The Janus Affair: A Ministry of Peculiar Occurrences Novel (16 page)

“Copper?” he whispered.

Eliza’s brow furrowed. “What?”

“Do you—” but the question stopped abruptly as they both felt it crawl across their skin. Simultaneously.

Above their heads, a soft crackle echoed in their ears.

“Chandi!” Both agents raced for the door.

Over their footfalls, pops and cracks of electricity could be heard coming from behind it, along with the cries and shrieks of remaining Protectors. Wellington’s hand had just touched the doorknob when the final flash blew the hatch outwards. The wood pushed Wellington and Eliza back with a great force that left them gasping. They gathered themselves up and stood stock-still as the door now swung back and forth idly—beckoning them both to enter. At their own risk.

Wellington and Eliza decided the risk was worth taking.

Stepping into the small public bath, they both expected the smell of perspiration rather than perfume as this was a changing room for athletic women. What assailed them instead was the scent of warm copper, blood, and charred flesh. The moans of those still alive were soft, but their volume did not necessarily reflect the amount of agony they were experiencing. Wellington’s stomach roiled at the carnage. Even the ones who had been shielded by other sisters were trapped under blackened and blistered corpses.

Both he and Eliza searched for the suffragists’ sergeant at arms. He felt his hope slip, until a repeating whimper of “They took her,” made them both turn.

Eliza knelt by the fallen Protector and felt her forehead.

“They took her,” she sobbed again.

Eliza shook her head.

“She means Charlotte,” Chandi Culpepper murmured, her own voice quivering lightly as she pulled herself back to her feet. “Charlotte Lawrence is gone.”

Chapter Eleven

In Which Mr. Douglas Sheppard Springs a Surprise

A
fter the shock of Chaz’s disappearance, a spot of tea was definitely called for, as well as a marshalling of the troops. Wellington suggested they regroup at Eliza’s apartments—since they were close.

“But how will we get word to the Ministry Seven?” asked Wellington.

Eliza pulled out from her breast pocket what looked like a modest compact, but his eyes went wide when she flipped it open.

“Isn’t that—”

“Yes, it is,” Eliza said, pressing a large red button within the small interface where makeup would normally be found. A small red light blinked rapidly. “I had Axelrod make me one on a private frequency. Originally it was for Harry. Now it’s for the Ministry Seven.”

“They are creatures of the back alleys and the streets, Eliza,” Wellington said assuringly. “I’m sure they will be perfectly fine.”

“I just need to know where they are,” she murmured.

Wellington chose not to chastise Miss Braun for her unauthorised use of the Ministry’s wireless ETS. The concern in her voice was authorisation enough. It was a maternal instinct that he rarely saw and, he hoped, was not wasted on street urchins. For reason that eluded him presently, this compassion touched something deep in him.

Up the lift and through the door, and there was Alice with her Samson-Enfield Mark III trained on them both. She let out a sigh and replaced the powerful sidearm into her thigh, whispering a silent prayer to God as her leg hissed shut.

“Thank goodness you are all right, miss,” Alice began, relief pouring over her face. “When I received the missive—”

“Have the children arrived?” she asked quickly.

“Not as of yet, miss.”

“Put the kettle on,” Eliza said removing her coat and cap. “Hopefully, we will all be present and accounted for by the time the tea is ready.”

Barely had they sat down in her parlour and Alice put the kettle on, when the doorbell chimed. As a trained agent of the Ministry, Eliza did not jump, but Wellington noticed her hand slip under the pillow of the sofa. Goodness alone knew what she kept in there—but it undoubtedly went bang.

Alice hurried off to answer it, Eliza’s fingers still dreadfully close to the small silk pillow. When Serena thundered around the corner, Eliza stretched her arms out and wide, allowing the small, grubby blonde girl to run into her tight embrace. She stroked the child’s hair, rocking her back and forth while Serena returned the gesture.

“When I saw the red light go off,” the child said, motioning to a small button sewn on the inside of her scarf, “I got scared, mum.”

“It’s all right,” Eliza whispered, her eyes welling up with tears, stroking the child’s hair over and over again. “It’s all right.”

The remaining Ministry Seven appeared, and Wellington found himself taking in a sigh of relief at finding all eight of Eliza’s street informants present and accounted for.

“What the game, mum?” Christopher asked.

“All is well now, children.” Wellington caught Christopher flinching at that, and he failed to understand why. This was
good
news. “It is time, I believe, we let you all know exactly what we are investigating.”

