The Janus Affair: A Ministry of Peculiar Occurrences Novel (6 page)

“Eliza—” he warned, rising to his feet.

“And when I closed that case—”

“Thanks to some clever tale spinning from your partner.”

“
And when I closed that case
,” Eliza repeated, arching an eyebrow at him, “I left it on his desk.”

“In sight of everyone, including Doctor Sound who—if you failed to notice—doubled the frequency of his surprise visits to the Archives.”

“What you call interference, I call a fellow agent aiding another. After all,” she said, as her grin widened ever so slightly, “isn’t that our job?”

“And are you telling me, Miss Braun,” Wellington countered, “that this is your intention with Agent Bruce Campbell and his current fieldwork?”

The choked laugh that left Eliza caused him to start. “Hardly! I intend to take some investigative work of my own and present it to Doctor Sound straightaway.”

Wellington took a moment. He felt a chill slip under his skin, and he gripped the arms of his chair as he sat back down.

“I—” and he paused as he went to take a sip of his now cold tea. The cup rattled against its saucer as he considered Eliza’s strategy and his next words. “I beg your pardon, but I want to fully understand your intentions: Are you in fact questioning Campbell’s competency in the field?”

She opened several cases in front of her and motioned to them as she answered, “Yes. And the proof is here in all these unsolved cases of the Archives.

“1894. Key officers in the National Society for Women’s Suffrage started disappearing. Chapter presidents, secretaries, and influential members—
disappearing
. Not all at once, mind you, but their cases—pardon me, these ladies’
existences
—have all ended here. In the Archives. All of them unsolved.”

Wellington looked at the collected cases. All of them bearing Campbell’s handwriting. “I fail to see what you are concluding from all this.”

“Don’t lie to me, Books. You can’t, for starters.”

Wellington straightened slightly on that. She only called him “Books” when her temper was beginning to slip. He found her calm unsettling as she placed three more case files in front of him. She knew he was not expected to read them. She was out to prove her point.

“After I caught a few winks, I came here straightaway and started from the end of the year, working back. These are ten files that I’ve found so far.”

“All in the Unsolved Cases archives?”

“All of them with Bruce’s signature. Five just in the past few months. He barely spent a week on them.”

“And the reason you were in the 1892 stacks?”

“Now here’s where you will be so proud of me, Welly—”

“Overwhelm me with wonder, Miss Braun,” he interjected.

“When I came across this pattern, I cross-referenced them with solved cases in or around the same time period. I even stepped back to Campbell’s first year, just to see what kind of an agent he was when recruited. Regardless of what a git he is, Campbell is a cracking good investigator. Or was.”

Wellington shook his head, slumping back in his chair. His heart was already racing. “This is a most dangerous course you are plotting. You are challenging Bruce Campbell, an agent of the Ministry with an outstanding record—”

“Provided you are not taking into account his luck with Missing Person cases.”

“Eliza!” Wellington snapped. Dammit, she was not seeing what he saw, what he
knew
. “Perhaps you would rather not care to recognise the severity of your actions.”

“The facts speak for themselves!”

“They may very well do so, but what they mean could be lost in translation.” Wellington began closing the numerous files in front of him. “People disappear in the Empire all the time, never to be seen again. Some leave deliberately, some go abroad, and some simply move house and leave no forwarding address.”

Eliza looked betrayed. The opposite of his intentions, really; but he could read in her cold, hard gaze that she didn’t see that. Not at all.

“Books . . .”

“Eliza, please . . .”

“These women are not statistics to be simply cast aside.” Wellington wanted Eliza to be screaming at him, wanted her voice to be filling the spacious Archives with her fury. Her control terrified him. “That is exactly what Bruce did here; and for two years, ten ladies
that we know of
have remained nothing more than a bunch of hysterical women gone missing in the streets of London. These women were something far more important than notes in our files.” Eliza spread out the files. “Annette Pritchard. Glenda Rooney. Mildred Cady. Clara Gleeson. They were lives. Wives. Mothers. Sisters. Friends.”

“You have to look at this objectively—”

“How dare you!”

