Queen

by Heather Gray

  Rumblings swept through the room, but Florid Face didn't tell him to stop, so Owen continued.

  "Mr. Thorpe's business partner tried to take in the surviving heir, a daughter, but Enderly took her and forced her into service to the War Department. She was twelve at the time, and she escaped several attempts on her life during her first year in service. I can only surmise Enderly was trying to clean up the mess he'd made, but God protected her, and she survived."

  "You expect us to believe Enderly worked against the Crown?" The question had a bite to it, but Owen couldn't tell which of the disgruntled men had voiced it.

  "We all know Lysander Enderly was a traitor. He sold England's secrets to the highest bidder, and when he ran out of secrets to sell, he became a killer for hire. His kind is the reason the War Department was created to begin with." The anger from earlier had faded into bitter denial and became a palpable thing, an entity of its own that swirled through the room and tried to choke Owen's voice.

  The men from the House of Lords and House of Commons were closing rank. Owen pushed back against their resistance and continued. "That his father, Charles Enderly, had his tentacles deeply embedded in that selfsame War Department is no secret. I'm sure many of you wonder how Lysander became so evil if he was raised in a home that valued England's sovereignty so highly. The son may have garnered more notice, but I would hypothesize that he learned his ways from his father, the minister."

  "Let me see these documents of yours." Florid Face spoke again.

  Owen hesitated. "No offense intended, my lord, but I can't afford for this evidence to disappear. Can I trust you?"

  The man's face became even more flushed.

  With a sigh, Owen handed over the documents. Isabel had assured him it would be all right. Even if nothing came of the day's proceedings, if her parents were never officially cleared, she would be fine. She'd seen the proof and knew without a doubt her parents had done no wrong. What the English government had to say about the loving people who had raised her no longer mattered to her.

  Florid Face studied the documents, grunted several times, then glared at Owen. "This explains the past fortnight. Now, pray tell, can you explain why you went against direct orders and took an assignment on England's coast, overreaching your jurisdiction? And why you evaded the agents in the area, attempted to keep your activities a secret, and, whereupon being summoned, refused to return to London?"

  They made him sound like the traitor.

  "I was working at a local London bank in an attempt to determine whether or not there was any basis to rumors of the bank funding the French. I found no evidence of such a scheme, but instead discovered some unusual transactions from the bank's branch in Gloucester. Since I was already with the bank, it was easy enough for me, under my alias, to transfer to the Gloucester branch. Establishing the cover for a local agent would have taken too long. So I went."

  Florid Face raised a hand. "Why would it take too long to get another agent into place?"

  "Good question." Owen tried to smile, but either the men had no sense of humor, or his smile looked like an attacking buzzard to them. "I checked into the likelihood of a new employee being hired in Gloucester and was told most applicants wait a year or more before getting an interview. A transfer from the London branch circumvented that."

  Before anyone interrupted to tell him how wrong he'd been, Owen went on. "A handful of families with aberrant transactions had accounts at the Gloucester branch. I suspected they were funding an illegal activity of some sort or investing their money together in a joint venture. I tried to hire on as a bookkeeper with some of the different families and found my way in with the Rutherford household. Viscount Rutherford had recently passed away, and the Dowager Viscountess Rutherford was anxious to have his books in order."

  "And did you learn anything of value while invading this family's privacy?" Florid Face's expression soured.

  The agitation among the members of Parliament had increased again as soon as Owen had mentioned Viscount Rutherford. He had been a peer, a member of the House of Lords, and very likely friends with at least some of the men in the room. After his accusations against Enderly, it was no wonder the men tensed at Rutherford's name. They no doubt thought Owen was going to accuse him of something untoward as well.

  Owen took a deep breath and tried to put the men's concerns to rest. "Yes, my lord. I assume you are all aware of the treaty talks with the colonies regarding the Columbia District."

  Grumbling again echoed around the room. Owen couldn't make out the words, but he had an idea. How dare this young upstart know something about that!

  "Viscount Rutherford discovered a plot to sway the outcome of that treaty. I've no idea in which direction it is to be swayed. Nonetheless, I believe I know the means. Before he could do anything about it, Viscount Rutherford died under… delicate circumstances."

  Earl Pembrook, one of the men Owen recognized, stood and demanded, "What are you insinuating?"

  Owen swallowed. "I mean no disrespect, my lord. By all accounts, he was a good and honorable man. The circumstances of his death, however, are mysterious."

  Color drained from the earl's face. "Murder?"

  "I can't say for certain and shan't speculate at this time."

  Florid Face's eyes narrowed, and his lips thinned. "How convenient for you. Tell us about this evidence, then."

  The earl regained his seat, but it was clear the man had been shaken.

  Owen addressed Pembrook first, saying, "I'm terribly sorry for the loss of your friend and colleague." Then he turned back to Florid Face. "A ship is coming from the colonies, and it has a package of some sort on it. We believe whatever is in that package will be used to control the outcome of the treaty."

  "Have you any idea what's in the package?"

  "I suspect it will be gold."

  On cue, the sound of stunned gasps filled the room.

