The Janus Affair: A Ministry of Peculiar Occurrences Novel (14 page)

Now it was Doctor Sound’s turn to blink. Bruce felt a muscle at the corner of his mouth twitch, but he fought the urge to smile. He was pleased with himself. The Director was the type that was hard to surprise.

“Perhaps it was your concern cloaked in an insult, or perhaps I am growing old and my hearing is blasted to hell, but are you telling me that you are interested in an
administrative
position in the Ministry?”

Now he let his smile shine. “Yes, sir. I am.”

“You?” Sound asked again. “In
administration
?”

Hearing the disbelief in Sound’s voice made him flinch. So he was a man of action. Bruce knew that about himself. That did not make him thick as this pom’s clotted cream. Did Sound regard him as some kind of lummox? It was bad enough that Sussex regarded him so dismissively. He did not need that from his superior as well. After all, the training that Ministry field operatives were subjected to tested more than just personal mettle. There were tests of literature, mathematics, and the sciences. True, Bruce had just managed to squeak by those trials, one or two of them yielding to his charms.

Campbell’s building tirade was interrupted by the door opening. Miss Shillingworth appeared, pushing a small trolley of a contraption resembling Mad McTighe’s automated tea butler, but this model was smaller, less intricate. His eyes scanned it quickly for the coat of arms of the McTighe household, but he could see no identifying craftsman’s crest.

“Ah, the tea!” Doctor Sound beamed at Miss Shillingworth. “Cassandra, your timing is—as always—impeccable.”

Bruce started at what he saw next. Miss Shillingworth
blushed
. “Thank you, Doctor.”

“Help yourself, Agent Campbell,” he said, motioning to the apparatus.

“Yes, sir.” Bruce leaned forward and added, “Thank you, Cassandra.”

His finger was about to press the service button when his instincts lurched into “flight” mode. He looked up.

Miss Shillingworth’s charming blush had disappeared. Completely. Through her spectacles, she shot him a cold, deadly gaze.

Bruce swallowed. “
Miss Shillingworth
,” he said gently.

With a heartbeat of a pause, she turned back to Doctor Sound. “Your next appointment is at ten o’clock. It’s Sir . . .”

Her voice trailed off as she looked over at Bruce, now watching the contraption’s small arm extend, grab a cube of sugar, and then repeat, as the dark liquid poured out of the spout closest to him.

“Go on, Miss Shillingworth,” the Director said, motioning with his free hand to continue, while his other was helping himself to tea.

The secretary turned away from Bruce, and continued. “It’s Sir William Christie.”

“Oh?” His eyebrows raised at the man’s name. “Things amiss at Greenwich?”

“He’s been noticing odd volcanic activity on Mars.”

“Oh dear,” Sound muttered, his face darkening slightly. “Ten o’clock, you say? Very well. That will be all.” He waited until his secretary left the office, and then turned back to Bruce. “So, what do you think?”

The cup had just reached Bruce’s lips when Sound’s question was put to him. He set his cup back on the saucer and shook his head. “Sorry, Doctor, but I was never much a bloke of the sciences. I know Mars is a planet. It’s red. And it’s not made of cheese, like the moon, eh?”

The tea was a jolt to him. Two sugars barely blunted its sharpness.

“No, I mean what do you think of the life you are considering.” He motioned to the door. “You got a taste of it.”

Bruce set his tea on the trolley and leaned forward. “I’m sorry?”

“I will admit, the Ministry—even on its limited funding and resources—has grown exponentially in the past decade. Perhaps it is the impending turn of the century that has brought said peculiar occurrences to the forefront of people’s minds or perhaps the House of Usher is preparing a dramatic move against the Empire. Who knows? I have noticed, though, more demands upon my person, and I have actually considered the need for an assistant director in the home office.

“You, however—and now it is my turn to ask for your pardon if you take this as a slight—were the last person I would expect to ask for such a promotion, if that is how you would regard such a position.”

He felt his pride recoil from that blow. Far from Bruce to back down in a fight. “I assure you, I could handle this job without a fuss. No worries.”

“Could you now?” Doctor Sound laced his fingers together as he asked Bruce, “Could you settle for using protocol instead of pistols? Could you commission instead of call on combat? Could you, a man of action, settle for a life in administration?”

What Bruce had planned following Sussex’s visit suddenly came to roost, and the undercurrent of panic he had been feeling since taking a seat to wait for the Fat Man now swelled inside him. He was about to give it all up. The travel. The adventure. The women of all fashions, all cultures. All that, gone . . .

. . . and in its place: paperwork, delegation, and meetings with various hoity-toity types.

“One benefit, I’m sure you have considered, is there is considerably less travel involved.” Sound smiled warmly. “I suppose this means more time at home with your wife and children. You could finally bring them over to join you here in London.”

He hadn’t thought of that.
Good Lord, what the hell am I doing?

Campbell felt his head give a slight nod, but that was the only thing in agreement with Sound. The rest of him was silently insisting that he gather himself together, apologise for a brief moment of madness, and then go back to the field and pick a fight with a group of complete strangers.

