His uneasy mind, attempting to find some activity which did not involve playing out every worst-case scenario of this meeting, began to run through the names and images of all the people he’d come into contact with over the years and worked with. Some he knew fairly well, though in reality he knew none of them in any depth. Others were only fleeting images whose names were long-lost. Through the entire carousel, he paused at each, wondering if he could now in his most desperate hour depend on any of them. There were a few who provided a moment of hope, but in reality, there existed only one yet living who, until recently, might have stood at his side.
One yet living…
“So, you’ve come.”
Thomas blinked down at the voice addressing him, noting he’d come to pause in front of the secretary’s desk in Addington’s office. Straightening and looking down his nose at the small, bespectacled man, Thomas mustered up the last of his pride. “Is that surprising, Manny? I do have an appointment.”
He observed the secretary’s reaction under his lashes, a mix between surprise, anger, and affront. The nickname goaded, the primary reason so many of the agents used it for Addington’s diminutive errand boy. Chester Mansford considered himself exalted as Addington’s underling. At the moment, Thomas couldn’t bring himself to care about the man’s delusions. He was far too engaged in his attempt to remain calm.
The man stood without comment and approached the office door, knocking. From the other side a voice rang out “enter,” and the secretary did so. Long seconds passed, in which the ticking of the clock in the corner sounded with deafening intensity to Thomas’s ears, ringing out more like an ominous death knell than a simple gauge of time.
As the man disappeared behind the door, Thomas reached into his pocket. His fingers sought out and found the small trinket there, something new to him but vastly comforting. Before he left Sarah’s side the other night, she insisted on giving him a small ring she habitually wore. Made of silver, the design resembled a sailor’s knot.
“For luck,” she explained. “I know it’s silly, but I am a firm believer that sometimes we need some small vote of confidence.”
“I can’t take this,” he attempted to return the gift, but she caught his hand and returned it to his chest.
“It’s a trinket, nothing valuable.” She shrugged, avoiding his gaze.
“Strongly spoken, but a lie,” He’d smiled in return, causing her to look up at him in surprise. “It might have been cheaply made, but your father gave you this ring on one of his last returns home. I’d be willing to wager you haven’t taken it off since his death.”
Odd, how that memory cropped up in his mind. For how oblivious he’d been to her existence, he could recall in great detail that moment. The Admiral’s ship had been involved in a harsh battle, the reports of it and its aftermath were conflicting enough to cause a heavy mantle of fear and uncertainty to descend on the Langdon home. When the Admiral appeared at the door no worse for wear and bearing gifts for the family, their combined relief shot through to the heavens and compelled the sun to burst through a week-long bout of rain.
The scene erupted as nothing Thomas had ever witnessed before, and he watched in awe as Admiral Langdon doled out gifts with ease, as though he just returned from an uneventful routine sailing. For some reason, the exuberance of the moment, and Sarah’s happy glow on receiving her new ring, made a lasting impression on him.
“I want to give you something,” Sarah whispered, blushing deeply.
“You already gave me the greatest gift I never expected,” he assured her. Seeing her uncertainty, he pocketed the ring. “I’ll get it back to you, love.”
That had set her at ease but prompted yet another conflict for Thomas. How would he keep that promise? His fingers gave the small metal loop a final press as the secretary returned, then released the ring and returned to his side.
The secretary left the door open and indicated Thomas should proceed. “You may go in.” The small man then nodded to someone and Thomas turned to see another agent enter the room and take up residence in a corner. Reinforcements. Wonderful.
With a nod and the distinct sensation this must be what a man felt as he approached the gallows, Thomas moved forward to cross into Addington’s office. His knees shook and his head swam, but if this were to be the end of him, he would face it with a show of confidence. He refused to let anyone say he’d been a coward in the final hour.
Chapter 16
Sarah sniffled where she sat in the corner of the rented coach, staring out the window, blind to the passing scenery and replaying endlessly in her mind Thomas’ words, I’ll let Addington do what he likes with me on the condition that you and Eric are left in peace.
To her eyes, London had never looked so bleak and gray.
“This is for your own good, Poppet, you must realize that,” Eric’s voice sounded from the other side of the coach, less severe than he’d been in the townhouse, but she still didn’t acknowledge him.
“I understand how you feel, Eric continued. Truly I do.”
She skewered him with a deadly glare, taking some small satisfaction in his flinch.
“But you must also understand that people change. It’s not as though I don’t mourn the loss of a good friend, and I do understand that Sir Thomas’ character, aside from having been predominantly self-centered, had never been in question up until recently, but the fact remains that he has changed significantly since all of this started.”
At that Sarah shifted toward her brother “You needn’t take any pains to assuage a guilty conscience where I’m concerned. You’ve made yourself clear and accomplished your task.” Turning her head back to the window, she fell silent.
“He’s not our concern,” Eric mumbled.
“Isn’t he?” Sarah shot back, her hands taking up her argument and assuring her brother would notice her response. “Are we not in part responsible for the shift you judge so harshly?” She asked. “I’m not saying Thomas wasn’t wrong in what he did. But was he so irreparably wrong that we had to shut him out as we did?” Use of the plural irked, as it had been solely Eric’s dictate which prevented Thomas from reentering any Langdon home, but she held tight to the last threads of polite consideration.
