The Janus Affair: A Ministry of Peculiar Occurrences Novel (9 page)

The new arrivals all sat, while Chandi examined Eliza and Wellington. It was not a piercing gaze, but it was most curious. “Apart from additional protection, I fail to see how they can help?”

“You must forgive Miss Culpepper,” Hester began, motioning to Chandi without looking at her. “She has only emerged into society of late, and sometimes her isolated upbringing lends itself to cynical assessments.”

“Hester,” the Indian said, chuckling pleasantly, “not cynical. Cautious. Something we all have to be, considering recent events.”

A soft murmur of agreement rose from the collected suffragists. Kate glanced at Eliza, giving her a slight nod. The cracks were, indeed, starting to show.

“I’ve observed you at some of the meetings, dear,” Hester said, looking at Eliza with a hesitant smile.

The agent knew a mention of the government would not be comforting to these women; bureaucracy had failed them at every turn. Instead she offered another, equally true explanation. “We’re investigators, and yes indeed, we both believe strongly in the cause.”

Alva brought in the tea tray, set it before her mistress on a table, and disappeared in a most efficient manner. Alice could never quite manage such silence. Hester leaned forward to pour, but her hands were shaking too much.

“It is all right, Hester, let me.” Chandi took the teapot and began to make sure everyone had a cup. It was a full-bodied black tea that Eliza took with relish.

Kate took hers with her usual grace. “Given this week of terrible events, everyone is on edge; but you can perhaps help set things right.”

Hester Langston did indeed look a little on edge herself—at least on the precipice of her lavender settee. She had the neck of a swan, and such a delicate manner about her, that Eliza would never have imagined that she had a spine of steel.

And yet she must. On receiving the card from Douglas, Eliza had done some light legwork on Miss Langston. Merely the highlights: a member of the suffrage movement since she was only fifteen, left a large inheritance by her mother, and fighting the good fight with as much determination. Eliza recognised her name from the papers, as well. For the suffrage movement, Hester had suffered police intimidation, including three stretches in prison where she had been force-fed. This woman had been called many things by London journalists, but “shrinking violet” had not been one of them.

Yet now she sat in her overwhelming blue parlour and looked terrified. She held out her hand, and Chandi took it and held it firmly. “Even with the Protectors around, I still don’t feel safe, but you trust these people, Kate?”

“Yes, indeed,” Kate assured her, smiling warmly, “with my life.”

Hester nodded. “I will do whatever I can to assist.”

Wellington set down his cup on the thick doily that covered the mahogany table and smiled. “As Shakespeare attested, there are more things on heaven and earth than are dreamt of. In these days of modern marvels that is even more so.”

“It’s hardly a marvel what is happening.” Chandi pressed her lips together, but her voice remained calm. “All those fine women disappearing and no one held accountable.”

“My apologies,” Wellington replied after a moment. “This is why Kate called upon us and asked us to lend a hand.” He glanced at Eliza and added, “Discreetly, of course.”

A threat of tears lingered in Hester’s eyes, compelling Eliza to press her hand on top of the older woman’s knee. She couldn’t have borne to see this doyen of the movement weeping. “We’re going to get to the bottom of this. You have my word on it. We just need the lists of the people at the meeting before Lena Munroe disappeared—it will give us the starting point.”

“And why should we be giving those to you?” The question snapped at them like the crack of a coachman’s whip. “You’re not a member!”

Wellington’s eyes shot up at the vision of womanly ire standing abruptly there in the doorway, but Eliza was totally unsurprised. When she had heard that the Protectors were now guarding the top members of the movement, she had expected this confrontation. The newcomer acknowledged Kate with a little bob of her head, but nothing more.

Eliza heard Wellington flipping through his journal, stopping as he searched, and then he looked up from its pages. “Charlotte Lawrence, the captain of the Protectors, I take it?”

She crooked an eyebrow, her cheeks flaring crimson. “And who might you be?” she asked, her voice surprisingly even.

“Wellington Books, I am with—” And the words stuck in his throat before he continued. “Miss Braun and I represent a concerned party.”

