An Affair with Mr. Kennedy

by Jillian Stone

  “Yes, I would expect so.” Her mother washed up in a basin of warm water and scrubbed with a harsh, disinfectant bar of soap. It made her fingers red and rough looking.

  Wiping her hands on a clean towel, Olivia nearly ran the length of the room to give her a hug. “I couldn’t be more pleased, Cassie. You’ve chosen a good man.”

  “Zak and I are not officially engaged. No wedding plans or announcements, please. You must promise me, Mother.”

  “No rush, darling. Mr. Christy seems busy enough, what with refurbishing the vicarage residence.”

  Cassie pressed her lips together and tried not to glower. “Mother, you know the moment our dear village vicar hears a whisper of gossip, he’ll begin his pestering.”

  “I’ll deal with that old badger.” Her mother sat down beside her. “Now, let me see the ring.”

  She held her hand up to display the gem. “A solitary marquis diamond.”

  “A bit over two carats, I wager.” Olivia squeezed her hand. “Cartier?”

  She nodded. “I knew Zeno inherited from his uncle’s estate, but had no idea what a comfortable income he enjoys.”

  “Your father hadn’t a penny to his pocket after medical school. I married for love and potential.”

  She smiled at the familiar statement. Olivia squinted a bit, placing her wrist against Cassie’s cheek, then forehead. “You appear slightly off color, dear.”

  “I spent the trip from Calais to Dover with my head over the railing. I should have come to see you the moment we arrived in town, but we got in late last evening completely exhausted.” Cassie hesitated.

  “And?”

  “And I’m never seasick.” She grimaced. “I believe it was my revulsion over a coddled egg this morning that convinced me to seek you out.”

  “Well, you’ve certainly experienced enough excitement of late to cause a bout of fever. We read all about Detective Kennedy’s valiant chase through Paris streets as well as your own harrowing involvement in the matter.” Olivia swept a few bangs off her forehead. “The excitement of your first continental exhibition, to say nothing of this mysterious betrothal of yours. Dear girl, I was most relieved to read—”

  Cassie burst out with it. “Am I pregnant?”

  Mother stopped to stare. “A bit early to know yet.” The spark of light in her eyes belied a more somber expression. “But then, you do so love coddled egg.” Her mother winked, but Dr. Olivia queried, “When was the first possible date of inception?”

  Angling her brows together, she chewed her lip. “I believe …” She thought back to the Stanfield ball and counted the days forward. “Middle of May or thereabouts.”

  The doctor retrieved a stethoscope from her medical bag, and attached the earpieces. “My word, you two didn’t waste any time.”

  Her mother gave her chest a listen. “Strong heart. Good wind.

  “Are your breasts heavy? Nipples sensitive? More than normal for this time of month? I do take it your menstrual period is late?”

  Cassie nodded silently to all of it.

  Olivia placed the stethoscope around her neck, but continued her examination. “Would you be happy to be pregnant?”

  Heat flushed her cheeks. She met her eye-to-eye, daughter to mother, woman to woman. “Yes, I believe so.”

  “Zeno has the makings of a good father, don’t you think? Firm but affectionate. Strict, yet fair-minded.” Olivia looked as if she might wax poetic.

  Cassie could not help a peevish, impatient sigh. “Yes, I believe he will be a doting father.”

  Her mother’s smallish grin took on larger proportions. “Just a guess, mind you, but I would say the chances are very great your father and I will become grandparents eight months from today.”

  “Is there a test? Just to make sure?”

  “None that are reliable.” She sighed. “I knew in every instance with you children, early on. What do you feel in your womb, Cassie?”

  A slow smile crept over her face.

  Mother patted her knee. “Come, I’ll make you a cup of tea. And I do advise you purchase plenty of water biscuits to keep at your bedside over the next few months.”

  JUST INSIDE THE Abbey, Zeno ran straight into Archibald Bruce tugging a red-haired hound at his heels. Alfred and his amazing canis proboscis had figured prominently in their dynamite confiscations. The bloodhound had recently been declared the most valuable dog in the kingdom.

  “Arch.” Zeno breathed a sigh of relief to see the young director of the forensics lab. The canine beat a lazy tail against his pant leg. “Good to see the Yard dog.” He reached down to give the hound’s ear a scratch.