  Florid Face frowned. "Columbia District has gold?"

  Owen gave a slight shake of his head. "I don't know yet. There are a dozen different ways this could go. The gold could simply be a bribe. It could be from Columbia as a way to prove to England the District is worth fighting for. Or it could be from anywhere else and somebody is going to claim it's from Columbia for the exact same reason. Anything I could say at this point is pure supposition. That package should hold the information needed to uncover the extent and nature of the plot, telling us what the next move should be."

  Murmurs filled the small room until Florid Face rapped his cane against the floor. The other men quieted, and the man in charge once again addressed Owen. "We are interested in what you think of the dissolution of the War Department and the creation of the Agency of Foreign Constabulary."

  Owen gulped. Oh dear. Lord, give me wisdom. "I understand why the Department was shut down. After Lysander… It made sense, and I have no argument with that."

  "And the Agency?"

  "The agency is poorly run. Men who spend their lives handling the political needs of a country have taken over running an internationally active but invisible constabulary of sorts with no foreknowledge of how missions are handled or how agents interact with each other."

  "So you feel Parliament has failed?" Fifteen pairs of eyes bored into Owen.

  "I believe Parliament has much to learn and that it would best be served if it appointed a single member to oversee the Foreign Constabulary, someone who is able to handle matters with calm efficiency, facilitate communication between the different divisions, and give regular reports to Parliament about the goings-on of the Agency."

  "And you've someone in mind for this job?"

  "Aye, I do, but I'm afraid if I tell you who it is, you'll go out of your way to pick anyone but him." Owen wished the words back, but it was too late. They'd flown from his mouth and now circled about the room with flapping wings that sounded of his own defeat.

  Then Florid Face did something unusual. Out of character. Bizarre. He winked.

  Chapte
r Twenty-Six

  "I see you're not in chains, so the meeting must have gone well." Isabel met Owen as he left Westminster Hall.

  He gave her a half smile and held out his arm to her. She placed her hand in the crook of his elbow.

  "I'm ever so impatient, Owen. You'll need to tell me what happened before I perish from curiosity." Isabel was using her best American Southern Belle accent.

  He chuckled, and she delighted at the sound. This man was becoming more important to her by the day.

  "I had to leave the papers with the members. They'll review them before deciding whether any action should be taken regarding your parents."

  She nodded. "I'm pleased they are considering any action at all. They could have scoffed and said it was all nonsense. Now tell me about you. Why aren't you in jail for your work in Gloucester and Bristol?"

  "They've given me leave to complete the current investigation. I head out for Bristol at first light so I can meet the ne Hurlants. I'm to meet with a rural agent already dispatched in the area and work with him on the retrieval of whatever package is aboard the ship."

  "I'll be coming, of course."

  "I never mentioned you, and as far as I can tell, they've no knowledge of your return to England. You can sit this one out if you'd prefer, avoid the attention, and disappear again once it's over. You don't need to take part in this if you don't want to."

  Isabel's teeth worked at her lower lip for a moment before she replied. "Is it that you don't want me along or that you're trying to protect me from gaining Parliament's attention?"

  Owen stopped walking and turned. His green eyes didn't waver from her face. "I want you to have the life you want. Once this is over, if you decide you want to return to America, then I want you to have the freedom to do so. Parliament need not know of your presence here."

  "And if I want to stay?"

  "If you stay in England, I'm afraid I may never be able to let you out of my sight."

  "Hm. Quite a dilemma you've given me." She began walking again, tugging him along beside her. If her step was wobbly or her skin flushed, Owen was polite enough not to remark on it.

  ****

  Owen arrived at the livery the next morning to find Isabel already sitting atop Buttercup, this time in a riding habit of amaranth with deep purple trim.

  Mounting up, he gave her a mischievous nod. "You don't plan to slow me down this time, do you?"

  Isabel pretended to tip her hat to him before she flew out of the livery's doors. She couldn't help but smile at the expression on Owen's face as she rode past him and Despiadado. It was good for him to know he wouldn't get any ordinary miss if he chose to pursue her.

  A quick glance over her shoulder told her the man in question was indeed in pursuit. Feeling lighter than she had in a long time, Isabel threw her head back and laughed.

  ****

  Another night at Chakal Manor. Isabel enjoyed the entertainment throughout the meal. Each time Owen glanced at Mrs. Burnham, the older woman pointed her knife at him. Isabel pretended to notice nothing as she waited to see what Owen would do. After the tenth time, he held his silence no longer.

  "Now, Mrs. Burnham, it's not nice to threaten your dinner companions. Surely you feel safe enough with me that you've no need to brandish a weapon."

  Isabel made a choking sound before bringing a napkin to her mouth. "What on earth are you going on about, Owen? The poor woman's done nothing of the kind!"

  "Why, Mr. Loring, have you been drinking? No sane or sober man would accuse a helpless old woman of such maleficence." Mrs. Burnham gave him a wide grin as she held her dessert spoon in a shaky hand.

  Having her fun, Isabel murmured, "Mrs. Burnham couldn't be more feeble if she were…" An adequate comparison escaped her. "Nevertheless, you're being ridiculous."

