A Tip of the Cap (London League, Book 3)

by Rebecca Connolly

  Malcolm stared at his youngest operative in a new light, surprised by Rook’s maturity and depth, considering the air of mischief he’d always maintained. He glanced over at Fritz, who was trying in vain not to smile, no doubt feeling rather superior at this moment.

  “That’s why you brought him in, isn’t it?” Malcolm asked him.

  Fritz nodded and tapped his pen on the desk. “That’s why.”

  And that was that, he supposed.

  “Do you want a new task?” Malcolm asked Rook, straightening up. “Try to ascertain why someone is targeting Rogue if they aren’t doing anything about it. I have no doubt Amelia would love to have her guard lessened before she gives birth, if we can manage it.”

  Rook whistled low and shook his head. “So long as I don’t have to be the one telling her if we cannot. That woman terrifies me.”

  “That is one of the main reasons I married her,” Rogue growled from the doorway. He and Gent entered, dropping themselves into the empty chairs, looking more fatigued than Malcolm had seen them in some time.

  “No luck?” Malcolm asked, unable to manage any hint of hope.

  Gent shook his head, groaning slightly as he leaned back in the chair. “Nothing yet, but I just sent more scouts out, and they’ll report back soon.”

  “My assets will report after nightfall,” Rogue sighed, shutting his eyes and stretching out his legs as if to sleep. “They’re not half so respectable as Gent’s, but they should be useful.”

  Malcolm stared at them both, then looked at Fritz and Rook as well. “So, we can only wait.”

  He received blank looks in return.

  “We’ve been over the letters,” Rogue reminded him.

  “And interviewed everyone we know,” Gent added.

  “I’ve been to more parties than a debutante, and the traitors are boring,” Rook said with a yawn.

  Fritz shrugged and looked at him with a helpless expression. “We are doing everything, Cap. Even Tailor agrees.”

  Malcolm shook his head, unwilling to accept that. “It does not feel that way at all. There has to be something.”

  Gent sighed and reached for some of the papers that Rook was rifling through. “Then we go over it again.”

  Rook handed over a few, but his gaze remained fixed on Malcolm. “I’m surprised you came back up here, Cap, when there was nothing to tell, and not much happening since. Tired of the country, are you?”

  Malcolm slowly looked up at him, a warning look brewing. “There is work to be done, and I am here to do it.”

  Rook pursed his lips a little, then gestured to his companions. “It is odd, though, isn’t it?”

  “I thought so,” Gent murmured absently, pretending to look at papers, but glancing up at him.

  “I remember someone telling him to go home to Beth and stay there,” Rogue grunted, his eyes still closed, though apparently not asleep.

  Fritz eyed Malcolm cautiously. “Don’t pry, gentlemen,” he warned.

  At that, Rogue opened his eyes and regarded Fritz with raised brows. “I’m not a gentleman.” He looked at the others. “Any gentlemen in here?”

  Gent raised a hand reluctantly. “Guilty.”

  Rook snorted a laugh and looked back to Malcolm. “You haven’t written Beth once since you’ve been here, have you? Unless you’ve done so at home.”

  “There’s not been time to properly correspond with anyone,” Malcolm grumbled, returning to his papers.

  “I’ve written Amelia regularly, in spite of everything,” Rogue replied with a raised finger. “And I’m not half as sentimental as you.”

  “I send notes to Margaret, particularly if I’m not coming home,” Gent brought up.

  Fritz stayed resolutely silent, but he did have a small smile that told Malcolm everything he needed to know.

  Malcolm swung his gaze back to Rook. “And you?”

  He shrugged. “I have no wife, but I did write my mother last week, for what that’s worth.” He tilted his head and looked almost thoughtful. “There’s always time for that, unless we’re undercover, which we are not. Surely your children…”

  “Can we please get back to work?” Malcolm interrupted sharply. “Or at least pretend to respect the fact that I am your senior officer in this endeavor and give me the decency of privacy in my personal affairs?”

