The Janus Affair: A Ministry of Peculiar Occurrences Novel (24 page)

“Oh dearie, that stain isn’t going to come out,” Dottie chided.

Eliza motioned to both their dresses. “Seems to be a new fashion, doesn’t it?”

Dottie looked down at her stained, destroyed outfit. “You’ll be getting a bit more than the cleaning bill.”

“Mud stains, I have no doubt. Blood stains though . . .”

Dottie clicked her tongue while cocking the pistol. “I can replace the carpet.”

Eliza felt around for some kind of shield and saw a tea service set out for later use. She swept her hand across the serving dish, sending the cups off in one direction while she held up the tray. The bullet slammed hard against the metal but stopped there. Eliza immediately threw the tray at Dottie, its edge connecting nicely with that annoying protrusion commonly known as the funny bone. The shock caused Dottie to release her gun.

In the brief time before the tray struck the taller woman and Dottie looked up from where she dropped the gun, the Ministry agent was on top of her.

Eliza’s fist came down from a high angle, the coffee table supplying ample altitude, which she needed to compensate for Dottie’s height. Her brief descent helped with the fist’s momentum but instead of the temple, she caught Dottie’s jaw, driving her down and away from where she was landing.

“I’ll give you this, dearie,” Dottie groaned, catching herself on the back of a couch and giving a begrudging nod, “you do know how to punch.”

“From you,” Eliza said, stepping back to assure herself a good stance, “I’m taking that as a compliment.”

The tall woman’s signature, a row of thick gold rings studded with diamonds on each hand, caught a glint of sunlight. If she were to land a punch with that anywhere on her person, it would turn flesh into minced meat. When Dottie’s left hand came around, Eliza grabbed her forearm and slipped underneath the attack. Dottie’s greater reach could threaten to catch her, so Eliza drove her elbow deep into the woman’s ribs. The punch intended to return the gesture of Dottie’s earlier kick merely caught the woman off balance.

With a hard shove, she bent Dottie over the small end table where she had fetched the gun. Eliza twisted as she lifted, but kept her eyes on the table as well as Dottie. This house offered too many surprises for her liking.

“You’re my kind of lady.” She chuckled. Eliza wrenched the arm harder, but Dottie still laughed. “It happens that I’ve got some openings in my gang, thanks to you.”

“That’s enough, Dottie!” Eliza hissed into her ear. “Where are they?”

“Where are who?”

“The suffragists! Where are they,” and she leaned in even closer, “and why do you want Kate Sheppard so badly?”

“Oh dearie,” the woman purred, “you shouldn’t have done that.”

“Done what?”

“Leaned into me,” she said with a slight gasp. “Now
you’re
off balance.”

Dottie then turned into her trapped arm, teetering Eliza further forward as she pushed hard against the table. The agent stumbled back, fists up, as her opponent whirled about and charged. A wild left hook cut the air in front of Eliza, followed by another right hook that she batted away. At least Dottie was angry enough. Perhaps that would serve her when another opportunity presented itself.

Eliza shuffled back. In fact that was all she felt like she was doing. By the gods, Dottie was tall!

“Come on, just a step or two closer,” she taunted, slowly circling with Eliza to one side. “For someone who fights like you, retreating wouldn’t be your style.”

“And wind up like your other dance partners?” Eliza said with a tiny laugh now peppering her own words. “Unlikely.”

Dottie glanced at her fists, the tightly clenched fingers sporting the finest specimens of diamonds and sapphires.

Eliza lowered her guard only by an inch. “I’m going to ask again—”

“You can keep asking, but whatever makes you think I would tell you anything?”

“Is that how you want to play this little game then?” Eliza countered.

“Right now I’m following your lead, dearie.” Dottie’s gaze darkened. “At least, I was.”

Dottie took one step—one confident, wide step forward—and Eliza’s wrist disappeared in the woman’s two-handed grasp. Damn that reach! Far longer than she had anticipated. Eliza found herself flung aside, her knee and foot catching a couch that she landed on hard, causing both it and her to tumble forward. She rolled back up to her feet and reassumed her defensive crouch, but felt a clamminess creep over her skin as she saw Dottie calmly cross over to her discarded gun.

