The Tavistock Plot

by Tracy Grant

  Chapter 24

  Kitty spent a long time kneeling between the boys' wrought iron beds. She smoothed their hair, breathed in the scent of soap and little boy, pulled the covers up round Leo, tucked Timothy's stuffed dog back into the crook of his arm, sat back on her heels and watched the even rise and fall of their breath. Finally she kissed them both. When she pushed herself to her feet, she winced at the stab of pain in her side. Julien was there in an instant and somehow she was standing with an ease she wouldn't have thought possible. She pressed his hand but didn't trust herself to meet his gaze. Not yet.

  She went through to her bedroom. Their bedroom. Genny was asleep in her cradle, but she stirred at Kitty's approach. She often woke to nurse when Kitty returned late. Surely it wasn't selfish to pick her up. Kitty scooped her daughter into her arms and held her close for a moment. Genny snuggled into her. Kitty buried her face in Genny's soft hair and sank down in the armchair beside the cradle. Genny nestled in for a few moments, then started to pull at the neck of the gown Mélanie had lent her, which had a nursing bodice. Kitty undid the buttons.

  Julien didn't say anything, didn't do anything, save put a shawl round her shoulders as she sat with Genny. Then he sat himself, a little way off. When Kitty looked up from their daughter, she saw him watching both of them as though committing the moment to memory. Their gazes locked for a moment. She almost spoke then, but she didn't trust herself. She looked down at Genny nestled in her arms and drew back into the small circle that was herself and her daughter, within the glow cast by the candle Julien had lit on the table beside the chair. She needed a few more minutes to gather up the tattered remnants of her self-possession before she said what needed to be said. Though first she had to figure out what that was.

  She waited until Genny's head flopped against her arm and Genny's breathing turned soft and even. When she started to move, Julien moved faster (faster than one could see, as he often did) and had a hand under her elbow as she got to her feet. It was easier this time. Perhaps because she'd moved more slowly, perhaps because she'd been sitting rather than kneeling. She could do this. She put Genny down in her cradle. Julien didn't stand beside her as he often did. In fact, once she was on her feet he drew a little way off again. She pulled the blankets up about Genny, bent carefully to kiss her (successfully managing to control her indrawn breath, or at least close to successfully), then returned to her chair to find that Julien had returned to his chair as well. He was watching her with a steady, unreadable gaze. "Go ahead," she said in a voice that was meant to be ironic but came out cracked and dry as old love letters. "Tell me I'm a fool."

  "I don't think you're anything of the sort." Julien was sitting very still, the way he did when he didn't want to betray anything. "You made a series of challenging decisions. You ended up in danger, more danger than you probably anticipated, though I know you aren't afraid of danger. You could have been killed—"

  "Julien—"

  "You could have been," he said in a voice as hard as the flat of a sword blade. "I'm not saying you would have been if the rest of us hadn't shown up, but—"

  "It would have been distinctly challenging." She hunched her shoulders and fought off a sudden shiver. "I admit it." She did up the flap on the bodice of her borrowed gown.

  "We all run risks," he said in the voice he would use to analyze a mission. Though his eyes had never looked quite so dark in the midst of a mission. She wasn't sure she'd ever seen them look quite so dark before. "We're all—you, me, the Rannochs, the O'Roarkes, the Davenports—going to continue to run them in the life we lead. But I hope you remember your children need you."

  Kitty glanced at the cradle and then the door to the nursery. "My God, of course I do."

  "I need you."

  She stared at him. He still wasn't moving, wasn't blinking, wasn't doing anything to acknowledge the enormity of what he'd said. His blue eyes had turned to cobalt. "Julien—"

  "I'm not saying I couldn't live without you, but I damn well don't want to have to try." His light, flexible voice turned rough in a way she had never heard. "We aren't playing at this, Kitkat. At least, I'm not. I thought you understood that by now."

  "I—do."

  "I'm not trying to burden you. Well, I suppose I am, if there's a chance it will keep you from going off into danger without proper backup."