Eric chewed on the inside of his mouth but didn’t respond.
They returned to their stalemate and the monotonous silence, each lost in their own thoughts. Sarah failed to contain the tears welling up anew each time her thoughts landed on Thomas, which was often, and dug into her reticule in frustration, searching out a handkerchief. The harried movements dislodged a folded note from its place, sending the paper tumbling onto her lap. She picked it up and blinked, having completely forgotten of its existence.
“Sarah?”
She blinked up at Eric, who watched her with a mixture of curiosity and concern.
Composing herself, she thrust the note across the way to him. “Here.”
“What is it?”
“A letter for you from Thomas. He said to give it to you in the event of his failure.”
An almost imperceptible hitch intruded on Eric’s reach. “What makes you think he’s failed?”
“He wouldn’t send for you otherwise. He’s tried his best to respect your overbearing, ogreish wishes in hopes of eventually mending things.”
He sent her an exasperated look but opened the letter, scanning it over. “I’m afraid this letter is useless. It doesn’t point to anything other than what I know already.”
“You know there’s a rogue agent, or multiple, leaking information to the French?” Her eyes widened. “Then why haven’t you—”
Eric raised a hand to cut her short. “I didn’t say anything about a rogue agent. I know there’s a leak and that it’s close to the agency, but as mentioned earlier, I possess no evidence to support accusing one of the agents directly.”
“But Mr. Cartwright—”
“Was jumping to conclusions. Has Thomas found anything definitive to suggest otherw
ise?” He fixed her with a meaningful stare, causing Sarah to sink back into her seat.
“No.”
Almost five minutes passed in the suffocating stillness of their argument before Eric again drew breath and attempted conversation. She’d glanced at him during that time, observing the way he shifted position and the index finger drumming out a tattoo against his thigh. She knew those movements and took some small comfort in the proof that he questioned his convictions. Were he certain of his course, he would be leaning back attempting to sleep by now. No, the wheels were finally turning in that stubborn head of his, and her heart made a hesitant skip toward hope.
“When you write Aunt Mabel, check with either myself or mother for additional notes.”
Sarah raised a brow and shifted her eyes in his direction. He rolled his shoulders and repositioned himself into the corner of his seat.
“She wanted me to ask mother if she might like a decorative serving platter.” Eric mumbled the words, appearing to recite them without any conscious interest in them.
Sarah forgot her anger and concern momentarily, allowing both her brows to lift in question as she observed her brother lost in concentration.
“It’s a piece of creamware gifted to her ages ago,” his recitation continued. “Shortly after Thomas began intelligence work, she hung it on the wall in her room as a constant reminder of the great and meaningful work he was doing,” he ended the statement with a roll of his eyes.
Sarah tilted her head at him. “Why in the world would a piece of creamware remind her of that?”
“It’s not the platter,” Eric began, shaking his head. “It’s the fact it came from…” he halted in his explanation, a deep wrinkle appearing on his forehead as he looked away, lost in thought.
She waited an impatient minute for Eric to resume his thought, but he seemed in no rush to do so. When she could stand the silence no longer, she leaned forward to tap at his knee and catch his attention. “Eric?”
When he looked at her, his eyes harbored a barely restrained panic. “Who is it you and Thomas believe is the mole Cartwright mentions?”
Though he spoke the words calmly, he’d taken hold of her upper arms, his eyes boring into hers as he spoke, startling Sarah. “Lord Addington.”
She held her breath, preparing for the inevitable rant as her brother dismissed her confession as easily as Thomas had tried to, but no rejection followed. Instead, he released her, tensing in place, appearing frustrated at the inability to hop up and begin pacing to help himself think.
“Galleyware…” he murmured after a moment.
“What?”
“Where is Thomas now?”
The intensity of the question, cutting through the newly charged atmosphere of the coach set Sarah’s heart pounding. “I’m not certain, but it’s very likely he’s turning himself in to Lord Addington.”
“What?” Eric surveyed her. “Why would he do that if he believes Addington is the culprit?”
Anger resurfaced and Sarah shut her eyes, hoping the movement might prevent her from lunging at her brother and attempting to strangle him. “To protect the two of us,” she managed a tight whisper through clenched teeth.
He leaned back, brow furrowed, caught somewhere between action and another round of questions. He opted for action. Banging loudly against the front portion of the carriage, he prompted the driver to stop. Sarah watched as he leaned out the door to call to the driver.
“The docks! Quickly!”
“The docks?” she questioned as he secured the door and returned to his seat, but of course he hadn’t noticed.
“Tell me everything,” he insisted as the carriage lurched forward, gaining speed in time with the uptick of Sarah’s pulse.
Despite having been inside Lord Addington’s office several times before, Thomas entered as though seeing the space for the first time. He had always appreciated the stark formality of it and the minimal decor. A workspace, unadorned and straightforward. Even so, it reflected Addington’s tastes in certain ways. For example, the massive mahogany executive desk. Quite possibly the finest piece of furniture Thomas had ever seen, complete with ornate carving, a high polish, and, he was certain, a plethora of hidden drawers and secret panels befitting a man working in intelligence.
