Petit before opening the compartment. “I’ve already overstayed my time here, so no more surprises. The stakes—”
“Are high,” Petit cut in. “I’m familiar with high stakes, Captain.”
“Yes, I imagine you are. I read your file. Among your many occupations, you were once a professional gambler in New Orleans.” He bore his gaze into the American. “But the stakes in this case are worth more than their weight in gold. Take no chances.”
“Rest assured, Captain.” Petit’s dark eyes glinted. “All will go according to plan.”
Marcus found himself unable to shake his sense of unease. There were too many variables to this half-baked scheme. Someone—or something—could still go wrong.
And the poker-faced American wasn’t giving him any comfort.
CHAPTER
16
The last whistle had sounded, and Jo smiled as the rumble of wheels signaled the train’s departure from the Toulouse station.
She was thrilled and relieved to be able to continue their quest. Surely her papa was the reason Kepler had taken Jewel south.
She turned to Colin. “Do you think my father is being held in Barcelona?”
“I doubt it. Spain is neutral and to my knowledge has no facilities for French POWs. Kepler is either taking Jewel there for another reason, or your father is not a prisoner as we’d thought.”
He glanced out the window, and Jo followed his gaze. The train terminal had disappeared from view, replaced by the rose-colored brick and ochre rooftops of the city’s shops and homes.
Colin turned to her. “I’ve given it some thought, and it’s possible Kepler’s leaving has nothing to do with us or your father. He could have received a signal at Le Bibent the other night.”
“But what is his purpose?”
He leaned back and sighed. “That is the question, isn’t it?”
A light tapping on the compartment window brought them both around. An elderly conductor smiled apologetically through the glass and held up his stamp.
Jo handed Colin their tickets, and he went to offer them to the old man at the door.
“Merci.” The conductor’s withered face split into a wide grin as he returned the tickets. “Félicitations pour votre mariage, monsieur.”
Colin thanked him and closed the door. He turned and chuckled. “You were right about the French. They are romantics.”
Returning to his seat beside her, Colin stared out at the passing scenery. Jo remained acutely aware of his closeness to her, his wonderfully spicy scent filling her senses. She appreciated him for pressing on in the search with her, even though he was half convinced Jewel’s affection for him had changed.
Her guilt returned, thinking about how she’d blotted from the diary her sister’s words of admiration for Captain Kepler. Yet now it seemed Jewel might be feeling more fear than attraction. Had her sister told Colin the truth? Was she in love with Kepler? If she was afraid, surely she would have asked Colin to stay and help her.
Or had Jewel rejected him for the reasons he seemed to believe?
“What has you scowling?”
Jo met Colin’s curious look and smiled to cover her brooding thoughts. “I was just hoping our journey on the train isn’t too long. I am tired of all this sitting for hours at a time.”
He checked his watch. “It’s after two o’clock now. According to the train schedule, we should arrive at the Spanish border around five-thirty this afternoon.” He looked down at her bag. “How’s the bird doing?”
Jo reached down to remove the floral chiffon scarf she used to camouflage the cage. Inside the bag, her pigeon nested quietly in the fresh straw she’d packed along for the trip.
“He seems fine.” She re-covered the cage with the scarf. “I think Little Corporal will behave himself for the next few hours.”
“Wait. Little Corporal . . .” His gaze narrowed. “It was the nickname given to—”
“Napoleon Bonaparte.” She tipped her chin and faced him. “And what better name could I have given to one so small who accomplishes so much for the war effort? Little Corporal braves all kinds of danger, from foul weather to weapons and those bloodthirsty falcons. Do you know he nearly died once?”
He looked surprised
. “How? The falcons?”
Jo glanced down at the kit bag. “Gunshot. I’d worked at the dovecote only a few weeks when this little white pigeon returned to the loft, bloody and weak. The bullet pierced him just below his right wing, no doubt from a Boche rifle. Still, he carried out his mission and delivered important intelligence. That’s when I decided to name him.”
“And he lived to fight another day?”
Jo turned to him, fully expecting his mockery. She knew his sentiments about Napoleon. Yet she was surprised to see his lips parted in a smile that made her pulse race.
“Indeed he did.” She pursed her lips, appraising him. “Just because he had been wounded didn’t mean his life was over.”
He studied her a moment before a gleam lit his eyes. “So tell me more about your birds, Mrs. Mabry. You said you helped your grandfather to raise and train racing pigeons. Did any of them ever win?”
“Of course.” A wave of pride rippled through her. “Grandfather often took first prize.”
Colin seemed impressed. “What about your . . . Moira? Did she enjoy pigeon racing?”
Jo thought about her mother, and the familiar, dull ache pressed in on her. After two years, she still grieved for the woman who gave birth to her and who had loved Jo in her own fashion. “Moira stayed preoccupied with her various crusades. She had little time for such petty enjoyments as pigeons.”
She realized her hands were clenched and quickly relaxed them. “She spent much of her time in Dublin, likely to stay away from Grandfather.”
“Did your father ever offer marriage?”
Jo’s eyes widened, and Colin reached for one of her hands. “Pardon me for asking such a question. I had no right—”
“It’s fine, really. And yes, Papa did propose to my mother.” She laid her other hand over his in an effort to put him at ease. “I’ve mentioned to you that they met in Paris when Moira spent a year at art school. She told me Jacob Reyer was handsome, a widower, and a teacher there. Once they had become . . . aware of my presence, he offered to marry her and take her to his home in the north. She refused.”
Jo shook her head, her smile bittersweet. “My mother had such a stubborn and independent nature. Like Grandfather, she was unwilling to compromise or to soften to the point of letting down her guard. When I was older, I learned about Papa’s marriage proposal. Moira said that even though she held great affection for him, she wouldn’t be ‘chattel to any man,’ so she had declined his offer.”