  Archie filled him in. “We received an anonymous tip late yesterday evening. Melville called us up for duty in the middle of the night. Sure enough, Albert sniffed out nearly fifty pounds of dynamite hidden in the back of the Islip Chapel near the high altar.”

  Arch removed his cap and scratched his head. “Don’t know how they managed to smuggle the explosives in. This morning we covered every inch of the college grounds.”

  Zeno scanned the lengthy facade of Westminster Palace, home to upper and lower houses of Parliament. Hundreds of windows overlooked the Abbey. Hundreds.

  He exhaled. “Can we change the route and bring Victoria in through the park and Chapel garden?”

  Arch drew his brows together. “Expecting more trouble?”

  “Call it a precaution.” Zeno looked around. “Who’s in charge here?”

  Arch shrugged. “I suppose you are.”

  Arch accompanied him out to the front of the Abbey. He conscripted two Horse Guards to ride out and meet the procession carriage with instructions to bring Victoria in through St. James Park and the west entrance of the Abbey.

  “Is the palace closed?”

  “Since early this morning, sir.”

  Conscripting every Metropolitan policeman the Abbey could spare, Zeno directed the men to each floor of Parliament and assigned a guard to every exit door. They had neither the manpower nor time to mount a physical search of Westminster Palace. “Do not be fooled,” Zeno admonished the officers. “Let no one inside, detain anyone who tries to exit. The men we seek will likely be well dressed, outfitted as peers of the realm.”

  The crowd, already ten deep in places, waited outside the Abbey to greet the queen. Guests invited to attend the service were taking their seats for the ceremony. It was a subtle parade route change, but one that bought them time. Everything would appear to go on as planned. The adoring crowd posted around the Abbey would not be disappointed at the unexpected show of pyrotechnics.

  “Rob, this way.” Zeno waved. Cassie’s brother carried a bundle of rockets under each arm. “I believe you two are acquainted.”

  “Blimey.” Arch’s eyes bugged out. “If it isn’t Rob Erskine, my old lab partner from school.” The two men grinned at each other.

  “I see you’re still working with explosives, Archie.”

  “And you—rockets, is it?” Arch turned from Rob to Zeno. “What do you have in mind, Kennedy?”

  Zeno craned his neck to examine the towers of the Abbey. “How do we get up on roof, above the Lady Chapel?”

  Archie’s grin was contagious. “This way.”

  Taking two steps at a time, the men were forced to slow their pace to assist the lumbering hound. Each man took a turn prodding or pushing Alfred, a healthy fifteen stone, up the narrow cobbled steps. All three men were puffing by the time they reached the first landing of stairs.

  “Is the dog always this difficult?” Zeno pushed as Rob pulled.

  Arch paused midstep. “Uh, perhaps it might be best if we followed his nose.”

  Zeno jerked upright and met Archie’s gaze. “I see.” He signaled a turnabout. “Lead the way, Alfred.”

  The hound yanked on his lead and promptly led them downstairs, below the Abbey’s main floor to a low undercroft, part of the old monk’s dormitory.

  Zeno never took his eyes off the hound. “What’s up, old boy
?”

  Sniffing along the centuries-old mosaic floor, the canine abruptly sat down beside a vault pillar.

  A voice echoed from above. “Where the Christ is everyone—you down there, Kennedy?”

  He glanced upward. “Keep coming. We’re a bit lower.”

  Flynn Rhys descended into the vault, eyes adjusting to the dim light of a single lantern. “It took forever to get here. Streets are cordoned off. Rafe is also making his way.”

  “Mr. Rhys.” Zeno breathed a bit easier. Flynn was just deranged enough to be exactly like kind of man you wanted with you on a day like today. He nodded at the hound. “Yard dog is on the scent of something, there may be yet another—”

  “Hold on.” Arch focused his gaze along the curved roofline of the vault. The lab man removed an experimental torchlight from his coat pocket and banged it against his palm. A narrow beam illuminated a small section of the vault. Every man strained to follow the circle of light as it traced a length of wire along the curved ceiling.

  Clusters of rounded cylinders connected by a single fuse lined up along a narrow ledge at the top of every pier in the room.