  Kitty's fingers tightened on the shawl he had put round her. "I didn't know I needed backup."

  "Precisely."

  She sat back in her chair. "Why the devil were you following me?" Nothing like an attack when one needed to defend oneself.

  Julien shifted in his chair. "Call me an overprotective fool, but I was concerned. And I wanted to know what you were doing."

  She kept her gaze on his face, on firmer ground now. "You didn't ask me."

  "You didn't tell me."

  "No, but—"

  Julien gripped the arms of his chair as though about to get up, then sat back. "I'm not used to this. I'm not used to being a—partner. I was trying not to interfere, but to be there if you needed me."

  "It didn't occur to you that you might blunder into something?" The words came out faster and sharper than she intended.

  "When have you ever known me to blunder into anything?"

  She tugged at the shawl. "You have a point. Possibly. But if you're trying to share my life, this is hardly the way—"

  "Sharing's an interesting word." Julien folded his arms over his chest.

  "Meaning I haven't been doing enough of it? We're both going to have secrets, Julien. We knew that going into—whatever this is. It was always going to be one of the challenges."

  "And a challenge I'm woefully unprepared to meet." His mouth twisted with what might have been acknowledgment or bitterness or regret. Or all three. "Fair enough. You made me no promises."

  "Lewis and I weren't—"

  "You needn't explain."

  "I needed a story to account for things to Malcolm." She found herself leaning forwards, willing him to believe her. "That one was a bit obvious, but it was the first that came to mind and it had the merit of rousing Malcolm's chivalrous instincts so he was less likely to talk."

  "Practical. Not, as I said, that you've ever made promises to avoid such behavior. Or that I have. It's always more awkward in reality than in theory, but I imagine we could get past it if we had to."

  For some reason her breath had tangled up in her throat. "I wouldn't—"

  "No need to make promises now, sweetheart. In fact, much better not to do so. As you pointed out, we don't owe each other anything. Including the truth."

  And yet, when she'd lied to him, she'd felt more conflicted than she had any intention of admitting. Kitty regarded him, holding the shawl about her with taut fingers. "It wasn't my story to share."

  Julien leaned back, hands braced on the chair. "I can see that. And we never agreed to share—anything."

  "They weren't my secrets. It didn't seem fair to ask you to keep them."

  He nodded. "Though one way and another we keep a fair number of each other's secrets."

  Her son's parentage. Julien's very identity. "Personal secrets." Her fingers tightened on her elbows. "This was my risk to run."

  He gave a faint smile that somehow had the bleakness of a wasteland. "I'm no stranger to running risks."

  "Spain's my fight. Not yours."

  Julien raised a brow. "I've been known to help fight your fights. I think I've been rather useful at times."

  "You've saved my life, and furthered my cause, and protected my comrades more than once. Including tonight. But I didn't want to presume."

  "Thoughtful." He watched her a moment longer. "Though you've been quick enough to ask for help in the past."

  "You have enough you're dealing with on your own. You haven't asked for my help with the League. At least, not with most of it."

  "A good point."

  She watched him. "Surely you didn't think I could have been working for the League. Or for Carfax
again—"

  "No. Not without some extraordinary circumstances. It was different during the war. Britain was your ally and Carfax ran British intelligence." He hesitated. "I know you make your own choices. I was trying to stay out of your way."

  "Not entirely."

  "Call it the urge to meddle. Or call it concern." Suddenly, he was kneeling in front of her, so close she could feel the warmth of his breath. "I'm not going anywhere, Kitty. It's your own business what dangers you rush into. But I'm here beside you."

  She continued to watch him. Her own breath was still bottled up in her throat. "It's always going to be like this, Julien. I can't stay on the sidelines. I get tangled up in things. I choose to tangle myself up in things. I seek out fights if they don't find me."

  "I know." His gaze moved over her face in that odd way it sometimes did that was like a caress. "It keeps life interesting."

  "But I'll always have secrets."

  "My darling. Do you imagine I won't?"

  "You've never been driven the way I am, Julien."