“This is a disappointing stalemate, dearie,” Dottie lamented, “because as much as you want to know about disappearing suffragists, I want to know who you are and why you are rummaging through my place. Something I do not take kindly to.”

Eliza felt her jaw twitch. She couldn’t reach Dottie in time, not before the bullet reached her; and there were no fine tea trays of any sort now within reach.

“I take it,” Dottie began, still closing the distance between them, “you’re not going to tell me who you are then?”

“You sent ornithopters to my house, and you didn’t know who I was?”

“All I knew was that you were some privileged bint what’s taken an interest in me,” she said, waving the gun lightly, “and a rather unhealthy one at that. You seem to know all about me, except for something to do with me and suffragists.”

“Dottie—”

“No,” she said, shaking her head, “I really don’t care.”

The gun reached forward, and she pulled the trigger pulled just as the poker struck the base of her skull.

Dottie’s gun went off, and the bullet did fly, but both gun and bullet were dreadfully off target thanks to the bullheaded chivalry of Douglas Sheppard.

“That woman,” he wheezed, dropping the poker by her body, “was not very pleasant, I’m telling you.”

Caught in the moment, Eliza ran up and kissed him. She meant it as a gesture of thanks, but the longer she stood there, the more her lips lingered.

She also wanted to enjoy the kiss, but something was niggling at the back of her mind. Perhaps that they were in a dangerous woman’s home and that Diamond Dottie was merely knocked out?

Yes. That was it.

“Let’s go,” Eliza said.

Douglas took a deep breath, giving Dottie one final look. “With pleasure.”

The boys were waiting in the foyer as Eliza had anticipated. They may have been of the street, but there were some loyal undercurrents in these children’s hearts.

“Well, that could have gone better,” Eliza huffed as she and the boys burst from the doors of Dottie’s fine home and out into the streets.

“Could have gone worse,” Christopher retorted.

“Speak for yourself, mate,” Douglas winced. “I’m still trying to catch my breath.”

“Where to?” asked Callum, his eyes looking up and down the street.

Christopher gave the anxious boy a nudge. “Go on then, what are you looking for? Bluebottles?”

“It’s all right, Callum,” Eliza said, her eyes also sweeping the outside. “I doubt if we’ll have any crushers to contend with. It’s Dottie’s lot I’m more concerned about. If they think she’s in a spot, they’ll descend on us.” Then she recalled the ornithopters from the previous night. “And I do mean that literally,” she said, casting a glance upwards.

“Miss Eliza!” came Liam’s voice from up the street.

Eliza prided her Ministry Seven in their field training, or at least the training that she and Harry had been able to bestow on them in their time together. They were children, but wise beyond their years. Clandestine operations were best kept quiet, particularly when talking to one another in the streets of London where ears were everywhere.

For Liam to be calling out to her, something was wrong. Very wrong.

He was short of breath when he finally reached her, but Liam managed, “Serena. She’s hurt.”

Eliza’s heart sank. “Serena? Where is Wellington?”

“Mr. Books—” he gasped, took in a hard gulp of air, and then started again. “I told Mr. Books to take Serena to your house. You know Serena and doctors . . .”

Eliza shook her head. “Foolish girl.” She waved down a cab, and then nudged her companion. “Hail us a cab, darling. We need to go home.”

“Back to the secret headquarters of your merry little band, Eliza?” Douglas grinned.

The look Eliza loosed on him in reply tore the smug smile from his face.

Chapter Fifteen

In Which a Fallen Angel Is Given a Hero’s Welcome and Our Dashing Archivist Takes the Higher Road

S
erena had only gotten worse since arriving at Eliza’s apartment. While Wellington had treated men in the wilds of Africa, those were wounds earned in the heat of battle. Here and now his mind was blank, a strange numbness that bothered him. Even when his special talents surfaced, Wellington’s brain was in a heightened state. All sensations were at peak. He could calculate trajectory and acquire targets as if the world were a parchment and he could sketch coordinates, angles, and mathematics in the air around him.

All that was gone at present. Nothing.

“Mr. Books,” Alice asked, looking up from Serena. “Are you well, sir?”

“Alice,” Wellington said and forced a smile that he didn’t expect to be convincing. In fact, the smile hurt. “I am the least of your worries.”

This was entirely different. This was a child.