“
Oh for God’s sake, woman, would you listen to me for once?
”

The drone of the Ministry generators filled his ears, alongside the pounding of his own heartbeat. She was the one who was supposed to be losing her composure, not him; and there he was, on his feet, his fists trembling tight at his sides.

Well done, son,
the voice whispered in his mind.
The colonial needed a reminder.

His father’s ghost was not helping. Not one jot.

“This is not personal, Miss Braun.” But it was. Wellington did not wish her to fall any further; and while she did not see it, Eliza D. Braun’s feet were now close to the precipice. “You know I would never challenge your deductions. I trust your detective skills implicitly.”

Eliza gathered up the case files from Wellington’s side of the desk. “And yet?”

“You are about to accuse an active field agent of negligence. You are intending to march into Sound’s office with your own findings and question Campbell’s competency.”

“That is the idea.”

“Tell me, Eliza . . .” His heartbeat quickened as the words left him. “When was the last time Agent Campbell was reprimanded—let alone
demoted
—for his actions in the field?”

The cold stare he had earlier received was replaced by one of anger.

“And what would you know of Ministry protocol and politics?” she spat. “You have spent your career here, alone, in this bloody hole.”

A valiant effort. Wellington pressed on.

“I was an officer in the Queen’s Army. I watched many a peer and subordinate openly question another officer’s judgment based on patterns they thought they saw. Those Queen’s soldiers would find themselves reassigned to the front of the charge. They either died a hero’s death, or returned home to their sweetheart with the ability to embrace them with only one arm, if they were fortunate.”

“What happens upstairs is hardly akin to campaigns in Afghanistan or Burma.”

“Very well then. The direct approach. I am your superior, appointed by Doctor Sound himself, and you will heed my order: stand down, and let this matter go.”

She took a step back on that. He was surprised his own stance had not faltered.

“You are too close to this,” he continued, “and your judgement—the objective eye and opinion that is essential in crime investigation—has been compromised. And I will not have you jeopardising yourself or your fellow agents in the field. Therefore, you will cease all exploration into these missing persons. That is a direct order.”

Eliza gave a slight tug at her jacket. She was staring at the files as she asked, “Is that all?”

As if his stomach were responding to her voice, a low growl rumbled from him.

“No, in light of yesterday’s events and my own lack of sleep because of it, I forgot all about breakfast. Would you mind?” Wellington reached into his vest pocket and pulled out a few shillings. “A ham sandwich, please. Light on the mustard.”

The sharp rap of her heels against the stone floor caused his head to flick up. Eliza held her salute until Wellington made eye contact with her. Her arm lowered and then she gathered her coat and made her way to the hatch with no further word.

Naturally Eliza was angry. Ye gods, she must be furious with him right now. She was failing to see, though, what Wellington knew down to his soul was how close she was sailing to a guaranteed expulsion from the Ministry ranks. The Archives had been a reprimand, a demotion from the glamorous life of a field agent to a far more quiet one of logistics. When she had first arrived, Wellington did his own share of research on her. She achieved results. No one would question her abilities there; but after Agent Thorne’s demise, Eliza’s risks made her a growing liability. Then there was his daring rescue from the House of Usher’s Antarctic hideout. A single act that brought her here.

Wellington had initially thought it some sort of punishment on him for being captured. Now, less than a year later, the Archivist did not want her to leave. Perhaps he had grown accustomed to having a partner, or perhaps it was Eliza herself. She was hardly the kind of woman he associated himself with; but a part of him looked forward to Eliza’s company.

Or maybe after seven years of singular service to Her Majesty in the Archives, it took the colonial’s daily presence to show him how lonely he was.

Eliza mattered a great deal to him, even if she presently couldn’t see that. A demoted agent questioning the ethics of a commended Ministry operative—an agent that even Wellington could tell, from his isolated seat in the Archives, was as thick as clotted cream—would be her final act. The Ministry Director was hardly of the same mettle as his cavalry superiors, but he would have to maintain order amongst the ranks. There was also the possibility of the field agents’ fraternity turning on her.

