Queen

by Heather Gray

  Tobias had stored all the minister's paperwork and a few of the man's belongings in a single room hidden at the back of an apothecary shop. The quarters were cramped and the smell was musty with disuse. Nonetheless, this small room was where they'd been condemned to pass their days. Monotonous didn't begin to describe the tedium.

  Isabel shoved a box of paperwork into a corner, and Owen tried not to stare as she stretched her back afterward, but it was a struggle. He'd found watching Isabel to be the one happy interlude in the otherwise uninspiring boredom of their days, which only served to remind him how unpleasant their task was. Perhaps if he wasn't searching for evidence that might ultimately point the finger of guilt at his father — then he'd be able to better enjoy the task at hand.

  Wiping the perspiration from her brow with the back of a hand, she pivoted toward Owen and asked, "Do you think the minister would leave evidence of any kind? His death wasn't a surprise — at least not to him — so wouldn't he have planned accordingly and gotten rid of any incriminating evidence?" Isabel picked up a nearby file to use as a makeshift fan. "And why on earth is everything being stored in such an airless vault? Is this Tobias' idea of security? Anyone who tries to break in and get anything will die of asphyxiation before they can ever get out."

  "I'm sure Tobias has his reasons." Not that he'd ever bothered to explain them to Owen.

  "When you first said we were coming to London, you made it sound like you were coming here to find proof of my parents' guilt."

  Owen glanced up at her, then back down at a note he was jotting. "I believe I never said we were coming to London. If memory serves, I said I would be making the journey. Alone."

  Isabel moved closer and leaned over Owen's shoulder, presumably to see what he was writing. He inhaled, her scent filling his mind as the soft brush of her chest against his back ignited other senses.

  "Hm, and here I thought you'd invited me along."

  Owen cleared his throat and pushed his chair back. He intended to escape, but his move put him in closer proximity to the woman who had demanded admittance to almost all his waking thoughts. In a single quick motion, he got to his feet and stepped away from her. "You misunderstood me."

  A wicked and delicious smile tugged up the corners of her mouth. "Do you realize you've never told me your code name?"

  Heat started in his belly and moved higher until he was sure his skin must be aflame. "You're playacting. Don't pretend to seduce in order to get information." Owen's heart raced fast enough to put a champion horse to shame. If this was Isabel's idea of playing the part of a seductress, it was a wonder every man in England hadn't given up his secrets to her already. Owen was going to be in trouble if he ever had to watch her charm a man for the job. He'd go mad for sure.

  With a slow wink, Isabel moved closer. "Come now, Owen. Tell me what you're up to here."

  Owen's growing desire was dowsed as quickly as if he'd jumped into the Thames in the middle of winter. A chill swept up his spine, and the gooseflesh rose across his back and arms. I'm hoping to find proof to exonerate your parents. Oh, and by the way, my father may be the one who got them killed. Will you marry me?

  With a hard shake of the head, Owen tried to dislodge the thought. Marriage? Where had that come from?

  Isabel must have sensed the change in him, for she dropped her temptress routine and went back to sorting through yet another stack of papers. He half expected her to apologize. What she'd done hadn't been at all fair, which wasn't like her.

  A light tap at one of the wall panels drew both their eyes. Any apology she'd planned to make would have to wait now. Owen sauntered over to where the sound had come from. A glance told him Isabel had her gun out and at the ready. With a soft click of the wall mechanism, Owen opened the panel a short way and assessed the man standing on the other side.

  Then, backing into the room, he threw the panel wide and said over his shoulder, "Someone's here to see you."

  Isabel, gun still in hand, gasped upon seeing Jackal. Still gripping her pistol, she hurried around the stacks and piles of would-be detritus and threw herself into his arms.

  The older man's voice rumbled deep. "Hello, Queen, it's good to see you again."

  She dashed away her tears. "It's been too many years. I've missed you."

  He nodded. "Indeed it has. I'm sorry it had to be that way."

