Mission to Love (Brothers in Arms Book 14) Page 16

  “But…it’s sounds like there’s a but coming,” Daniel said.

  “But last night he said that it was obvious Simon and I loved one another and that he didn’t have a right to stand in our way. Simon and I both disagreed. I told Robert I loved him, too. And that was when Simon told us about Giselle.”

  “I have a feeling there is a great deal you are leaving out.” Harry held up a hand. “Which is your prerogative.” He sighed. “It is a muddle, Christy. I’m sorry.”

  “You should be,” Daniel told him. “Somehow this is all your fault.”

  “Mine?” Harry exclaimed. “How so?”

  “If you had stayed married to her, none of this would be happening.”

  “If I were still married to her, all of this would be happening in your house,” Harry disagreed.

  “Good point,” Daniel said. He yawned and rubbed his leg. “When is the doctor coming?”

  Christy knew she wasn’t going to get the advice she’d sought. Daniel wasn’t feeling well enough, and Harry was more concerned for his lover’s welfare than about her romantic entanglements, and rightly so.

  “I guess it’s up to me to figure out a happy ending to my own troubles,” Christy said. “I shouldn’t have bothered you.”

  “Nonsense,” Daniel said. “I shall have a talk with Simon. Tell him to come and see me.”

  “Of course I will,” Christy lied. “I’ll see about the doctor.”

  She picked Christian up and headed for the door, wondering exactly how she was going to take care of Daniel, fix Simon, keep Robert, and stay sane. A woman’s work was never done.

  She needed to go see Veronica Tarrant.

  Chapter 22

  “Good afternoon.”

  Veronica Tarrant was formidable, in every sense of the word. She dominated a room. Any room. Anywhere. Any time. In a gorgeous morning dress of sea green that highlighted her chestnut hair and brought to mind the Greek goddess Artemis, she made Christy feel ridiculously inadequate just by standing there in the doorway smiling politely at her.

  “How do you do, Mrs. Tarrant?” Christy replied just as politely.

  “Oh, I do all right,” she said. “Some days are better than others.”

  She closed the door firmly behind her, right in the face of a very curious, curly-headed blonde girl who looked tall for her age. That must be one of her children. If memory served Christy right, she and Mr. Tarrant and their lover, Lord Kensington, had four children. Five if you counted Lord Kensington’s oldest child with his wife, who also lived here in the Tarrant household with her lover, noted abolitionist Mrs. Grimshaw.

  And yet, somehow, Mrs. Tarrant still managed to interfere in everyone else’s business on a regular basis, or so Daniel claimed with great affection. She was just the woman Christy needed to take over some of her burden.

  There was a tremendous crash in the hallway outside the parlor door, and suddenly several children were screaming at once and a man was bellowing and then a woman began scolding in French. Mrs. Tarrant’s smile did not waver an inch.

  “Pay them no heed,” she said mildly. “I hid the rapiers.” There was a polite knock at the door. “Ah, I’ve requested tea. Come in,” she called.

  The housekeeper wheeled in the teacart. “I’m sorry for the delay, ma’am,” she apologized calmly. “We had to clear the debris from the doorway.”

  “Naturally,” Mrs. Tarrant said, as if it was indeed natural. “Thank you, Mrs. Goose.”

  The housekeeper left, and Mrs. Tarrant sat down and began to pour. “Well, don’t just stand there,” she said. “Sit.”

  Christy sat.

  “Her name isn’t really Mrs. Goose. Honestly I can’t remember what it is. But the children started calling her that and it stuck. Luckily she doesn’t seem to mind.”

  Christy took the proffered cup of tea. “I would imagine that if the pound notes make it into the right bank account, she doesn’t care what you call her.”

  Mrs. Tarrant choked on her tea and started coughing.

  “Oh dear,” Christy said, putting her cup down on the table. She felt like a country idiot. “I’m not supposed to talk about money. I forgot.”

  Mrs. Tarrant was wiping her eyes with the tea cloth. She waved off Christy’s apology. “No, no, it’s fine, really.” She laughed. “Daniel told me we’d get along splendidly. He was right.” She reached over and took Christy’s hand. “I’m so sorry I haven’t been to see you since you got back to London. There never seem to be enough hours in the day.”