Wellington pushed aside the archive inventory sheets and cast his spectacles on top of them. His eyes fixed instead on the empty space across from him. Was he truly looking after her best interests, or was he being selfish? For all those traits and quirks that Wellington weathered, he didn’t want to lose her.

The sudden
fump
from the catch-all underneath the chute caused him to start. Replacing his glasses, Wellington crossed over to the still-swaying basket that held this new folio from upstairs. He released its cover and pulled out from it a relatively thin case file.

He opened the folder and held his breath as he read what was written there. Wellington looked up at where the agents’ offices would be.

“You cocksure bastard,” he whispered aloud.

How Wellington hated it when she was right.

Chapter Four

Wherein Miss Braun Takes Some Air and Meets Someone Unexpected

H
ow Eliza hated it when he was right.

The man was insufferable, but the rational part of her mind only echoed what Wellington Books had told her: this was a dangerous game she was thinking of playing.

She recalled a frank discussion Harry and she had shared regarding one agent, Timothy Cuthbert, head of the Jamaican office. The “whelp,” as Harry had referred to him, came from a family of wealth and influence, and that was how he’d landed a director’s job in what many considered paradise. The cases coming out of Jamaica, though, were usually dismissive and poorly handled, resulting in the unnecessary deaths of two agents. Agents that were friends of Harry. He had to remain silent, though, as questioning Cuthbert’s judgement would have opened a political maelstrom between offices and government officials.

Cuthbert, however, managed to bring about his own downfall when Doctor Sound made an unexpected visit to the outpost—and discovered Cuthbert managing a rum-running business between Jamaica and the Americas.

After Cuthbert’s ousting, Harry had told her, “
Take care, Lizzie. Even when you have the facts in your favour, you may not be able to openly question another agent’s competency. It’s a silent code we all must adhere to. Eventually, secrets herald one’s downfall.
”

When Eliza emerged into the front shop of the Ministry, most of the paper shufflers in their rows of desks ignored her as they did any agent who entered their domain. Those who had dared to peek up from their work immediately ducked their heads lower and looked even more studious than ever as she passed between them. No one wanted to get in the way of Eliza’s dark glare.

Out on the street it was chilly but beautiful.
Damn it,
she thought bitterly,
I am taking the sodding long way. Let his stomach tie itself into knots for all I care.

“Eliza!”

The woman’s voice broke through her anger and stopped her in her tracks. Turning, she felt her tension abate, if not disappear completely, on seeing Agent Ihita Pujari running to catch up with her. The young Indian woman had only arrived in London the previous month, but already the New Zealand agent had grown very fond of her. They had a somewhat similar sense of humour—though Ihita’s was hidden beneath a layer of gentility. Her sleek black hair was tied in an elaborate braid, but, much as Eliza did, she wore men’s clothing—and wore it well. The effect was even more striking with Ihita’s dark skin and sparkling brown eyes. It was like putting a sleek jungle cat in tweed. It threw her beauty into stark contrast.

“Good morning!” Eliza did her best to conceal her annoyance. It was after all not the other woman’s fault. “Off for a spot of lunch?”

“Yes, Brandon is quite buried in paperwork,” she paused, tucking her hands into her pockets. Her eyes looked aside as her dark skin grew slightly ruddier. “And I know he won’t have a chance to get out.”

Eliza raised one eyebrow. Ihita would not be the first woman to fall under Agent Brandon Hill’s curious charm. If she was lucky he might even notice her.

“You’re fetching something for Agent Books?” It was a neat way of changing the subject, but Eliza was only too ready to let off some steam.

“It serves as an excellent excuse to free myself temporarily from the Archives,” she muttered as she kicked a stone across the street, “lest I break his arm.”

Her companion chuckled, but then, on catching Eliza’s gaze, stopped short. “Oh, I see.”

Their stroll following the curve of the Thames was not what could be called “a scenic walk” such as you might find further up the river, but that was what Eliza needed. The smells of river life, unpleasant but familiar, distracted her from the pit of anger in her chest. The catcalls of the port workers and drivers were only to be expected, but Lord have mercy on any man who thought to lay hands on Eliza D. Braun this afternoon.