  Jackal stepped over to a worn divan and sank into its welcoming comfort. Aside from Owen's chair or one of the crates, the divan was the sole place to sit in the confined space. Owen returned to the ledgers and tried not to eavesdrop as Jackal and Isabel visited. They had quite a bit of catching up to do, and he had yet another ledger to read through.

  The minister had kept scrupulous records, perhaps too scrupulous. He'd kept track of every farthing ever spent, which meant if there were illegal transactions, they would be difficult to find amid all the other stuff and nonsense the man had recorded. The minister had been a crafty old devil. No one recorded so much detail unless they were trying to bury what they didn't want found.

  A peek up told him Jackal and Isabel were chatting, fast friends from years gone by. Her face glowed. His, on the other hand, remained shuttered. Owen would wager a pile of useless ledgers that Jackal had more than a friendly visit on his mind.

  ****

  The clock advanced by hours, and Jackal lent a hand with sorting through papers. They found some old journals that had belonged to Lysander, the minister's son. Jackal's mouth tightened with the discovery. "Let me see those as soon as you're done with them."

  Owen nodded. It was the least he could do. "Of course."

  Dusk was upon them, and Jackal stood. He collected his cane and gave Isabel one last hug, admonishing her to remember her training. "You need to stay safe, and then once this is all past, come to Chakal Manor, and I'll give you a proper introduction to my family."

  Isabel nodded and, leaning up on tiptoe, gave him a kiss on his cheek. Her eyes danced in the candlelight. "I shall do my utmost to remember to call you Rupert, too, now that I know your name. It wouldn't do for your lovely new family to hear me call you Jackal."

  He smiled and chucked her under the chin, treating her as a child of ten and two rather than a woman of twenty and four.

  With a tilt of his head, Jackal indicated he needed a word with Owen. The younger man followed him into the passageway on the other side of the wall panel.

  "Have you decided yet whether or not you can trust Tobias?"

  Owen dropped a shoulder. "I wish I knew for certain, but for now I'm proceeding on the premise that he is not at fault in any of this."

  Jackal winced. "In some ways, I think we're all at fault for this mess. I'm not sure how, exactly, but I think we've all played a part in a scheme so well-orchestrated none of us even realized it."

  "I know what you mean."

  "Isabel had nothing but glowing things to say about Mrs. Burnham."

  Owen avoided eye contact. "They seemed to get along quite well."

  "Are you going to tell me what's going on in my own home?"

  "I wouldn't presume to take such liberties."

  This time Jackal frowned. "Parliament has officially filed papers demanding you be sanctioned for your insubordinate behavior. Tobias was named in the papers. If you don't turn yourself in to Parliament within a fortnight, your fearless leader will be out of a job."

  Owen let the knowledge sink into his chest. "A fortnight?"

  Jackal nodded. "I might be able to hold them off a bit longer, but your actions on the coast made them look foolish. Pride and politics are a dangerous combination. If you came in and presented a sound argument for your actions, it might go a long way toward changing their minds about you."

  Owen snorted. "Change the mind of Parliament? What do you take me for? A magician? Shall I turn a woman's kerchief into a falcon while I'm at it?"

  "I'm only the messenger."

  "Do they know you're here?"

  Jackal chuckled. "They don't even know h
ere is here. As far as they're concerned, you're on a wild goose chase out on the coast for the sole purpose of thumbing your nose at the rules Parliament has established."

  "I seem to have a way of making enemies where I don't intend."

  Jackal nodded. "A fortnight. Wrap this up and get some answers. Then try to placate the powers-that-be so you can complete your other investigation."

  The two men shook hands, and Jackal slipped away through the dark passage. Owen stepped back into the glorified storeroom with one thought on his mind.

  If they're going to imprison me, I've got to clear Isabel's parents before they do. Expediency, God. Expediency would be much appreciated about now.