  Flynn exhaled a low whistle.

  Arch followed the fuse line all the way round. “Tucked up in the shadows quite neatly. Easily missed.” Scotland Yard’s young scientist continued to trace the wire down the length of a nearby column. “I’d say enough of these go off in sequence, columns crumble, collapsing the main floor above, which triggers the sides of the nave to cave inward, demolishing most of the Abbey.”

  “Killing hundreds, as well as the queen.” Zeno grimaced. “How long to dismantle this? I’ve got a number of possible snipers to roust.”

  Flynn’s gaze traced the wire around the room. “Bombs. Assassins. Quite an elaborate plan.”

  “These bombs are either a distraction or a line of attack.” Zeno nodded. “Get on with it, Arch.”

  The young scientist plucked a pair of wire snippers from inside his jacket. “Give us a leg up and a minute or two.”

  “Here. Give me those.” Flynn grabbed the double-bladed instrument from Arch. “Go with Zeno. Should a Fenian venture down here to set this off—” He patted a coat pocket. “I’ll shoot the bastard.”

  Wide-eyed, Arch stammered. “Cut the lead fuse, here. Then for good measure, severe all the connecting material all the way round.”

  Flynn stepped up onto the column base, and traced the wire up the pillar. “Is there any chance I might get blown to kingdom come?”

  “With all manner of bullets flying about?” Arch lifted his bowler to scratch his head. “I’d have to say yes.”

  “Good.” He snipped the fuse wire.

  Zeno waylaid a cleric on the stairs. “It is of utmost importance that we delay the service.” He pressed his card into the young man’s hand. “You will meet the queen’s procession at the west entrance and bring Her Majesty into—” He looked to Arch. “What might be the safest place to hold her until we remove the explosives?”

  “The Great Cloister, perhaps?” Archie did not seem wholly confident with his answer, but it would have to do.

  “Explosives, are you sure?” Perspiration beaded the young man’s forehead. Zeno pushed the cleric forward. “Tell the queen’s guard there has been a security delay. No need to cause a panic. Empty the nave as well. Everyone out on the college grounds.”

  Zeno sucked in a breath. “Right. On our way, then. No time to waste, gentlemen.”

  On the rooftop of the Lady Chapel, all three men spread out across the crenellations and assembled Rob’s rockets. A roar and cheer from the crowds lining St. George Street came from just across the Thames. There was no time to spare.

  Zeno pictured Victoria’s entourage traveling slowly across Westminster Bridge. He gritted his teeth and ignored his pulse rate. “We’ll need to take our best guess about which windows to aim for, but I mean to keep a lookout for any that open as her carriage arrives. Each of you stand ready to train your rockets as I call them out.”

  Zeno scanned the upper-level windows of the Houses of Parliament. “Ready as many as you can, quickly. I want a storm of rockets, bashing themselves against the palace. Let the assassins know we’re onto them. I don’t expect much in the way of accuracy. Pray God one or two actually hit their target.”

  How on earth would he find the right windows? As he monitored row upon row of glazing, he recalled Cassie’s words the night of the surveillance. Notice the dark square at the end of the row. No glare or reflection from the streetlamp directly opposite. Therefore, the window is open. She had called it an impressionist’s observation, one based on the shifting effects of light and color.

  A silvered windowpane slid into velvet blackness. “Third floor. Count five over from the left corner.” Rob lowered his projectile.

  There—another a dark square. Even though the window was close by, he had nearly missed it. “Arch, again third floor. Count … eleven over.”

  “Got it.” Arch’s focus narrowed. “Rob, get over here and show me how to aim these things.”

  Rob squinted at his target. “No time to figure terminal velocity and drag coefficient. Sight straight down the shaft, and aim just below the window. At this distance the rockets should have little arc and plenty of thrust. And don’t let the stake wiggle about.”

  Arch adjusted his first two rockets. “How very scientific.”

  Another roar from the crowd came from the bridge. Both young men lit their rockets.

  Zeno’s gaze never broke away to check the proximity of the queen’s procession, but systematically scanned the massive facade.

  There, near the top of Victoria Tower. A flash of movement at the window—an assassin taking up his position. Zeno aimed and lit his rockets.