“A concerned party?” Charlotte asked, nodding. Her lips pursed for a moment and then she said, “In the past year we have lost six of our sisters under mysterious circumstances, and
now
you turn up. Your concern is most touching.”

Wellington cleared his throat, and then motioned to Eliza. “This is my associa—”

“Good morning, Chaz.”

Charlotte Lawrence did not greet her at all but her glare only sharpened on Eliza.

Kate got to her feet smoothly. “I didn’t know you knew Eliza, Charlotte.”

“A friend of yours?” Wellington asked Eliza. “Or perhaps a lost relation?”

In an instant both of them were looking at him with daggers in their gaze, and he squirmed.

Yet Eliza could grudgingly see why he might get that impression. Since Chaz had been training the Protectors she had instituted similar costuming to the Ministry’s standard issue for female agents. Stab-resistant corsets were, despite being a little behind the fashion, still a sensible precaution. The Protectors, dressed in these and simple black men’s pants, conveyed the proper measure of menace to men who might otherwise wish the movement harm. Instead of the plethora of pistols and guns that Eliza favoured, the Protectors carried thick fighting sticks that in a pinch could be screwed together to resemble a walking stick. (Handy when police were on the lookout for “those trouble-making suffragists.”) Also often carried in their bags were “Indian clubs,” smaller versions of skittles. Chaz’s own weapons were tucked into bandoliers on her back, poking out from behind each of the women’s shoulders like the remains of broken wings. Yet she was not a fey creature. Chaz’s strong jawline and muscled body were the virtual antithesis of Hester’s fragile strength.

“Mr. Books, do try to keep a civil tongue,” Eliza said, tilting her head and smiling disarmingly at this bruiser. “Miss Lawrence, you will find, is most proficient in Bartitsu. In fact a foremost member of the Bartitsu Club in Soho—”

“Oh,” Wellington said, nodding appreciatively. It had been the Ministry of Peculiar Occurrences that brought Barton-Wright back from Japan early to teach his new form of combat to their employees. “Quite the honour.”

“—until Mr. Barton-Wright had her barred,” Eliza added.

Charlotte barked a dry laugh. “Not my fault old Barty bruises so easily.”

Eliza gave Wellington’s knee a gentle pat. “I would not recommend taking the last biscuit off the plate until you have checked if Chaz wants it.”

“Charmed I am sure,” Wellington croaked out, getting to his feet hastily.

It was quite the wrong gesture for this particular woman. “Don’t rise on my account,” she said, smoothly sliding into the room—all the time keeping an eye on both the window and the door.

While poor Welly hovered between the gentlemanly thing to do and the risk of getting punched—Eliza sipped on her tea. “Left quite a gap there, Chaz. We’ve been in this room for some time now and you only turn up now?”

The Protector’s lips curved. “Actually I have been here the whole time,” she pointed to the rear of the parlour, and the agent nodded. A concealed room then.

“See, Wellington.” Eliza turned to her partner. “Don’t you feel safer already?”

He cleared his throat and then took his seat again—but did not look nearly as comfortable as he had only moments before. “Indeed.”

Kate spoke, her voice cutting through the conversation like an elegant knife, “Come now, ladies—we are both on the same side. Charlotte, you surely can’t suspect Eliza of involvement in this dreadful business?”

“I was thinking more about your face, Mrs. Sheppard,” the Protector replied, “and how it ended up that way.”

Eliza swallowed hard. “For your sake, Chaz, I hope that glass house you live in is reinforced.”

“Well now, Lizzie, is it the concern or the guilt that suddenly brings you here? Now?”

“It most certainly isn’t your competence on the job, now is it?”

Charlotte turned to face her. “Would you care to test that competence now?”

Eliza stood, allowing her shawl to drop free of her shoulders and slip into Wellington’s lap. “I promise to make this quick.”

“You’re both being perfectly ridiculous.” Kate’s glass eye swiveled between the two of them. “We can’t afford to fight amongst ourselves like this.”