“It must be quite different where you come from,” the New Zealander offered. “I mean, I find it strange enough, but London must be even more of a shock.”

Ihita shrugged. “There are just as many people in Delhi, and men are the same the world over.”

“Unfortunately, that is very much the truth.”

Eliza’s tone made her friend jerk her head around. “I thought you and Books had come to a satisfactory arrangement?”

“Me too, but today we hit a little bump in the rails. In fact I think we are near to careening off them.”

Ihita slipped her arm into the crook of Eliza’s and gave her a gentle squeeze. “If you don’t mind me saying so, I think you are a little hard on our studious Agent Books. He is a good man, and he is only looking out for you and your position in the Ministry.”

It wasn’t what Eliza wanted to hear, but it made her curious. “How do you know what Books is like?”

She gave a little shrug and stated, “We’ve enjoyed one another’s company over lunch a couple of times.”

“Really?” Eliza gave a light chuckle. “I remember my first social night with him. I do hope you had more success in conversations with him than I did.”

“Oh, he was quite delightful.” Ihita thought for a moment and nodded. “A bit shy, at first. Later on, though, it can be hard to get a word in, depending on the subject at hand.” She considered Eliza for a moment, her smile turning sly, and then added, “You’d never guess it but he has a bit of a taste for saag. In return for my own recipe, he loaned me a novel of his.
The Time Machine
. It’s quite wonderful.”

She looked at Eliza with such innocence that the New Zealander could not possibly snap at her, so for a long moment she said nothing at all.

Ihita tilted her head at this oddity, wondering no doubt what was wrong with the other woman. “He takes his job very seriously,” she said softly as a goad.

Eliza cleared her throat. “That’s as may be—but he should also remember we have sworn an oath to protect the citizens of the Empire. That is more important than any silly bureaucracy. Far more important than any political nonsense.”

“Political?” Ihita asked. “Whatever do you mean?”

She opened her mouth, wanting to confide in her Indian friend about Wellington’s objection to her claims against Agent Campbell. Her instincts though, gave her pause. Sharing her revelations of what Campbell was doing could place Ihita in an awkward position within the Ministry’s ranks.

“Another time, Ihita,” she finally replied, “perhaps over a dinner at my apartments.”

Eliza quietly cursed her sudden moment of reason. This was Wellington’s influence, and she didn’t care for it—not one jot.

Their silence lingered as they turned left, the ports changing to shops that supplied services to the workers who could be found there. Many a gambling den, disorderly house, or pub was located here—but also the best sandwich shop this side of the Thames. Eliza was grateful that Albert Southward’s business was so close to the Ministry, and sometimes she wondered if that was not altogether by chance.

They had to pass the eel-jelly stand to get there—but that still did not put the women off. Watching Londoners slurp down with real relish something that looked like it had been sneezed out of their noses was another oddness that Eliza had not quite gotten used to. The smell alone convinced her that everyone in line was completely mad.

“And they call what we eat in my country strange,” Ihita whispered behind her hand.

They were both still chuckling by the time they reached Albert’s sandwich establishment. The crowd at the shop was miraculously short—so they had picked the right moment.

“So much better than jellied eel.” Eliza smiled.

“Oh, much!”

Eliza could feel her mood lift a bit, so much so that she felt herself capable of prying—just a little. “You know it suddenly occurs to me: there is nothing at all you can eat as a Hindu at Albert’s. It’s all very . . . well . . . beefy.”

“Oh, no,” her fellow agent responded quickly. “I’m here for Brandon’s sandwich.”

Eliza’s eyebrow shot up. “Fetching lunch for
Agent Hill
, Ihita? Isn’t that a bit forward of you?”

“It’s just lunch!” her friend protested, but she would not meet Eliza’s eyes.

“Well, if you ever want it to be more than that, you will have to tell him directly. Brandon is a handsome man, but truth be told he’s as thick as a brick about women fancying him.” Eliza tapped her fingers on her purse. “It will never ever cross his mind that you like him at all. Lunch will merely make him think you are mates.”