“You did the right thing bringing little Serena here,” the maid said while placing the chilled cloth on her face. “Considering all the scrapes and bruises that I’ve had to tend to of Mistress Eliza’s and Mr. Thorne’s.”

“So you’ve had some practise on this sort of thing?”

“Not this severe, but you did right, now don’t you worry.” Alice positioned the large chunk of ice against the cloth and Serena’s face. “These little angels often come here after they have been through some rough and tumble, so we always have on hand whatever they need.”

She wouldn’t pander to him. Would she? Wellington rubbed his face, trying to find his composure.

“You have entrusted me with your secret. Continue to trust in me now. Serena needs you to be strong.”

“But . . .” he began, his voice dry and hollow. “I am a stranger to her.”

“No, you are Mistress Eliza’s new partner. The girl understands that.” She held out the wrapped ice. “You are her family now.”

Following Alice’s instruction, Wellington gingerly placed the packet underneath her lips. With the dressings now surrounding half of her face, Serena looked a full stone heavier. The red was spreading across most of her face, and darker hues of purple and black were creeping from underneath the dressings.

The tiny brow furrowed, and she flinched ever so slightly. Alice leaned in and shushed Serena as would a doting mother over a child sick with fever. “It’s all right there. Mr. Books got you back to Mistress Eliza’s.”

She took a long, slow breath, and while the right eye was now swelling shut, the left eye fluttered open. “For now it is just Alice and myself.” Wellington cleared his throat and added, “Liam told me about your concern for doctors, so I did as he told me and brought you here.”

Serena gave a tiny nod. She then motioned for Wellington to come a bit closer. He gave his stained and soiled coat a futile smoothing-out with his hands before taking a place by Serena. Her hand continued to motion for him to come closer. Wellington placed his ear at her mouth and waited.

“Good. Job,” Serena whispered. “Mum would. Be. Proud.”

He looked back at the little girl who was forcing her swollen mouth into a smile.

“Tosh, child.” Wellington squeezed her hand lightly. “You are a brave girl, indeed, speaking for Miss Braun like that. I did so once, and I thought she would skin me alive on the spot.” Wellington looked up to the maid who gave him a wink. “A rather amazing adventure, that weekend in the country. And a valuable lesson learned.”

“Now, Serena dear,” Alice spoke gently, “you have some nasty bruising on your face. I’ve got the ice doing its work, but you must lie still. A little miracle in itself, to be sure, but it’s what you need to do.”

Wellington went to stand, but the girl’s grip tightened on his hand.

“Seems she would prefer you to stay.” Alice placed her hand gently on Wellington’s shoulder as she said to Serena, “A glass of warm milk would help you rest, and rest is what you need. How does that sound?”

The girl nodded, wincing as she did so.

“Very well then.” Pistons pumped and hissed as she stood. “And I’ll put the kettle on while I warm the milk.”

“Thank you, Alice.”

The brass-enhanced maid had only taken a few steps when the door burst open. From outside came a chaotic whirl of people, all of them grim and silent.

Eliza raced to Serena’s side, gently taking the child’s other hand into hers. The agent of ordinance and action looked very different now.

“Serena?”

The girl gave a little grin. “Miss Eliza . . .”

“Shhh, that’s enough from you.”

“You. Should. See.” Serena paused, took in a slow breath, and continued. “The
other
. One.”

Wellington wondered if Eliza’s brashness was countered presently by an equally stronger, less self-destructive force. Compassion.

Alice gave a nod and said, “I was just getting the kettle on.” She started to leave, then turned to look upon the scene. “I wouldn’t say no to some help. Colin, Eric, Jonathan, Jeremy, you’re the cleanest of the lot, do come along.”

The four boys quietly preceded Alice to the kitchen, the sounds of her hydraulics getting fainter until finally a quiet settled in the parlour.

“Did what you. Told me.” Serena closed her eyes, swallowed, and then managed a smile. “Fought. To survive.”

Wellington’s brow furrowed, and he looked up to Eliza.

Her eyes never left the girl. “When the Ministry Seven came to pass, I taught them the difference between fighting to win, and fighting to survive.” She enveloped Serena’s hand in both of hers now, but no tears were falling. Wellington concluded she was not going to show anything other than determination or fortitude in front of the child. “I taught them to fight in such a way that their opponents, if they walked away, would never want to cross paths with them again.” Eliza leaned closer to Serena. “What naughty thing did you do?”