  The outburst surprised them all, he knew, but he couldn’t help it.

  He missed his wife and children fiercely, and he was too ashamed to write any of them. To have his personal failings addressed while his professional world teetered on the brink of disaster was too much, and absolutely not to be borne when he had the authority to change the topic.

  Rook dropped his feet to the ground and looked serious again. “This is no matter of disrespect, Cap. We have nothing but respect for you, and loyalty. You cannot blame us for being concerned, and your current madness is detracting from your ability to work this properly. Get your head on straight, Cap, or go back home and fix things.”

  That was the second surprise of the day where Rook was concerned, and Malcolm sat back in a sort of awe. Then he glowered and looked at Fritz, who was smirking by now. “And that is why as well?”

  Fritz nodded slowly, his smirk growing. “That is why.” Then he shrugged a little. “And I think it is quite good advice myself, as your own senior officer.”

  That sobered Malcolm, and he went back to the papers to hide the guilt he knew would be in his eyes. “Let’s take a step back, shall we?” he announced with a sharp clearing of his throat. “What do we absolutely know for certain? Not suspect, but know.”

  There had never been a more maddening project in his entire life, and Malcolm had lived through quite a few things.

  Six weeks he had been in London, and not a blasted thing to show for it.

  More letters had been intercepted, and more messages discovered within, but every one of them had led to nothing. They had looked for a code within the code, wondering if Rogue was not referring to their colleague but to someone else entirely. Every word had been gone over at least twice, and all seemed very straightforward, but still, there was nothing. The operatives they’d pulled into their troubles from other offices were growing restless and bored, and he couldn’t blame them.

  He would have been bored if he were not so frantic.

  None of his operatives, or their assets, were permitted to go anywhere alone, though in truth, it would have been simple enough for a determined group to do away with two instead of one, should they have wished it. But as yet, they had not seen any evidence of intent to harm. The street children had been pulled back to less treacherous tasks, which they were not pleased with, but with so much at stake and so much unknown, none of the League were willing to take any risks. Rook had abandoned his minding of traitors, giving it all back to Gent for the time being, and had proven surprisingly useful in assisting Rogue with the investigations in their less respectable realms.

  But even that was not providing results.

  Malcolm didn’t know what else to do. The information they had was from the correct individuals but seemed to be a misdirection. Yet, the letters still came and went, and there had to be something of value to them. They had scoured every available possibility for correspondence between those they knew to be involved, and nothing except these letters passed.

  Fritz had offered them to three different code breakers in their ranks, and all had come back with the same answers.

  The sensation of running at full speed and not gaining any ground was becoming something of a normal state of late, and Malcolm hated it.

  He’d kept to the most reserved schedule as possible in London, staying away from the family home in favor of his more secretive lodgings, and so far, it seemed to be working. No one seemed to know that Lord Montgomery was in London, and no invitations had been extended from any quarter. Not that he’d have been able to accept any invitations, nor did he want to, but he was at least settled in the notion that his presence had gone th
us far unnoticed.

  It was about the only thing that settled him.

  No word had come from Beth. Not a single line. To be perfectly fair, he hadn’t written her either, though he had written the children, and he wasn’t sure what he’d expected. That apology he had meant to send off had proven impossible to formulate, given the sheer volume of things for which he needed to apologize, and the fact that all he really wanted to do was hold her in his arms and tell her that he loved her.

  He really ought to have done that before leaving.

  Perhaps not the day that he’d yelled at her for keeping the restoration of her sight from him, but sometime before that. She ought to have known that he loved her. That she consumed his thoughts… his dreams… his future.

  She was the answer to every question, even the ones he had not known to ask. He needed her, far more than she could ever need him, no matter the circumstance. He needed her to survive this life he’d chosen to live, and the separation from her was only driving him further into darkness. She was the light that could make all this bearable, and he’d attempted to snuff it out.