While the children scoffed back biscuits and Eliza silently drank her over-sweetened tea, Wellington recounted the disappearances, the repeated sightings of Diamond Dottie, and what could happen to the suffrage movement if Kate Sheppard were to disappear.

“Blimey,” Colin whispered. “So no one knows what has happened to these birds what’s disappearing?”

Eliza shot the lad a look. “If you mean the ladies that have disappeared without a trace, yes. We have no idea what their fate has been. All we know of for certain is Melinda Carnes.”

“So this is Diamond Dottie’s caper—snatching big bugs?” Eric scratched his head. “Doesn’t sound like her kind of caper at all.”

“Eric’s right,” Callum said, spraying biscuit crumbs all over Alice’s tea setting. “She’s usually all about screwing, in and out all quiet like. Maybe sometimes she throws a blag.”

“And that would explain what happened here with her girls.” Eliza spoke over her shoulder to Wellington. “A blag is a smash-and-grab theft.”

“Ah,” and Wellington returned to his tea.

Jonathan—or was it Jeremy?—leaned over to his doppelgänger and whispered something in his ear. The brother then leaned over to Callum and whispered something to him. “Jeremy says it wouldn’t be the first time a kidsman’s tried something off the path.”

Wellington pointed to the twin closest to Callum. “What makes Jeremy say such a thing?”

Callum shook his head. “No, Mr. Books, that’s Jonathan.” He then motioned to the other child, identical to his brother in every way, to Wellington; but clearly, Callum could see the difference. “That’s Jeremy over there.”

How can he tell them apart?

Eliza’s hand gently patted his shoulder. “I’ll explain later, Welly.” She then motioned to Jeremy. “What makes you say that, Jeremy?”

Jeremy leaned over and whispered to Jonathan. Jonathan then whispered to Jeremy, and Callum nodded to them both. “There have been some capers around town we’ve been hearing about. They all have signatures of skilled cracksmen, but the marks are all wrong.”

“I think, if I am accurately deciphering your street gibberish, you’re saying the burglaries are out of character for the thieves in question.”

“Pretty bright for a toff,” Liam snorted.

“Mr. Books is right,” Serena piped in. “What about that caper at the museum with all them bones and rocks?”

Wellington’s brow furrowed. “The Museum of Natural History?”

“We all had a right laugh about that one at the pub,” Christopher said. He ignored Liam’s scowl as he continued. “Seems that Fast Nate pinched a fancy ol’ rock from the museum, and there we were having a pint with him, and he’s all, ‘It was such a clean mark I don’t remember doin’ it.’ Fast Nate’s more for the manor jobs, you see.”

The Archivist shared a glance to his partner. “Interesting. Perhaps, Miss Braun, we should charge the Ministry Seven to ask about, see if there have been capers going unclaimed by Britain’s underworld?”

“But what about Dottie?” Eliza asked.

“When one crime is out of character, I would believe it to be a delinquent reaching for something more. If what the children are saying is true, this is not coincidence, but an outside hand. Perhaps Diamond Dottie’s, perhaps not.” Wellington turned back to Christopher. “Do you believe you could find out if there are other crimes being attributed to confidence tricksters?”

“I think so, yeah,” he answered.

“Then while the Ministry Seven look into that,” Wellington said, turning back to Eliza, “you and I look at the kinetoscope reels on loan from the Protectors, perhaps dig into that theft from the museum as well. I’d like to know exactly what was stolen.”

“Then we have our duties for tonight, yes?” Eliza said, looking around the table.

Nods and soft utterances of “Yes, mum,” came from the assembled children.

“Excellent.” Eliza then rubbed her hands together as she started to pace behind Wellington. “In the meantime, we should be thinking of getting closer to Diamond Dottie.”

“Infiltration?” asked Wellington.

She shook her head. “No time. I was thinking of a visit to her dwellings. A social call, just without the social aspect of it.”

Before she could continue, the doorbell chimed. All of them, save for Wellington, immediately went quiet and looked toward the door. He sat in wonderment. Did they really believe Diamond Dottie would ring the doorbell before attacking?

Alice returned to the parlour with Douglas Sheppard in tow, a small bag and what looked like a slender box half the length of his forearm cradled against him. They all relaxed—all except for Wellington who now tensed. Douglas’ courageous rescue of his mother—or at least the motivations behind it—still gave him pause, even two days later.

“Good morning, Douglas,” Eliza said, rising and smiling.

