by Ava Morgan
The female agent didn’t respond. Abigail assumed it was because she didn’t know the answer to the question, either. She asked the agent another. “Have you spoken to Dr. Valerian about this?” Abigail knew that he was the best person to help her fight the charges.
“I haven’t spoken with him. Now, you must tell me, where do you make most of your sketches?”
“At Dr. Valerian’s residence. Sometimes here, as well, but I turned over all the work-related sketches to him since the project finished completion.”
“Did you overlook one?”
“Not that I’m aware of. I kept everything in one portfolio that I gave him.”
Abigail turned as Agent Ford moved from laying siege to the closet to now pillaging her hope chest. Petticoats and other unmentionables, as well as her books, all fell victim to his haphazard rummaging. “Please tell him not to do that.”
Agent Ford dug up to his elbow in the chest and came out with a sketchbook. “Agent Donald, I found something.” He opened the book, flipped through the pages. “Never mind. It’s blank.”
Abigail sighed. “Agents Ford and Donald, I respectfully ask if you are finished.” “For the moment.” Agent Donald opened a small notebook suspended from a chain about her waist and proceeded to jot notes. “We’ve found nothing here to have you placed under arrest. You haven’t been officially charged with theft yet, but this investigation is ongoing. I would advise you not to try to flee the city.”
Theft. Investigation. Arrest. Abigail’s blood pressure elevated with the growing list of words associated with criminal involvement used to describe her. She tried to breathe through her alarm. “I won’t flee the city, but I need to leave this room.” Jacob was probably irate with her for being an hour late. But once he heard her of the ordeal she was going through, he would move immediately to provide his assistance.
Or would he? A nagging thought penetrated her mind. Did Jacob think she stole from him? Did he contact the COIC to investigate her?
“You won’t be going into work today, Miss Benton.” Agent Donald finished writing. “Dr. Valerian is one of the COIC’s contributors, and it’s our right to protect him and the commissioned project. Because you’re the main suspect, we’re suspending you from Dr. Valerian’s employ, effective immediately.”
#
Jacob sat across from the French spy and looked him directly in the eyes. After hours of listening to the COIC agents and the Secretary interrogate the spy to no further avail as to how he came into possession of the weapons sketch, at last Jacob had his turn.
“How did you get this?” He set Abigail’s sketch on the table between them. The agents and the Secretary lined the wall, observing.
The spy, who had previously revealed his communication skills in the form of expletives, hurled a string of them at Jacob.
“Let’s try this again, and if you answer me well, perhaps I’ll pardon your French.”
The spy sneered and made a sound of contempt through his nose. “I do not have to tell you anything, crippled man.”
Jacob crossed the right foot of his mechanical leg over his left knee while he regarded the unkempt man. “ Perhaps I can persuade you to speak.” He swept his hand towards the men along the wall. “These agents know you’re in New Britannia illegally as a spy. Those are grounds to be tried, thrown into jail, and even executed. If you answer my questions, an unfortunate end could be avoided.”
“I work for one of the most visionary of men, Monsieur Emile Broussard. I am not afraid to die, even at the teeth of New Britannia’s dogs.”
“How does one man who’s rarely seen or heard from, even from within your country, inspire so much loyalty in his followers?” voiced the Secretary.
The spy swiveled his head to look at him. “Broussard sees to the needs of those who aid him.”
“He doesn’t seem to be doing that well of a job.” Jacob pointed to the man’s suit and hat. “You could make do with a better wardrobe. I thought the French were very meticulous in that regard.”
“I have higher things to concern myself with.”
“Is stealing from women one of them?” Jacob asked to determine whether Abigail had sold the sketches to the spy, or if he took them from her. Jacob didn’t believe that Abigail would betray him, but he needed proof for the COIC agents.
The spy answered him with sarcasm. “I cannot help if your femme employee is careless with her work.”
“I can assure you she is not careless. How did you take the sketch from her?”
“Her room at the boarding house has a window. I’ve watched her from across the street when she sketched at her table.” The spy smiled suggestively. “She is pretty, non?”
It took all of Jacob’s reserve to keep himself from launching at the man’s throat. The spy wanted to ruffle him. He needed to keep calm and get answers. “You broke into her room and stole the sketch when she wasn’t there. How were you not seen or heard by the other tenants?”
“Why do you assume that I had to force my way into her room? Perhaps la mademoiselle freely invited me.”
Jacob couldn’t keep from displaying his disgust this time. “She would never associate with the likes of you.”
“But would she favor you, a man in need of a cane? Young, but with silver in his hair?” The spy made that nasal sound of contempt again. “You talk about my clothing, monsieur, but I can change my suit. You cannot take the scar off your face.”
Jacob rose. The COIC Secretary put a hand on his shoulder. “Enough. I’d have a word with you.” He pulled him to the side.
“I’m trying to get this man to confess how he got Abigail’s sketch,” Jacob spoke polite words, but his voice came out low and even in response to the Secretary’s unwanted intervention.
“Can’t you see he’s leading you on a red herring? Look how he’s trying to make you vexed.”