  From the corner of her eye, Isabel watched as Mrs. Burnham picked up her knife and made a jabbing motion in Owen's direction. She fought to keep her expression severe.

  Owen set his napkin on the table. "My apologies. I must be more tired than I'd realized to be hallucinating so. Good evening, ladies. Isabel, I shall see you at first light."

  He gave Mrs. Burnham a wide berth as he stepped out into the hallway.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Mrs. Burnham cackled. "Someone's got to keep that boy on his toes."

  Isabel chuckled. "Oh, dear. I'm going to have to apologize to him tomorrow. I practically accused him of lying."

  Owen stood in the hallway. He should walk away. Listening in was beneath him. And yet…

  "Mr. Loring is a bit too big for his breeches, if you ask me. Better to keep him guessing about where he stands."

  Isabel sighed. "He's a good man."

  "Maybe so, but if you tell him all doe-eyed like you are now, he'll know you're in love with him, and where would the fun be in that? Lead him a merry chase, my girl. Make him earn your devotion."

  Owen's breath caught in his throat. In love?

  Isabel's groan pulled his attention back to the room. "I have a life and a job and people who depend on me. Love isn't for people like me."

  "Everyone has room for love, dear." Mrs. Burnham sounded so kind. Maybe it was just him she disliked so.

  "Your husband died in this business. Did you ever regret staying in the job? I don't think I could be married to someone whose life is in danger all the time."

  If he'd had any remaining doubt, it was gone. Mrs. Burnham was clever, calculating, and sneaky. Not to mention she had a distinctive bent toward violence. Owen imagined what the older woman might do should he ever dare call her Pigeon. If he did, he'd have to make sure her cane was out of reach first.

  Owen left his hiding spot outside the dining room door and climbed the stairs to his bedchamber. He stepped into his room, and the rest of Isabel's words came back to him. "I don't know if I could be married…" He sat heavily on the bed and stared at his hands. Was Isabel serious about marriage? She had no one to sign betrothal contracts for her. The choice would be her own whenever she was ready, and he wanted that choice to be him. But give up his life with the Agency of Foreign Constabulary? Did he love her enough for that?

  He waved his hand through the air as if to swat away the L word. He loved her and would die to protect her, but could he give up that part of who he was? Would he even be the same man then? And what would he do for a living? Owen fought down a gag reflex at the thought. Could he face life if he had to become an actual bookkeeper?

  He didn't mind pretending to be a bookkeeper while he was doing so much more, but if he left the so much more behind, what would remain?

  Could he give up who he was for the sake of a woman? Ah, but Isabel wasn't just any woman.

  She was a woman who still kept secrets and who had told him almost nothing about her life in America.

  Owen couldn't help but sigh. Isabel had more layers than a grand dame's petticoat.

  He continued to mull over the subject as he readied for bed. When he finally lay down, he stared at the ceiling. "Are you there, God? Silly of me. Of course you are. Is Isabel the one? My heart says yes, but… I wish I knew what tomorrow held. How can I plan for a future filled with questions and uncertainty? But you've already got a plan for me, I suppose. Mind sharing it? A little bit? She deserves someone who will put her first. She's suffered too much already. What if she asks me to settle down to a quaint life in some small country hamlet? What shall I do with myself?"

  A knock at the door broke into his prayer. "Is everything all right?" Isabel's sweet voice. "I thought I heard you talking to someone."

  Owen grabbed his dressing gown as he rushed to the door. He opened it and peeked out. She was a vision of beauty and grace. "I'm fine. I was… ah… talking to myself."

  Isabel quirked a brow. "Do you do that often?"

  How much worse could it get? He might as well admit the truth. Owen ran a hand through his disheveled hair. "I was praying, not talking to myself, but I didn't realize I was doing it out loud. My apologies for distur
bing you."

  It wasn't much done in polite society. People didn't speak of God. Matters of religion were considered private, and conversing with God ought not be openly declared. Isabel's eyes widened at his admission, but he saw no disdain or reproof.

  "All right, then," she said, a smile touching her delectable lips. "I shall leave you to it. Cook prepared a basket of food for us to bring and will leave out a light breakfast in the kitchen for us."

  "Mm. Sounds appetizing." A rock would be more charming than Owen at the moment.

  Isabel circled away and walked down the hall. Owen closed the door and leaned his back against it, and he knew.

  He would give up anything to be with her. The agency, his family, his identity, his country. If he had to change his name and move to a foreign land to be with her, he would do it.

  He loved her that much.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  They arrived in Bristol late the following night. After boarding the horses, Owen picked up their bags in his right hand and offered his other arm to Isabel.

  "Who shall you be now?" He assumed she would opt against returning to the role of Iola after hastening out of town and leaving Hank without a barmaid.

  She shrugged. "We need to find out how long until the ne Hurlants returns. It may be time for me to establish an identity as Giselda Fairweather."

  Owen's step faltered momentarily before he found his way again. "Working with a partner is going to take some getting used to. I hadn't thought of using you to gain access to the ship."