  “Oh.” Christy was taken aback. “Well, we’ve never actually met, so I never expected you to visit, despite our mutual acquaintances. As a matter of fact, it’s Daniel I’m here about.”

  “Well, you should have expected it,” Mrs. Tarrant said. “You must hold me to account. I’m told that is the only way to keep me in line.” She took a sip of tea, and there was a calculating gleam in her eye that made Christy nervous. “I’m surprised you’re not here about Simon.”

  Christy felt her cheeks warm considerably with what must be a formidable blush. “Simon, I mean Mr. Gantry, is working with my husband on a mission right now. For the Home Office.”

  “Is he?” Mrs. Tarrant leaned forward, obviously very interested. “When I saw him last week, he looked quite poorly. He’d just gotten off the ship from Africa. I’m surprised he’s already working a case for Sir Barnabas.” She flopped back against the sofa, lips pursed. “That devil. No wonder he was at Simon’s when we got there. He didn’t even let his boots dry before he pounced.”

  “Oh, it wasn’t Sir Barnabas’s idea. It was Daniel’s,” Christy corrected her.

  “Daniel’s?” Mrs. Tarrant looked confused.

  Suddenly the door burst open and a woman rushed in. She was out of breath, and still wearing her bonnet. “I got here as fast as I could,” she said, untying it. The butler stood stoically behind her. She passed the bonnet back without looking and began to pull her gloves off. She had beautiful dark red hair and a splash of freckles across her nose, which only made her more attractive. “What did I miss?”

  “She’s an utter delight and very practical,” Mrs. Tarrant said. “Do hurry up. She’s about to tell me why Daniel sent Simon to work on a mission with her husband for Sir Barnabas at the Home Office.”

  The woman shoved her gloves at the butler and closed the door in his face with a “So sorry.” Then she hurried across the room and sat next to Mrs. Tarrant. She stuck out her hand. “Mrs. Sophie Witherspoon, how do you do?”

  “How do you do?” Christy said. “Christy Manderley.”

  “Oh, yes, I know. Very sent a note over to say you’d unexpectedly come to call and were either very impertinent or there was a delightful mystery to be solved.” She grinned. “Things have been rather dull, so I rushed right over.”

  “I see,” Christy said.

  “Really, Sophie,” Mrs. Tarrant said, rolling her eyes. “You are the one who is being very impertinent. You have been with Derek too long. He’s rubbed off on you.”

  “I should think so,” Sophie said. “He’s been training me for years.” She turned to Christy. “So, to summarize. You are delightful.” She ticked it off on her fingers. “Daniel sent Simon to help your husband with a case.” Tick. “They are working for Sir Barnabas.” Tick. “Sir Barnabas is a rascal. I added that part.” Tick. “Although I do like him.”

  “Me, too,” Mrs. Tarrant said. “One of my favorite people, but don’t tell him that. Go on,” she said to Christy.

  “What kind of case?” Mrs. Witherspoon asked. “I thought your husband was a constable, not an agent.”

  “He is a constable,” Christy said. “Let me start at the beginning.”

  “Oh, yes, that’s usually best,” Mrs. Tarrant said. “Start when you met Simon.”

  “I…what?” Christy looked at her in shock.

  “I don’t think we’re at that level of confidences yet,” Mrs. Witherspoon chided her. “Excuse her impertinence,” she said to Christy, whi
le glaring at Mrs. Tarrant. “Start wherever you like.”

  “Well, there was a series of grisly murders in London. Young boys with their throats cut,” Christy began.

  Both the ladies gasped. “Stop right there,” Mrs. Tarrant said, aghast.

  She rang the bell and the butler appeared at the door within seconds. “Send for everyone else,” she said dramatically. “Except the children.”

  He closed the door. She turned back to Christy. “My husbands would never forgive me if I didn’t include them in a conversation that started like that.”

  “Derek will kill me,” Mrs. Witherspoon said, her face alight with equal parts morbid curiosity and horror. “But I’ll tell him about it later.”

  A few minutes later the room was filled with Mr. Tarrant and Lord Kensington standing behind the sofa and Lady Kensington and Mrs. Grimshaw seated across from Christy. More tea and biscuits had been brought and poured, and children had been shooed from the room and all eyes turned to Christy.