  A quick glance told him Isabel had fallen asleep. She was curled up on the divan, hugging a small pillow to her chest. Owen walked over, lifted a worn blanket from the back, and settled it over Isabel's sleeping form. Leaning down, he brushed a kiss against her forehead.

  With renewed energy, he lit another candle and returned to where he'd left off in the ledgers. He was on year eight. Of forty.

  I will prove their innocence if it's the last thing I do.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  A week had passed since Jackal's visit. Nay, Rupert's visit. Isabel couldn't help but smile whenever she tried to think of him by his real name. It felt funny on her tongue, even when all she did was think the name.

  Despite all the work she and Owen had put into going through the minister's paperwork and belongings, they'd found nothing to tie anyone — her parents or otherwise — to the thwarted attack on the London Docks or the Battle of Trafalgar, and Owen wasn't happy. He hid his feelings well enough, but she'd seen the bleak expression on his face once he'd thought she was occupied elsewhere. She'd noticed the way his shoulders drooped a bit more each time she asked if he'd had any luck yet.

  Dropping the lid onto the last of the boxes, frustration and fatigue weighed heavily on her. Isabel rounded on Owen. "We've pored over every piece of correspondence the minister had in his possession at the time of his death. Is it possible some of these are written in code? Should we try to decipher them?"

  Owen ran a hand through his blond curls and shook his head. "With no key to unlock the code, it would be a waste of time. We could spend years and learn nothing."

  "Why has this now become so important? More than a decade has passed. Why this sudden push for answers?"

  Owen frowned. "I think Tobias is taking advantage of the current situation. The minister's death gave him access to files he wouldn't have seen otherwise. Then Parliament stepped in and forced the dissolution of the War Department, followed by the creation of their own agency, which has led to its share of chaos and confusion. Add your return from America and Parliament wanting my head, and there it is. The right people at the right time."

  Isabel fought the disappointment that hung in the room like smoke in a men's club. "I'm sorry we couldn't find answers. Nothing we found would have brought them back, but it would be nice to have proof of their innocence."

  His eyes somber, Owen stepped close and, with a finger under her chin, tilted Isabel's head up until she met his gaze. "You know in your heart. So do I."

  Isabel shook her head, despising herself for her own doubts. "We both know perfectly ordinary people can be party to terrible deeds. Just because I loved my parents doesn't mean they were innocent."

  Owen leaned closer, and for a moment Isabel thought he might kiss her. Her heart raced, and she fisted her hands at her sides, not quite sure what to do with them. Then he said, his voice full of conviction, "I won't let you carry this burden the rest of your life. I'll uncover the truth." He did kiss her then, a soft touch of his lips against the corner of her mouth, and her hands at last knew what to do.

  Isabel brushed her fingers against the side of Owen's face. He caught one of her hands in his own and brought it to his lips where he kissed it, his green eyes dark with emotion.

  Her breath caught in her throat, and her knees turned to liquid. Isabel opened her mouth to say something. Kiss me again. A throat being cleared on the other side of the small room broke the spell of the moment. Owen and Isabel jumped apart like children caught with their hands in the candy dish.

  Williamson stood there, staring at the floor. "Pardon the interruption, but night has fallen, and I can get y' out of here now."

  Isabel nodded briskly and sought Owen in the small room. He gave her a sad smile before turning back to the man who owned the apothecary shop in which the secret store room was hidden away. How Tobias found such people and convinced them to help him, she would never know.

  "Very well." Owen shook Williamson's hand. "It's been a pleasure working with you, and I thank you for your hospitality." Up until this night, they'd been lodging in rooms above the shop, but on this night they would be leaving London. It was necessary to sneak out under cover of darkness so as not to arouse suspicion from the neighboring businesses or passersby.

  "You two take care of each other. The world's hard enough without the mess you two are involved in. Be safe." Williamson opened the back door of his shop with practiced silence and offered Isabel a wink as she and Owen slipped out into the night. She bid him farewell with a small wave before stepping away and allowing herself to be swallowed by the night's darkness.