  He didn’t deserve her, and never would, but it would not stop him from trying. If she could forgive him, there might be a chance that he had not lost the opportunity to make her love him in return. She was such a sweet, caring person, that she could undoubtedly love anybody if she put her mind to it.

  He didn’t want her to love him like anybody else. He was just selfish enough to want all her heart and all her love for him alone. And until he saw her again, there wasn’t anything he could do about it. A letter would not be nearly good enough and seemed a complete waste of paper and time to attempt.

  The best he could do under the circumstances was a weak “Give Bitsy plenty of love and affection,” in his letter to Jane.

  If Beth read it, perhaps she would understand…

  But perhaps not.

  “Cap, you look like you need a drink.”

  He looked up from his desk blearily, surprised at the sight of Hal in his office doorway in a proper, if plain, walking ensemble of a buttery tan that only enhanced her fair features. He wasn’t used to seeing her in anything but her plain muslin dresses surrounded by books and sketches, spectacles precariously perched or slightly askew.

  This was a rare sight altogether.

  She was a peculiar woman; too young to be a spinster, yet determined to live as one. She was the most talented artist he had ever met and frequently was used for character sketches in their investigations. He didn’t know the whole of her story, but she had been adopted by all branches of covert operations and was under more protection than anyone in England, saving only the royal family.

  As far as he knew, however, she had only ventured to their offices a handful of times. And never recently.

  He rose quickly, belatedly forgetting his manners. “Hal. This is a surprise.”

  She smirked a little, bobbing a slight curtsey. “I should think so. It’s been ages since I’ve been here, and yet the dirt is still the same. Callie must not be particularly adept at her job.”

  Malcolm managed a smile, recalling that Hal had never managed to stave off her impertinence, which made her a favorite with his men. “She is busy at the moment, and I’d rather have her where she is than tending to us odious fellows who live and work in this squalor.”

  Hal grinned outright and sat herself down in a chair without invitation. “I always forget how well-spoken you are, Cap. I deal with Rogue and Gent more than you, but you are quite simply a cut above the rest.”

  He chuckled warmly and inclined his head. “You are too kind, Hal, which I know means you want something, and at this moment I am more than inclined to oblige you.” He sat down and folded his hands atop his desk. “How may I be of assistance?”

  He was surprised to see the calculating expression on her fair features, her eyes narrowed a little, but not at him.

  “Hal?” Malcolm prodded gently, forgoing his amusement.

  “I have something,” she said slowly, still not meeting his gaze. “And I don’t know if it will mean anything to any of you, but considering how frantic everyone has been these days, I wonder if I shouldn’t have said something sooner.”

  It wasn’t like Hal to be hesitant, and definitely not like her to hide anything, which meant the combination of the two set Malcolm’s hair on end, all senses alert.

  “What do you have, Hal?”

  Her eyes raised to his, and he saw her hesitation. “I should have come sooner,” she said again.

  He gave her the most of a smile he could manage. “You didn’t know. I relieve you of guilt or blame. Officially, if you like.”

  Hal’s mouth curved gently, and she reached into her equally plain reticule and pulled out a letter. “I received this letter perhaps a week ago. Likely more. It is not dated, so I cannot say when it was written. You’ll likely recognize the hand.”

  Malcolm took it and scanned the lines at once. He did recognize it. The hand was that of Hal’s brother, widely believed by the public to be a reckless reprobate who only cared for his twin sister, and occasionally those he had served with during the army days of his youth.

  Under Malcolm’s command.

  Now he operated under the name of Trick and was one of the most deeply-seated operatives in all of England, answerable to a very select few. He was one of the most brilliant minds Malcolm had ever known, and the most capable operative of his generation, including Malcolm’s own men.