“Bit off. Her ear.” The remaining boys and Douglas all flinched.

He wanted to give Eliza more time. There never seemed to be enough of that when in the field with her. “Eliza?”

She slowly sat up and then her eyes flicked to Wellington. The compassion there dissipated.

“I won’t be far, Serena. I need to talk to Mr. Books.”

“Wait.” Serena gave a little whimper, but she creased her brow and then squeezed Wellington’s hand. “Mr. Books. Did. Good.”

Eliza looked back at Serena, and then returned to the Archivist. Wellington let go of the child’s hand and went to where Eliza had motioned. Instinct was telling him this little chat between himself and Eliza was going to be most unpleasant.

“What the hell happened?” a man’s terse whisper came from behind him.

When he turned around, the unpleasantness increased a thousandfold. Douglas Sheppard was standing near his partner, his hand resting gently on her shoulder.

“I’m sorry,” Wellington asked Douglas, “but I believe I am having a discussion with my partner here. May I help you somehow?”

“The way you helped that little girl back there?” Douglas snorted in reply. “I doubt it.”

“I suggest, sir, you change your tone with me.”

“And I suggest that the both of you stuff the cock of the roost routine before I become testy,” Eliza broke in.

Douglas blinked. “What? You’re not testy now?”

Eliza and Wellington replied in unison, “This is agitated.”

The odd colonial out looked at them both. “I’m sorry, Eliza, but what did I do?”

She slowly turned to face Douglas. “Did I ask you to accompany us on our intrusion of Diamond Dottie’s sanctum?”

“Well . . .” And he stopped, his lips puckering as if he were a fish out of water, taking final gasps of water that was not there. “Well, no.”

“And there is your answer to what you did, Douglas.” Her eyes shot back to Wellington. “What happened, Welly?”

“I made a mistake, if you must know. A slip of the tongue.”

Eliza started, her mouth open as if to loose a barrage of insults; but instead her hand slowly ran down her face, stopping at her mouth. She stared at him over her palm and then, and then lowered her hand as she asked, her voice a thin veneer of calm, “A slip of the tongue?”

“The deception was moving at a pace until our target grew more insistent on leaving. The woman she set upon me had a club. I had a cane-sword. We had eyewitnesses. Not the best of combinations.”

“Wellington, it was a simple operation. Delay her—”

“And I did, but then the plan began to unravel. I did the best I could.”

“You call this your best, mate?” Douglas snapped. He pointed back to Serena.

“Douglas, I am more than capable—”

“As a gentleman,” Douglas continued, “it is your responsibility to assure the child’s safety!”

“Douglas . . .” Eliza warned.

The tall man stepped forward, looking down at Wellington. “How can you call yourself a man if you fail to protect a child properly?”

“
Douglas!
” Eliza whispered tersely.

“Miss Braun!” another voice snapped.

All of their heads turned to where the scolding had come from. The children and Alice stood, surrounding Serena. It appeared that Alice had reached a breaking point of her own.

Alice’s voice pierced them all as a sharp, cold blade. “That. Will. Do!”

Wellington looked again at Douglas, or at least the back of his head. He hated to admit it, especially in front of Eliza, but, “Yes, Mr. Sheppard, you are quite correct.” Both Douglas and Eliza turned to face him. “I did fail. I failed both Eliza and Serena. While I have been assured by Alice that the child will heal, the burden of this falls upon me.”

Eliza’s gaze kept hopping between Douglas and him. She went to speak, but Wellington lifted his hand, shaking his head. “Please, Eliza. The truth is that yes, my mistake put all this into motion. Now we are compromised, and I must bear this responsibility. Therefore, I humbly ask for your pardon and will trouble your investigation no more.” He gave a nod to Eliza and walked around Douglas, saying nothing to the Ministry Seven or Alice as he went to the door.

“Books—”

“I have done enough today. Perhaps in this case, you are best working alone.” He cast a glance at Douglas. “Or perhaps with a man more suited to your talents and particulars. Good day, Miss Braun.”

The door closed behind him, and Wellington made his way down the staircase. Once outside, he took in a breath of air, hoping it would clear his mind.

One more failure to add to today’s list.