  Isabel concentrated on following Owen. The disappointment she felt over not finding any evidence to exonerate her parents was deep, but she forced it away and concentrated on the task at hand. They needed to get out of London, and she was going to have to convince Owen to visit his father.

  She'd wondered over the years if Mr. Loring had in any way been involved in the treasonous schemes. He and her father had been friends and business partners. Because no charges had been brought against him, she'd forced herself to accept his innocence, even if doing so forced her to acknowledge her own parents' guilt. Surely she didn't want Owen's father to be a traitor, did she? Unthinkable! She'd experienced the shame such a truth carried, and she could never wish that on another person.

  The emotional turmoil pulled Isabel in different directions until she gritted her teeth, focused her eyes on Owen's back, and stepped her way through the muck of the alley. By concentrating on every detail around her, she was able to force the doubts into a small corner of her mind.

  ****

  Buttercup and Despiadado made their way south at their riders' direction. Twelve years had passed since she'd last been back to Surrey. She'd adamantly avoided the area while she'd still lived in England.

  Owen glanced back at her and slowed his horse to a walk to come up alongside hers. "Are you sure you can handle this?"

  She nodded.

  "You're lying to me."

  Again, she nodded.

  "You don't have to come with me. We don't have to go at all, in fact."

  Isabel's heart caught in her chest. She wanted to turn and flee, to get as far away from this place as she could. That, however, wouldn't be fair to Owen. Something important awaited their discovery.

  With gritted teeth and a forced smile, she said, "I'll be fine. We're this close. We should at least visit your father. I'm sure you don't get out here often enough to suit your parents."

  He grimaced and looked away. Owen wanted to avoid it as much as Isabel did. Why was he so reticent? Unless he and his family had suffered a falling out. Or perhaps… Was this about her parents?

  "Owen?"

  He spun back and looked at her again, his eyes shuttered. She noticed the dark circles beneath them. She'd been so intent on her own feelings these past weeks, she'd paid little heed to Owen's.

  She tried to keep her voice light. "Is there something you're not telling me?"

  The corner of his mouth tilted up, giving him a sardonic look. "I believe that's in the job description, wouldn't you say?"

  "About your father," she pushed. "Are you keeping something from me?"

  He broke eye contact, and her heart dropped into her stomach. He suspected his father.

  "Com
e. Home should be over the next rise." Owen gave Despiadado some sort of silent signal, and the horse took off, giving Isabel and Buttercup yet another view of their backsides.

  "All right, girl, let's get this over with." Isabel gave the cue, and Buttercup jumped forward, chasing the arrogant stallion.

  ****

  By the time Isabel arrived and dismounted, a bleary-eyed stable lad was seeing to Despiadado. The sun began its daily job of painting the sky to the east, changing it from midnight's black to the purpled indigo that would soon give way to pink, orange, and eventually daylight.

  Showing little care for the time of day nor the breathtaking scenery around them, Owen grabbed both his and Isabel's satchels and marched resolutely toward his childhood home. Isabel collected her smaller bag and scurried to keep up with him.

  "Owen, slow down."

  He didn't.

  "For pity's sake, Owen, wait for me."

  She might as well have not spoken.

  "Stop and speak to me."

  Owen skirted the front entrance and led them around the house and down a flight of stairs to the servants' entrance. The second he opened the door, the smell of fresh-baked bread and some kind of sizzling meat greeted them. Isabel's stomach growled — loudly, she feared — but everyone was so busy exclaiming over Owen's presence that nobody paid her any mind.

  "Mr. Owen, shall we ready your room?"

  "How long will you be with us?"

  "Look at you! You don't come around near enough, you know."

  "Are you going to settle down with a wife, then?"

  The last question made Isabel blush. Her hope that nobody would notice fled as silence fell over the kitchen.

  "Och, what do ye have here, lad?"

  She knew that voice. Cook. Not the Lorings' cook, either. At least, not when she'd last seen her.

  "Isabel? My girl, is that you?"