  This was their only chance. The rockets must strike close enough to the palace windows to unnerve the gunmen, or at the very least interrupt their operation.

  Two, then four missiles shot off the rooftop with a sharp, high-pitched roar. “Seven, six, five, four …” Zeno finished the countdown as his rockets launched in a burst of flame and smoke and sparks. Vaporous trails of pale gray smoke crisscrossed over Abingdon Street. The projectiles crashed and crackled like gunshots against the palace walls.

  “Hail, Victoria.” After a quick appraisal, he decided one or two rockets may have actually crashed through windows. But would the strikes rattle the gunmen enough to quit the operation?

  “Fire everything you’ve got. I’m going over.”

  Zeno traversed the street under a second hail of smoke and sparks and cries from the crowd outside the Abbey. He picked up a guard at the palace door and moved upstairs. On the third floor, the wide corridor appeared deserted, as expected. A door slammed open midway and a man fled down the hall.

  He removed his pistol from his jacket pocket. “Halt! Scotland Yard.” When the culprit continued his retreat, he brought the man down with a bullet. Another floor guard signaled Zeno from the far end of the corridor.

  A haze of dark smoke had begun to pervade the passageway. Zeno walked toward the open entry. He assigned the officer behind him to the downed suspect and signaled the guard ahead to meet him at the door. Inside, a wall of flame licked its way up heavy drapery. The small fire, doubtless caused by one of the rockets, threatened to turn the committee room into a furnace.

  “Alert the Fire Brigade. Go.” Zeno motioned the guard away. Scanning through heat and flame, he searched for the second shooter still in hiding. A black cloud of haze billowed out of the adjoining room. Christ. A second fire.

  Pistol up, back to the wall, Zeno inched along. At the door frame he peered into the next room. Nothing but a thick fog of noxious fumes. Smoke and salty sweat stung his eyes. Zeno wiped his brow as bullets flew past his head.

  He ducked and returned fire. In the blackened room, he could barely see past his own hand. “Zak.” He pivoted at the sound of a familiar voice. Rafe stood in the doorway. Reinforcements had arrived. He signaled Rafe to go around, flush the man
out from the adjoining office.

  Keeping his body profile low to the ground, Zeno swept through the door and fired blindly. He pressed on through a curtain of haze and found a desk to take cover behind. His lungs burned as they filled with smoke and ash.

  There was a cough, and then another. He rose up to discover the offender backing up to the window. “Throw down your weapon. There’s no escape.”

  Face blackened, the wild-eyed cornered man glanced back out the open window. A shadow of movement through the smoke told him Rafe had crept into the room and was bearing down on their would-be assassin.

  Zeno advanced on the shooter at the very moment the suspect raised his pistol. Rafe fired, toppling the culprit backward. The wounded suspect collapsed onto the window ledge and flipped over backward. Zeno lunged, but not in time to catch the man. He watched the body fall silently to the ground.

  Zeno leaned farther over the ledge to draw a bit of fresh air. Rafe joined him, gasping for oxygen. He squinted. “You all right?

  His partner coughed and gave him a thumbs-up.

  “Nice shooting.”

  Rafe flashed a crooked grin. “Couldn’t see a blasted thing in there. Maybe you’re just a lucky man.”

  Zeno stepped away from the window. “I’m beginning to believe so.” He signaled Rafe to follow. “One more, down the hall, in Victoria’s Tower.”

  A thick haze of smoke continued to billow into the palace corridors. They met London’s Fire Brigade and pointed the way. Jogging down the hall, they found an entrance bridge to the tower. Firemen worked at a feverish pace to seal off the tower and save all the precious records contained therein.

  They climbed several stories to reach the assassin’s nest. Zeno approached the west-facing storage room and signaled Rafe. On his count they both rushed the door. A man dressed in parliamentary robes swung his hulking frame away from the window. He faced them with his rifle pointed.

  “Scotland Yard. Surrender your weapon.” Zeno cocked his pistol and stepped away from his partner.

  Rafe also raised his gun. “Take your pick. You’ll not be fast enough to kill the both of us.” The sharp ache in Zeno’s ears came from a sudden, ominous buffeting of displaced air. A staccato roar reverberated through the room as a rocket flew through the widow and impaled the gunman.