“Indeed, ladies,” Chandi added. “Shall we focus on the matter at hand? Our missing sisters?”

Kate and Chandi were right. If this kept up, Miss Lawrence’s delightful parlour would be the next victim of what threatened the Auxilliary. Eliza had already sized up the poker by the fire as a go-to weapon. So Eliza turned back to Hester, her smile soft and sincere. “If we could, please, secure lists of past attendees over the previous year, we can return to our business.”

“Naturally,” the secretary replied, and then hesitated, pulling at the cuff of her blouse. “Those are quite a few ledgers we’ve collected over the past year . . .”

“I’ll help you, Hester,” Chandi murmered.

The secretary left the room, shooting a concerned look over her shoulder. Perhaps she had caught Eliza’s eye on the poker, and was now in mortal fear for her décor.

All six of them trailed out into the hall, where Betsy and another Protector were standing guard. Their expressions were serious, but not nearly as unwelcoming as Chaz’s.

Kate smiled at her young guardian. “Betsy, would you be a dear and help Miss Langston and Miss Culpepper upstairs with some ledgers?”

“I’ll stay here and keep an eye on these two.” Chaz’s hands flexed on saying that. Eliza pressed her lips together, tempted to grab those fighting sticks herself.

Wellington, no doubt looking for a method of escaping this rather awkward situation, stepped forward. “If I can be of any assistance, Miss Langston, I am a trained archivist and I have brought my portable vellum scanner.” He gestured over to the valise he and Eliza had struggled to carry from carriage to foyer.

“ ‘Portable’ is truly a term of endearment with you, isn’t it, Welly?” Eliza asked.

“We carried it this far,” he retorted.

“You’re staying right here.” Charlotte actually waggled her finger at the agent. Eliza now recalled that Miss Lawrence had once been a schoolmarm.

Although Wellington Books was technically Eliza’s superior and had been tasked with teaching her alternatives to gunpowder as the answer to any problem (which still she had some problems with), it appeared he had also been learning from her. Wellington held his gaze with Charlotte for a time that felt slightly inappropriate, and then glanced at his colleague with quite a furious look. Eliza was suddenly sure if she said the word, or indeed gave so much as a gesture, Agent Wellington Thornhill Books would have barged past Lawrence, or at least given quite the try.

For a second she contemplated it. It might have been very interesting to see how he would fair with Charlotte Lawrence.

Instead, while Kate chitchatted with the grim-faced Protector, Eliza took Wellington’s arm and led him over to where Hester had displayed the most insipid watercolour she had ever seen. “We’re just here for the names,” she whispered to him. “And though I might appreciate your gallant gesture, I can assure you these other ladies would not.” She shot him a wicked smile that he returned in kind.

“Quite,” he said adjusting his ascot. “Forgive me. A rush of blood to the head.”

Eliza felt a saucy reply itching the tip of her tongue; but instead, the two agents waited in silence, the magnificent grandfather clock ticking in the hallway, and Kate kept an eye on the red-faced Protector. Upstairs, they could hear Hester, Chandi, and Betsy moving around. These ledgers indeed sounded heavy, and they were asking for close on a year’s worth of meetings and minutes. Three women, with so many records? They were most likely having trouble.

“This is ridiculous, Chaz,” Eliza blurted out, and started towards the stairs.

The Protector grabbed her arm, and the agent froze. Eliza noted the wider Chaz smiled, the tighter her grip became. “Give me a reason, Lizzie. Please.”

Eliza inclined her head to one side, her eyebrows lifting slightly. “Forget your last sparring lesson with me at the club?”

“Ladies,” Kate stepped between them. “Once more I implore you, try and remember who our true enemy is!”

Charlotte held her gaze for a moment, but eventually flicked away Eliza’s forearm with a grunt. It was somewhat similar to the sound she’d made when the agent had thrown her to the ground at Barton-Wright’s. It had been a most satisfactory defeat, and one that Eliza still savoured. She judged that Hester’s hallway was quite large enough to bear a repeat, though some of the paintings might be put askew, and a couple of the rather ghastly majolica items could end up smashed.