  “Do start again, Mrs. Manderley,” Mrs. Tarrant said.

  “I…I’ve forgotten where I began,” she said, a little flustered by the attention of so many strangers.

  “Grisly murders,” Mrs. Witherspoon reminded her.

  “Oh, I say,” Lord Kensington said with interest. “This sounds interesting.”

  “Mon dieu,” Lady Kensington said in alarm. “Are the children in danger?” she asked in a charming French accent. Mrs. Grimshaw took her hand.

  “No, no, not at all,” Christy assured her. “You see, my husband is a constable. He was working on a case involving the, ah, well…”

  “Grisly murders, go on,” Mrs. Tarrant encouraged her. “We’re all adults here.”

  “Yes, well, grisly murders of several boys around London. He had reached an impasse and he went to Daniel for assistance. You see, they are old school friends. Since childhood.”

  “Of course,” Mr. Tarrant said. “Very read us Daniel’s letters from Scotland. We are aware of his, and your, history with Daniel and Harry. You needn’t explain.” He accompanied his comment with a friendly smile, so Christy wasn’t worried they condemned her for her divorce and second marriage like some in society did. But they could hardly cast stones, could they?

  “It makes perfect sense that he’d go to Daniel, after all,” Lord Kensington said. “He has more than his share of experience with that kind of sordid thing.”

  “Indeed, you are correct,” Christy said, nodding. “But Daniel couldn’t help. So he sent Simon to help. But Simon shouldn’t even be out of bed. Honestly, he’s not fully recovered from what happened in Africa.”

  “What happened in Africa?” Mrs. Tarrant asked with a frown. “He didn’t tell me anything. Just said they threw him in a dungeon and fed him poor rations until Daniel and Harry showed up, and so he blew up their compound in retaliation.” The others nodded and murmured in agreement.

  Christy stared at them all in amazement. “And you believed him? That he was held by Barbary pirates for months and the only thing they did was feed him substandard fare?”

  Mr. Tarrant and Lord Kensington began to look uncomfortable. “We didn’t wish to pry,” Mr. Tarrant said.

  “I would have pried,” Mrs. Tarrant said in indignation, “if you had indicated that there might have been more.” She turned to Christy. “What’s wrong with Simon?”

  “I have Simon under control,” Christy informed her, silently fuming at the carelessness of his so-called friends. How long had they been so involved in their own lives that they had neglected his? According to Sir Barnabas, Simon had been on a downward spiral long before Africa and yet no one had noticed, including her. But in her defense, he had spurned her and she had been in Scotland. They had been here, in London, and they had let him self destruct.

  “What does that mean?” Mrs. Tarrant asked sharply.

  “Very,” Mrs. Witherspoon murmured.

  “It means that she is taking care of ’im,” Lady Kensington said matter-of-factly. “And that she does not want you to interfere.”

  “I don’t interfere,” Mrs. Tarrant said with an affronted sniff.

  “Yes you do,” several voices said at once.

  “I do need your help,” Christy said loudly, not wishing to spark an argument.

  “You just said you had Simon under control,” Mrs. Tarrant said loftily. “I’m sure I don’t know what we could do.”

  “It’s not Simon, it’s Daniel,” Christy said. That got their attention.

  “What’s wrong with Daniel?” Lord Kensington asked.

  “Wait, you said he couldn’t help your husband,” Mr. Tarrant said. He reminded her very much of Daniel and Simon. She knew he had worked with them during the war, another spy.

  She turned and directed her words to him. “Yes, that’s right. You see, he was shot in Africa.”

  “What?” Mrs. Tarrant exclaimed. “No one told us!” She stood up. “We have to go see him immediately.”

  “Oh, good,” Christy said with a relieved sigh. “I just can’t do it all, you see. Daniel’s leg isn’t healing, and I had to force him to let the doctor come, but the doctor was useless. Terrible. And I still have Simon to worry about. And this case isn’t just murder anymore. Robert and Simon are working for Sir Barnabas now…”

  “The Home Office? Why do they care about the murders of a few boys?” Mr. Tarrant asked sharply.