They moved a few more steps in the line while Ihita thought about that. “I couldn’t possibly tell him.” Her whisper was barely able to be heard above the hubbub of the street, so Eliza had to lean in to make it out. “What if he doesn’t feel the same?”

“Then you move on.”

Her friend vehemently shook her head. “I’m not like you, Eliza. I’ve been able to get past some of the traditions I was raised with—but I don’t know how to tell a man that I like him.” Her eyes gleamed with frustration.

Eliza’s first instinct was to offer to tell Brandon herself, but the look on Ihita’s face said that would be a very bad idea. “I promise I won’t say a word,” she said reassuringly, “but I can’t promise I won’t interfere. I am always so much better with other people’s problems than my own.”

Ihita blinked. “Agent Books, you mean?” She gave a small huff. “Perhaps if you stopped thinking about Agent Books as a problem . . .” she hazarded, but Eliza was already deep in contemplation.

The two men in front of them were taken care of and then Albert smiled broadly as they stepped up to the counter. “Miss Braun, Miss Pujari, what can I do for you lovely ladies?”

It was his usual greeting, but Eliza still smiled. “Nothing while your missus is looking on, Albert,” she responded tartly. Maybe a bit of harmless flirting was what she needed this morning to get the taste of Wellington’s betrayal out of her system. Ihita merely blushed.

Maggie waved from the corner where she was making quick work of the bread slicing. “Sure you won’t take him off my hands? He snores loud enough to wake the dead.”

“ ’fraid not,” she replied, casting an eye over the steaming pile of beef before Albert. “Though I do like the look of his meat.”

Wellington would have suffered a conniption hearing her banter in such a common manner with these two—and somehow that knowledge took the edge off her anger. Eliza’s companion couldn’t help stifling a giggle.

Albert’s laugh was deep and genuine. “Then what can I get you?”

“One roast beef, and one ham . . .” She paused and smiled wickedly. “And make sure there is
plenty
of mustard on the last one if you please.” Albert’s knife moved with consummate skill, slathering butter on the bread, slapping on the meat, and giving it a good lathering of yellow mustard on the ham.

“And you, lovely Miss, the jewel in the crown of the Empire, what can I get you?” Albert leaned on the counter and smiled sweetly at Eliza’s companion.

“The usual for Mr. Hill, if you please.”

“Oh, I see—buying lunch for that smart co-worker of yours
again
?”

Her smile was bright, seeming even brighter as her skin darkened a bit when she blushed. “I am surrounded by matchmakers!”

While Albert took care of Brandon’s ham order, his daughter Ida took the sandwiches and wrapped them separately in brown paper. Eliza waited on her friend, and then together they went out onto the street.

“Not much in the vegetarian line in there,” Eliza wiped a line of mustard off from top of the packaging and licked it off the tip of her finger. “I take it you bring your own food to the Ministry.”

Ihita shrugged. “Actually, though I do not consume anything that came from a cow, we do eat lamb dishes. Unfortunately, Mr. Southward does not often have it for his sandwiches.” She tucked her hand under Eliza’s elbow. “If you like, tomorrow I shall bring extra of my
rogan josh
. It’s my mother’s recipe.”

The combination of Albert’s sandwiches and talking about Indian delights was making Eliza quite hungry. The bundle in her hand began to smell more and more tempting.

“You know Albert’s secret,” she said, trying to stave off hunger pangs. “He always has the best beef and ham—mostly because his brother is a well-to-do butcher in the West End. Quality ingredients, even done simply, always make for the best meals. My mum taught me that while working in our pub’s kitchen.”

“Isn’t it the way of the world? The way to a man’s heart is through his stomach, and we are lucky to have mothers that love us and look out for us.” Ihita nodded appreciatively. “I’ll make sure I bring home a new recipe when I visit my mum next month.”

Eliza swallowed hard. She’d gotten a letter from back home last week, but it didn’t ease the tight feeling in her chest. A worry that she might never see them again. It seemed like an age since she’d felt her mother’s arms around her, and despite outward appearances she needed that now and again. For some reason Wellington’s turncoat attitude had struck her deeply, and made her yearn for someone who was on her side. Someone who understood that things needed to be set right.