“He’s not the only person. You’ve accused my assistant of theft. You brought me to headquarters while you left her unprotected.”
“That’s not entirely true. Our agents were with her. They went to her room at the boarding house this morning and did a search. They found nothing.”
“Now I’m vexed. By what right do you have to intrude upon her?”
The Secretary’s back stiffened. “By right of the agency’s commission. We sought out a weapon to use against Broussard. I won’t have it stolen by his spies and sympathizers.”
“Abigail is not a sympathizer.” Jacob saw movement over the Secretary’s shoulder.
The French spy was up from his chair, his restraints broken. One of the agents rushed at him. The spy pulled free of his grip and made for the door. He shook the handle, then he glanced up at the code panel and wires.
The second agent caught him by the shoulder, forcing him to turn around. The French spy’s body went slack and doubled over as he did so. The agent dropped his hold as the spy sank to his knees and fell face forward.
Jacob cautiously approached the spy’s form and turned him over. The spy’s suit jacket parted to reveal an object protruding from his shirt in the upper left corner. Crimson bloomed around it. “He stabbed himself.”
“Through the heart, it looks like,” said the Secretary. “Where’d he get the knife? He was searched.”
Jacob saw a vent in the spy’s jacket sleeve. He peeled the worn, dirty fabric back to see a pocket sewn into the lining. “He kept it hidden there.”
The Secretary proffered a grim sigh as the two agents gathered the man up. “He knew he wasn’t getting out of here, so he made sure that we wouldn’t get our answers.”
“I still intend to get them.” Jacob rose with the aid of his walking stick. “But first, I’m seeing to Abigail’s safety. Broussard’s spy ring will come looking for her if her address was one of the last places this man visited before he was caught.”
“You can’t go to her. Until the investigation is complete, she’s suspended from working with you.”
Jacob gripped the walking stick tig
hter while his other hand closed into a fist. “I am not a COIC agent. You do not have the authority to suspend my employee or keep me from going to her, commission or no commission.” He took the box containing the weapon. He walked out the door after the two agents opened it and carried out the dead spy.
As Jacob expected, the Secretary came after him as soon as he was through the second door behind the agents. “Doctor, I want to believe Miss Benton is innocent, too. I was the one who recommended that you hire her.”
“And it’s because of her that there even is a finished project. Why do you turn on her and treat her like a criminal when you have little to go on?”
“New Britannia has powerful enemies within and beyond her borders. As one of this agency’s top officials, I can’t afford to give suspects a wide benefit of doubt.”
Jacob pained at Abigail being called a suspect. “If you want to protect the citizenry, then you shouldn’t assume its members are guilty until proven innocent.”
They emerged into the main lobby of the near empty building. Most of the agents and officials had gone home for the evening.
“You’re right, Dr. Valerian. I’m going to get to the bottom of this and see if Miss Benton’s name can be cleared.”
Jacob didn’t have time to hear the Secretary’s good intentions. His only concern was for Abigail, and he was going to her aid tonight. “If that’s the best I can hope from you, then I must take it. Good evening.” He exited the building.
But the Secretary followed him outside. “I’m coming with you. We’ll take my coach.”
“Good.” Jacob rerouted to the vehicle.
The Secretary followed. “You’re actually glad I’m coming with you, then?”
“Yes, but only because I’m in a terrible hurry and can’t be bothered to wait for a hackney cab.”
Chapter 16
Abigail returned the last ruined dress to her closet. Torn clothing and a room in shambles were the least of her worries, but they certainly added insult upon injury.
Her mind still whirled from being accused of theft. So much that she had to steady herself by picking up the mess left behind by the COIC agents. Yet it took forever, and the agents left that morning. It was now going on suppertime.
And she had yet to see or hear from Jacob. Abigail imagined that if she hadn’t come to him by now, he would have come to her. After all, he fretted for her safety for weeks after that gang attacked them. Did the COIC take it upon itself to make sure that he didn’t contact her?
Someone knocked on the door. Hope rose in Abigail’s chest as she went to answer it, only to have the emotion dissolve once she saw who the person was.
“Catherine.” She saw her sister’s tight-lipped expression and relived the angry episode they had in the park yesterday afternoon. Her sister looked as though she was still upset. A repeat of harsh words was the last thing Abigail needed at the moment.
“The landlady told me your room was this way. May I come in?”
“You’ll excuse the mess.” Abigail pulled the door back.
“Goodness, you certainly weren’t expecting company.” Catherine’s eyes enlarged as she entered the room. “What happened in here?”
Abigail shut the door behind her. “An investigation and interrogation took place.”
Her sister pivoted. “Have you broken the law?”
“No, but I’ve been accused of doing so. The Cabinet of Intellectual Curiosities believes that I’ve stolen the works of Dr. Valerian.”
“Sister, I have no idea of what you’re talking about.”
“Right.” Abigail forgot that most people never heard of the COIC. “Suffice it to say that a government agency commissioned Dr. Valerian to fashion a weapon for them. I drew the concept sketches. Now someone has somehow gotten their hands on one of them.”
“Who?”