  “The boy were spies, you see. And now they are all trying to foil an assassination. It’s all very complicated.” She put a hand to her head. “And the baby’s teething, and so I’m trying to fix Simon, and keep Robert, and heal Daniel and deal with Christian, and stay alive because apparently there are assassins that might possibly try to kill me and so I’ve got an escort of agents everywhere I go. It’s all just too much.” She let her hand drop to her lap only to see everyone staring at her.

  “I think you left some of the story out,” Lady Kensington finally said.

  “Where are the agents?” Mr. Tarrant asked, stone faced.

  “Outside,” Christy told him. “They agreed to wait out there because you were in here. And honestly, nothing has happened at all the last few days, so they’re beginning to think it was a false alarm.”

  “Michael.” Mr. Tarrant indicated the door with a tip of his head. Lord Kensington immediately got up and left. He came back a moment later and nodded. Mr. Tarrant relaxed.

  “They’re still there,” Lord Kensington said.

  “We will go armed,” Mr. Tarrant said. “Aurelie, you and Agatha stay here with the children.” Lady Kensington nodded, looking quite relieved. “Sophie, we will drop you at home.”

  “Of course,” Mrs. Witherspoon said. “And then we will meet you at Daniel’s.”

  Mrs. Tarrant came over and knelt in front of Christy, taking her hands. “Don’t worry, my dear. We’ll take care of Daniel. You take care of Simon and your husband. I do believe that you can handle that.” She grinned and patted Christy’s hand.

  Christy felt as if a huge weight had been lifted from her shoulders. Now she could concentrate on Simon and Robert and what on earth she was going to do about the two of them.

  Chapter 23

  “Are you sure the Dutchman is here?” Robert whispered.

  “No,” Sir Barnabas replied. They were standing in an alcove of the George hotel, hidden by a curtain, observing the lobby of the hotel. His answer surprised Robert.

  “Then why are we here?” he asked.

  “Because this is the best information we’ve received so far, and I’m hoping we have a bit of luck today and the Dutchman falls into our grasp.”

  Robert was even more surprised by that. “Luck? You have agents all over the hotel based on luck?”

  Simon was leaning against the wall nonchalantly, lightly slapping his thigh with his gloves. “You’d be surprised how many disasters are avoided by happenstance and a lucky fall,” he said.

  “You nearly drowned,” Hastings said, sounding bored. He, too, was leaning aga
inst the wall looking as if he’d rather be anywhere else.

  “See?” Simon said. “I was lucky I didn’t. There’s the luck.”

  “Simon,” Sir Barnabas said with a sigh.

  “Am I wrong?” Simon asked.

  “Simon.” Robert silenced him with a look. To his shock, Simon winked at him.

  He turned away quickly, not sure what to do in response. Whatever was going on between him, Simon and Christy seemed far easier to deal with in the dark of night than the light of day. Or the dark of a crowded alcove. Hastings was watching the exchange with interest.

  When Robert looked back out into the lobby, he nearly exclaimed out loud. Instead he grabbed Sir Barnabas’s arm and nodded at his inquiring look.

  “You have got to be joking,” Hastings said, leaning over Robert’s shoulder. “Is that him?”

  Simon leaned over his other shoulder. Where Hastings’s nearness hadn’t affected him, Simon’s breath on his cheek made him shiver despite the heat in the close confines of the alcove. “That’s him,” Simon said. “I’ll be damned.”

  “What now?” Robert asked as they watched the Dutchman walk across the lobby to the stairs. He was trailed by his bodyguard. Other than his size, he didn’t offer much in the way of guarding, looking neither left nor right for possible surveillance or ambush.

  “We wait,” Sir Barnabas said. He made a small hand signal. “All exits are covered, and the outside as well. He cannot leave the hotel without being followed. I’d like to wait and see if anyone comes by to meet with him. Kill two birds…”

  “A bird in the hand,” Hastings argued. He straightened. “I think we should pick him up now and simply beat the truth out of him. Why wait? We know he’s the ringleader. If we detain him, we cut off the head of the operation and in all likelihood we put an end to whatever he has planned.”

  “‘In all likelihood’ is not the same as definitely,” Sir Barnabas said. “And I would prefer that we definitely put an end to whatever he has planned.”