  “Most of the letter is very droll,” Hal was saying, coming over to him. “Just a bit of politeness and nonsense, as per usual. But this seemed out of place, even for him, and while it didn’t strike me at first, I wondered…”

  She pointed at the last few lines, and Malcolm’s eyes obediently followed.

  Thank you for tending my favorite scoundrel while I’m away. I know he can be a nuisance, but the poor dog must know that not everything is about him. You are too like our mother, you know. Perhaps you will meet a fine gentleman, or even a captain, who will see reason and find the hidden truths to save us from our lives of boredom. Who knows, perhaps we may all go to Egypt and see those great wonders everybody makes a fuss about.

  Malcolm sat back a little, then peered up at Hal. “Tell me you’re not actually tending a dog.”

  Hal’s smile became tight. “I’m not actually tending a dog. And the only scoundrels I know come from this office.”

  Rogue. “It’s not all about him…” Malcolm murmured, returning to the letter.

  “He’ll be so disappointed.” Hal pointed out a word further down. “He knows how I feel about soldiers. This should be painfully obvious with that in mind.”

  Captain. And just before that, gentleman.

  See reason. Find the hidden truths.

  “Your mother?” Malcolm inquired, already getting to his feet.

  “I look and act nothing like her, but…” Hal wrinkled up her nose in a hint of a wince. “She was French.”

  Malcolm swore and barked for one of the clerks to send for the others, wherever they might have been, and turned to apologize for his words, but Hal was already copying the paragraph from the letter onto fresh parchment.

  “Save it,” she barked, all business now. “I know where you’re going, and if I know Trick, he already warned Sphinx.”

  Rogue appeared in a moment, looking startled. “I was just coming back, what is it?”

  Malcolm showed him the letter, which Rogue quickly scoured. His brows rose in surprise, then he looked at Hal with blinding admiration. “Hal, if you were closer, I would kiss you.”

  She looked up from the desk with a grin. “Thank the Lord I am all the way over here, then.” She straightened and exchanged her paper for the original. “Go on ahead. I’ll tell Gent and Rook. Weaver already knows, I saw him on my way in.”

  Malcolm took Hal’s hand and kissed it quickly. “We owe you greatly.”

  “Immensely,” Rogue agreed.

  Hal gave them a crook
ed smile that looked very much like her twin’s. “I shall hold you to it once all of this is over.” She nudged her head towards the door. “Off with you both, and don’t forget whatever Sphinx needs. You know how he gets.” She rolled her eyes dramatically.

  That was odd, even for Hal. She wouldn’t know Sphinx well enough to get a decent read on him, and he was far too reserved to have provoked her often. But there was no time to dwell on that. This was the first lead they’d had in months, and he was not about to waste it.

  Rogue took up the pile of letters and shoved them into his satchel, then followed Malcolm out of the offices.

  It was not far to Bow Street, where Sphinx operated as a Runner, as far as anybody knew. Fritz was already there, in his usual position as a highly respected diplomat, requesting the assistance of Mr. Pratt.

  Malcolm and Rogue kept to the other side of the street until Fritz exited, and then they followed at a safe distance until they reached Fritz’s residence. Using the servant’s entrance, they found their way up to the study, where Fritz and Sphinx were already situated.

  Sphinx appraised them with sober eyes, though there was a light of excitement in them. “I hear you have something for me. I wondered what Trick was talking about, but he’s never led me astray before.”

  “Nor will he now,” Malcolm assured him. He nodded at Rogue, who pulled the letters out and handed them to Sphinx.

  He thumbed through them quickly, nodding carefully. “Clever. Very, very clever.”

  “What’s clever?” Fritz asked, leaning forward and creasing his silk waistcoat.

  “A double-coded message.” Sphinx smiled a little, seeming impressed. “That explains why you couldn’t break it.”

  “Not for want of trying,” Rogue muttered.

  Sphinx glanced at him, his grey eyes without rancor. “That’s not a criticism, Rogue. I know your skills. And none of the others could, either. This is no easy task.”