“I don’t know. I was told it was a spy who worked for a French industrialist named Broussard. Have you heard of him?”
Catherine sat on the bed. “The name may have come up when Hammond and his friends talk foreign affairs, but I’ve never listened much beyond that. I find the subject to be so dry and tedious.”
Abigail began stacking a pile of books in her arms. “But as it goes, this Broussard has an established spy ring running about London. Someone in their midst managed to get a hold of my sketch. The COIC thinks I gave it to the ring in exchange for money or whatnot.”
“Where might the spy have gotten hold of your sketch?”
“Again, I don’t know, and I don’t feel safe.”
“You can stay with me.”
Abigail set the books on the table. “I couldn’t impose.”
“You’re my sister. How could I let you face this alone?” Catherine’s gaze fluttered down as soon as the words were uttered. “Abigail, I listened to what you said yesterday. I was monstrous for casting you out of my home in order to make you see things my way. I thought that after our mother and father died and you came home from India, you no longer had the luxury of living life as a spinster.”
“It’s no luxury for me, Catherine, but all the same, I didn’t want to be with a man I couldn’t love, and know he wouldn’t love me in return. And rather than cause you and Hammond difficulty by supporting me, I thought it best to leave.”
“Well, you’ve shown that you can take care of yourself. I thought working for the Macklethorpes would change your mind in no time.”
“You know I’m headstrong.”
“Your head is as hard as a rock.”
“And yours was forged in an iron foundry.”
Catherine smiled. “I’m sorry. Forgive me?”
“Only if you forgive me.”
“Done.”
Abigail embraced her sister after a year from refraining. It was good to put the past to rest. “Help me pack. I don’t think those agents wrecked all of my clothes.”
“They’d better not have touched my hat. You still haven’t returned it to me.”
“It’s over by the window.” Abigail crossed the floor and went to the small shelf below the window sill. She bent down and froze.
“What is it?” Catherine came over.
“I’ve never seen that scuff mark before.” Abigail pointed to it on the top of the shelf.
“Could the agents have done it in their search?”
“No. It looks like the heel print of a man’s shoe.” Abigail rose and looked at the sill. “The latch on the sill has been raised. That’s how the intruder got in and no one heard him.”
“How could he have raised the latch from the outside?” Catherine leaned in to inspect the latch and test it.
“This window’s always been a bit loose. There’s just half an inch of space at the bottom. The intruder must have found something—a piece of bent wire, perhaps—and forced it through the space to turn the latch. That’s how he was able to raise the window.” Abigail shivered as she realized how easily the spy was able to enter her room. “He could have done this any time in the past two months that I started sketching designs for the project.”
“And more than one spy could have been watching you, too.” Catherine stifled a nervous reaction, but part of it displayed in the tic of her jaw.
“In December, I remember seeing a man standing in full view of my window from across the street. He wore an old suit and bowler. I knew something wasn’t right about him.”
“Where did you keep the sketches at that time?”
“I usually keep them on the table as I’m working on them. The spy must have come during one day while I was out, rummaged through the portfolio, and took a sketch. I wish I knew which one.”
“I can’t believe there’s a spy ring in our very own London.” Catherine shivered.
“That’s what the COIC says.” A chill went through Abigail’s body, too. “Catherine, I just thought of something. That French spy was caught today. What if the other spies soon discover him missing and go out searching for him?”
“This would be
the first place they’d look.”
“We have to leave now.” Abigail drove her hands into the hope chest and found her empty valise. Catherine took it from her and tossed it back.
“Leave it. You can wear my clothes. There isn’t time to waste.” Her sister pulled her towards the door.
They bustled through the hallway. Abigail heard the other female tenants having supper in the dining room a few doors down. She took a left past the front desk where the landlady started to rise from her chair.
“Will you be joining the ladies for supper tonight, Miss Benton?”
Abigail kept walking towards the front door, hesitant to stop. After spies breaking into her room and agents searching it, she didn’t know who to trust anymore. “My sister and I will be taking supper elsewhere this evening.”
She and Catherine left the boarding house and started their brisk walk up the street. She heard the landlady call out to her from behind, but had no idea of what she said.
“I see a hackney carriage on the right,” said Catherine, already flailing her arms to hail the driver. “You hurry and get in. I’ll tell the driver where to take us.”
Before they reached the vehicle, the driver hopped down to open the door. He was back on his bench seat as Abigail and Catherine arrived. Abigail stepped on the pedal and practically vaulted into the carriage as she heard her sister call out her address to the driver.
“I promised him a guinea should he get us there posthaste,” Catherine said, as she climbed across on the other seat and shut the door. “My, but this is the shabbiest vehicle I’ve ever been in. Look at the state of these cushions. And the cloth on the ceiling is practically molting.”
The carriage lurched forward. Abigail held onto the edge of the worn seat. Once the ride became smoother, she settled back. “Thank you for your help, Catherine.”
“Nothing to thank me for. But I must ask, with all these accusations flying about, where is Dr. Valerian?”
Abigail was assailed again with a feeling of confusion and loss. “I don’t know. I haven’t been able to reach him.”