  "Meaning I haven't been committed enough to anything to run crazy risks for it? It's a fair point. I used to wonder at the trouble Mélanie and O'Roarke got themselves into over their beliefs. And then Malcolm. Possibly the worst of the three of them."

  "But Malcolm draws personal lines I don't. You're always going to wonder about me, Julien."

  "I hope so. I'd hate for you to get boring."

  "Julien, even I recognize the importance of trust in a—"

  "In a relationship? Is that what this is?"

  "You know perfectly well that we aren't—" She broke off, because it was so hard to articulate what they were and what they weren't.

  "Just because you can get by on your own doesn't mean you have to." Julien closed the rest of the distance between them and took her in his arms, his breath warm against her hair.

  She buried her face in the warmth of his shoulder. "We're not—"

  "Stop fussing about what we're not and start focusing on what we are." He kissed her hair. "Rather happy, among other things." He settled his cheek against her hair. "You can go on tilting at windmills. I'm quite prepared to help."

  "You don't—"

  "I know where I belong." He settled beside her in the chair, holding her against him. "I don't have any desire to be anywhere else."

  Kitty pulled back and looked at him. For how long? That was what she kept wondering.

  "We've been managing very well," Julien said. "We can go on managing. Whether or not we suit anyone else's idea of what's appropriate."

  "Since when have you given a thought to what's appropriate?"

  "Precisely." He lifted his head, gave her a crooked smile, then put his mouth to hers.

  Kitty turned to look at the head on the pillow beside her. His eyes were closed, his face relaxed in that way it only got in sleep. He'd flung one arm about her. When she shifted, he shifted slightly but kept his hand at the small of her back.

  Edward had rarely spent the night in her bed—usually on occasions when he'd drunk too much to rouse himself and return to his own chamber. Even Malcolm had seldom spent an entire night with her, thanks to exigencies of their time together. And now here she was, used to Julien's being here. Used to the warmth of his breath on her hair, used to drifting into sleep with his arm round her and her head in the hollow of his shoulder.

  For most of her four-and-thirty years she hadn't let herself lean on anyone, but in these past weeks she'd let herself lean on him. On everything from his help putting the children to bed to his help strategizing missions. To his saving her life and bandaging her wound tonight.

  In December, she'd accused them of playing at domesticity. She knew better than that now, perhaps had done even at the time. There was no pretense in Julien's affection for her and the children. But nor was she fool enough to believe that the man who played cards with the boys and blocks with Genny, who carried the children and got up in the night to change nappies, even the man who had saved her tonight and helped bandage her wounds, was the real Julien. Not the sum total of him. For the moment, being part of a family filled some sort of a need for him. It didn't mean he wasn't the man she had first met in Spain or known (in so many senses of the word) in Argentina. Just as her seeking solace with him didn't mean she wasn't fundamentally a woman who functioned on her own. Which didn't mean either of them couldn't enjoy it for the moment…

  She touched her finger to the corner of his mouth. Weakness? Perhaps. Self-indulgence? Almost certainly. But letting herself lean on him didn't mean she couldn't go back to looking after herself. Of course, she'd never meant to let it go this far. And it was going to hurt so very much more than she'd ever thought possible to let go.

  Malcolm closed the door of the Berkeley Square house and put his hat on the console table. A light still showed from the library. He went in and saw his father on the sofa with a portable writing desk and a cup of coffee.

  Raoul looked up with a quick smile. "Making notes of everyone I know of who was at the Radical disturbances on the list. So far, no pattern is emerging. Did you learn anything from Carfax?"

  "I don't think he knows who Alexander Radford is, though I can't swear to it. There was a lot I couldn't say without revealing what we know about the papers." Malcolm shrugged out of his greatcoat. "How long have you known?"

  "About the papers?" Raoul set the portable writing desk aside. "I've had suspicions for a while. I saw Kitty talking to Simon the night of the pantomime opening. I wondered when the first papers were published. I thought it best to know as little as possible." He hesitated. "I talked to Kitty this morning. I suggested she tell you the truth. I think she might have done if you hadn't worked it out first."