“Not for poor Charlotte Lawrence,” he blurted out, setting the items before him. Then Douglas suddenly became aware of his hat, which he quickly removed. “I’m sorry, Eliza—a dreadful thing to say, but the movement is in quite an uproar, and I am even more certain the so-called Protectors can do nothing to protect my mother.”

“Yes,” Wellington muttered, “I would have thought that was obvious at the last meeting.”

He shot Wellington a look, and then cleared his throat. “When I heard you had been at the dojo earlier this morning, I immediately asked where you were. I was so worried, Eliza.”

Wellington watched her earlier demeanour of strategist and field agent melt away.

“Oh, before I forget—” He scooped up one of the trays of biscuits and dumped the remaining few onto an empty plate, then grabbed the small bag which he proceeded to turn upside down.

“
Lollies!
” squealed Serena.

As the younger children dove and reached for the assortment of confections, Douglas chortled and said, “I think we all need something to lift our spirits in such a gloomy time.” He then turned to Christopher. “But you, lad—”

Christopher, who had in fact started to reach for the small pile of sweets, paused and looked at Douglas with apprehension.

“When I was your age, boy, I had already taken down my first big game. A Siberian tiger. I remember it as if it were yesterday. I was armed with a bow, a quiver of arrows,” he said presenting Christopher with the box, “and this.”

Christopher looked to Eliza for a moment and then back to Douglas. He was clearly at a bit of a loss. Wellington, on the other hand, was ready to burst.

“Well, go on!” Douglas motioned to the box. “It won’t open by itself. It will need a bit of help.”

The eldest of the Ministry Seven pried open the box and then froze. The other children followed suit as Christopher produced a long, menacing hunting knife. One side of the blade had been sharpened to the finest of edges, while the other side sported teeth that could make easy work of any tough material. He noticed in the hilt a small button which he pressed. With a sharp ring, two stilettos shot out from the hilt, making a deadly
V
extending from the base of the double-edged blade.

“I’m sure being a child of the street you need to defend yourself and your fellows assembled here,” he said cheerily, motioning to the stunned, silent children. “If that is good enough to help me take down a Siberian tiger, I’m sure it can handle an unwanted thug or two.”

Christopher’s eyes never left the blade. “Thank you, guv.”

“If you like, I can show you how to use it properly. That way, no one will liberate it from you, eh?” He motioned to the box. “The scabbard is in the box.”

“Just what every lad needs,” Wellington said, his voice piercing the unexpected silence amongst the gifts, “a weapon that could either get him arrested or killed.”

“As these children know, Mr. Books, these are dark times. We need to defend ourselves and the ones we love. Which brings me to the reason I am here.” The explorer’s eyes turned to Eliza, and the sight of her, even in her masculine wear, seemed to rattle him. He smoothed out the front of his suit, checked his watch, and then hooked his thumb in the vest pocket as he began. “In light of what has happened, what with the Protectors now without their captain, we need to regroup. We both know Mother will not surrender, but I believe today’s events leaves the responsibility of protecting her to us.” He gave a shy smile and asked her, “Would you care to chat with me about my mother and her well-being say, over dinner? Tonight?”

Eliza blinked.

Alice blinked.

As did Wellington and the Ministry Seven.

“Dinner?” Eliza finally stuttered.

“Let’s call it meal between old friends. The topic of conversation, of course, being the well-being of Mother. It would mean a great deal to me, knowing your mind on this matter.”

Eliza looked back at Wellington, and then back to Douglas. “Well, I—”

“—have reservations tonight at the
Bird’s Eye View
, at six.”

“The
Bird’s Eye View
?” Eliza gave a nervous laugh. She was the only one in the room finding anything remotely amusing. “But it’s close on nigh impossible to get a table there.”

“I have a few connections in London. To be frank, my books have opened more doors than Mother’s causes.”

The man was growing more arrogant by the moment. Wellington remained glued to his seat, even as this little tableau played out before him. He barely noticed when Alice topped off his tea.

Then, as his fingers searched for his teacup, as he waited for Eliza to explain that she already had previous plans for the evening, Wellington watched in horrified wonder as Eliza D. Braun blushed. She actually
blushed
!

“I would be delighted, Douglas,” Eliza murmured. “I can’t think of a better way to discuss pressing issues of Kate’s security.”

“I can,” Wellington’s mouth blurted out. The Ministry Seven remained stock-still, silent as a collection of grave robbers.