Behind the desk resided in opulent leather chair which would rival any such decorative piece in a personal study. Thinking back to his recent foray into his employer’s study, Thomas decided this space purported a far greater pretentiousness than the former. One would think the opposite might be true, but apparently the man wanted to let the world know his status.
Thomas instinctively let his eyes rove into every corner and around the room. No exits existed aside from the door he walked in through, and the tall windows behind Lord Addington opened onto a sheer drop, even if Thomas thought he might be able to get past the barriers of the desk and Addington himself standing between him and that option.
An ornamental plant or two decorated the corners, and Thomas noted the same Delft-blue patterning on the tall china vases housing them as he had on the vase in Addington’s home. The wall sported a set of inlaid bookshelves full of volumes on law and case studies in a similar theme to the books he inspected in the study. The books were meant for reference and no doubt purposely selected to best display the intelligence and standing of their owner, but Thomas doubted any of them aside from a select few would not crack in surprise when opening the binding.
“Sit down,” Addington commanded without preamble, nodding toward the far less comfortable chair on the other side of his desk.
“Thank you, my lord, I think I’ll stand,” Thomas responded, walking to the seat and pausing. Addington glared down his nose at him.
“You realize only sheer curiosity prevents me from arresting you on the spot. What possible rationale can you claim for walking in here as though you are not suspected of murder and treason?”
“I thought I might appeal to your sense of self-preservation by allowing you to admit your wrongdoing in this.” Thomas replied with a wry grin, calling on the last memories of his former, confident self.
Incredulity hovered on Addington’s features, erased in a heartbeat by the man’s laughter. “My wrongdoing? Sir Thomas, I believe you’ve gone unhinged.” His mirth died away, replaced by a scowl. “Which will not help your case in any way, if that’s what you’re hoping.”
“I hadn’t considered a plea of insanity, actually,” Thomas shrugged. “But I suppose that’s why you are the head of this agency and I a lowly agent.”
Addington effected a sinister glare which would have sent any other man cowering, but Thomas had made his peace before arriving and thought now only of Sarah’s safety.
“Former Agent,” Addington corrected. “And from the sounds of it, you learned absolutely nothing through your career of bumbling idiocy. Have you not been saddled with enough counts of misinformation and defamation of character to prevent yet another false accusation now that the noose is about your neck?”
Thomas stiffened, recalling previous visits in which Addington continually decried his ineptitude. Despite his determination to remain unfeeling, his mind searched, as it had on every other occasion, to find where he’d gone wrong. It searched even as he set aside the mention as though it meant nothing to him. “On that front, I admit I was surprised when my information turned out to be false. But I suppose we must all admit that information can be forged or inaccurate.”
“On multiple occasions in your case,” his former employer sneered. “And yet you must believe your information is accurate this time, or else you’re even slower than I’ve concluded.”
“I do, my lord.”
“And what information might that be?” Addington sank into his leather chair, relaxing back into it and tenting his fingers in front of him, resting his elbows on the arms.
Thomas knew anything he said from this point on would be particularly damaging, but he anticipated that. Therefore, he took a breath and prepa
red his announcement. “You sir, are personally involved in aiding the French in their efforts to gain information, intelligence, and financing.”
“Am I now?” The man raised a bored eyebrow in his direction. “That’s quite a bit of accusation, Mallory. Tell me, what proof of this do you claim, aside from the fictional ramblings of a man who himself exited this organization under a cloud of near deadly scandal, and a handful of pilfered personal correspondence?”
Thomas failed to conceal his surprise fast enough.
“Yes, that’s right, I know you were in my home and stole the letters from my study, which you no doubt realized are simple personal correspondence between myself and an uncle. Unfortunate this uncle is French, but that in itself proves no wrongdoing.”
With a beleaguered sigh, Addington rose again to his feet and leaned his palms onto his desk. “I really had hoped you might come out of the stupor you’ve been in. You showed such promise when you first came to this agency, but unfortunately not everyone is cut out for this work. At some point a few eggs must crack. All it took was you working alone for a short time to cement the inevitable.” He nodded toward the door and Thomas turned to see a pair of agents enter. They moved swiftly to his sides, taking hold of his arms.
“I take it our meeting is concluded,” Thomas noted. “However, I’d like the opportunity to appraise you of my true intent in coming here.”
Addington gestured for the Agents to postpone their removal of him. “And what might that be?”
“I believe you made a visit to my home a few days ago. I want your word this witch hunt of yours will proceed no further. The young woman staying with my aunt and her brother have nothing to do with my work. I don’t want them implicated in any of this.”
A vicious, feral grin met Thomas’ request. “You think I don’t know that? You’re more of an idiot than I thought. Very well, you have my word if it makes you feel better about your predicament.” Addington tilted his head toward the door to indicate his agents should continue on their way before taking up a stack of correspondence on his desk.
A Clandestine Affair (Currents of Love Book 5) Page 14