  "Well, in the end she did." Malcolm dropped down on the sofa beside Raoul. "I was a long way from actually working it out. Did you think about telling me yourself?"

  Raoul tented his hands together and rested his chin on them. "How would you have felt if I'd told you one of your oldest friends and your former lover—who is also a friend—and a young man who looks up to you were involved in a secret plot they hadn't shared with you?"

  "Surprised and I suppose a bit betrayed. That's hardly a novel experience for me at this point, though. Are you saying you decided it was better for me to feel betrayed by you than by them?"

  "No." Raoul settled back on the sofa. "Not exactly. I was hoping you wouldn't feel betrayed by anyone. And I also thought we could make more progress in the investigation without the distraction of hurt feelings. As soon as you found out, their plans would shut down and we'd lose any chance of finding out if there was more to it than I suspected."

  "You're assuming I'd have confronted them. I might have done what you did and followed them. I did follow Kit."

  "Fair enough," Raoul said. "I may have been thinking too much as a father. Or too much as a spymaster, wanting to learn what they were doing myself. Sometimes I find it difficult to be sure myself. More than sometimes."

  Malcolm reached for the glass of whisky he'd left on the sofa table. "Fair enough. I could remind you that I'm grown up. And that we're supposed to be allies. But I wonder if you'll ever fully accept either."

  Raoul returned his gaze steadily. "It can be difficult to accept that one's children are grown up. And difficult to trust allies. And as we've said, we're not always going to be allies."

  Malcolm scraped a hand over his hair. "I was damnably afraid. Of what Simon might be involved in. And Kit and Kitty. Of having to try to stop them. Of your being on the opposite side. Of Mel's being on the opposite side, perhaps."

  "Mélanie wouldn't—"

  "Mélanie might, if she saw things differently from how I did. She wouldn't be the woman I love if she didn't." Malcolm turned his glass in his hand. "But more than all of that, I think I was afraid I'd learn whatever they were involved in, and know I should try to stop it as an MP but not want to." He held the glass out to Raoul. "Sometimes I wonder if I should be a Leveller."


  Raoul accepted the glass and took a drink of whisky. "Incremental change can be damnably frustrating. That doesn't necessarily make it less valuable. On the contrary, perhaps."

  "You've been fighting in non-incremental ways your entire life."

  "I've seen my cause go backwards more than forwards in many cases." Raoul put the glass back in Malcolm's hand. "We've said it before. People are needed both places."

  "I just sometimes wonder where I'm needed." Malcolm swallowed the last of the whisky. "Or perhaps I should say where I want to be."

  "That's something I can't answer for you. But I'd have said you were happy in Parliament."

  Malcolm set the glass down. "Most of the time. When I'm not bashing my head against a wall."

  "My dear boy. I've been bashing my head against multiple walls since before you were born. So far, I have a persistent headache and the walls show little damage."

  "Spain may change."

  A shadow of concern flickered across Raoul's face, along with carefully masked hope. "It may. I've seen change. The question is sustaining the change."

  "I'd be happy just to achieve it. I hope publishing the papers will help."

  Raoul tossed down the last of his coffee. "As you pointed out, it will make it harder for Carfax to take covert action in Spain or Italy. Which could be very helpful indeed." He hesitated a moment. "That was bravely done, Malcolm. I don't expect it was easy."

  "Actually," Malcolm said, "I didn't need to think twice about it. Which perhaps goes with my wondering where I want to be." He started to get up, then said, "Father? Did you ever meet Pamela Carfax? Carfax's late brother's wife."

  "I never met her officially, but I saw her driving in the park once on a visit to London when I was about eighteen. She was a beautiful woman. And even at eighteen, I could tell she didn't appear happy."

  "Knowing the late Lord Carfax, I don't think it was a happy marriage. I was looking at a painting of her tonight at Carfax House. With her son Arthur when he was a boy. Something about it keeps puzzling me, but I can't work out what. Carfax mentioned his brother tonight, which he doesn't do often. Perhaps that's why I'm thinking about Pamela and Arthur."