Bruce kept at the front of his mind the image of Sussex. The man had a hold on him, and promised to end a lifestyle that Bruce had grown accustomed to. He continued to remind himself that this was not a permanent assignment. Sussex assured him he would be needed in this new branch of the government that he wanted to helm. Even if Bruce didn’t fulfil Sussex’s wishes, assuredly someone else in the Ministry would. The difference would be Bruce would be without the Ministry, without his wife and children, and back in Australia. This would truly be . . .

“ . . . quite the departure for you, Agent Campbell.”

Had Sound been talking to him? Bruce took in a slow, deep breath, and then shrugged with hardly a care showing on his face. “I never blink at a challenge. This opportunity would be a much needed change of pace for me.”

“And what of your current case load?”

“Oh that shouldn’t be a bother,” Bruce said, waving his hand dismissively.

“Even the Edinburgh hypersteam case?”

The Fat Man caught him on that one. “Ah, yes, well, I can easily look into that case while understanding my new responsibilities. As people like to point out, these are massive shoulders. I can handle it.”

“Perhaps, Agent Campbell.” The politeness seemed to drain from his face the longer he looked at him, and then finally: “I will think on your offer.”

Doctor Sound then turned his attention to another folder in the “Active” bin, and continued to sip his tea as he reviewed the notes of whatever case was now before him. Bruce couldn’t tell at a glance if the notes were from an agent in this office, or from one of the Ministry’s remote offices.

“Doctor Sound?” Bruce asked.

“I’m sorry, was there anything else?”

“No, sir.”

He looked up from the open report and smiled. “Very well then. Off you go. As you mentioned earlier, you have leads to pursue.”

Bruce nodded and made his way for the door. He stopped just shy of the door handle, and turned back to the Director’s desk, his mouth open, ready to offer more inducements to Sound.

“I said I will think on it.” He didn’t look up, but his voice was even and controlled. “As I consider your proposal, you will serve at the Queen’s Pleasure as you have most admirably done in these past six years.”

And that was the end of their discussion.

“Thank you, sir,” Bruce muttered.

The door latched behind him and now he was back in the waiting area of Doctor Sound’s office, Miss Shillingworth’s fingers once more dancing along the keys of her Hansen Writing device. His stomach grumbled a bit. Perhaps he could sneak out for a quick snack somewhere close. He snorted, remembering he had the entire morning as Doctor Sound believed he would be out and about chasing leads on a case Bruce had already sent to the Archives.

Bruce then considered, provided he could hold off for an hour or so, if Cassandra would wish to join him for a light repast.

The typewriter keys then stopped. Miss Shillingworth’s head turned slightly. She was not looking at him, but she was regarding him. Somehow, Bruce knew that.

Bruce cleared his throat and passed by the desk, his invitation to Miss Shillingworth for elevensies abandoned.
Hastily
.

As the lift descended to the main offices of the Ministry, Bruce felt himself relax more and more. The seed was now planted and Doctor Sound would think on it. Something in his demeanour suggested he would take the bait. What overworked civil servant would not?

A soft laugh rumbled from his chest. That stuck-up toff Sussex had been right, and he was one step closer to the Restricted Area.

Chapter Nine

In Which Eliza and Wellington Meet Up with Old Friends

W
ellington tried desperately not to stare, but he could not help himself.

Pistons pumped and miniature boilers hissed within the inner workings of Alice’s prosthetics. Truly modern marvels they were. While granting her walk a bit of pronouncement, the artificial limbs allowed Eliza’s maid incredible mobility, her managing of fine delicate tea settings or china finery through an application of push carts. This morning presented more strenuous work as Alice was single-handedly attempting to restore Eliza’s apartments back to order. At least the “Caretakers,” as the Ministry referred to them, had tended to the tragic corpses, leaving in their wake the remains of what had once been an immaculate dwelling. The Caretakers had also delivered a missive from the Director granting both archivists a day to gather their wits. Eliza, instead of taking advantage of the reprieve as Wellington expected her to do, was out early in the morning. Wellington had somehow managed to sleep through her repast and departure, waking up to the smells of a late breakfast and reminders of Eliza’s late-night callers.

Now around this delightful wonder of fortitude and science was Eliza D. Braun’s domain, a domain that appeared to be maintained and kept by a staff of four. Only Alice reigned here; and in the short time between his breakfast and joining her in the parlour, she had restored a good portion of Eliza’s luxurious apartments to their pristine and fine appearance. These apartments stood as a testament to the public persona that the one-time field agent now archivist-in-training wished to maintain, as well as the skill of her chambermaid.

“Pardon me, Mr. Books,” Alice said suddenly as she polished a brass statue of Athena.
Most appropriate for them both
, Wellington thought in passing. “But you’re doing it again.”

“Beg your pardon?” And that was when he noticed Alice’s reflection in the statue. “Oh. Yes. I told you to remind me of when I did that, didn’t I?”

“Yes, sir,” she answered, nodding as she finished with the Greek goddess.

“My apologies,” he said.

“No need for that,” she chided lightly. When Wellington had first met her, Alice’s speech still carried hints of the past Eliza had rescued her from. Now and again she would slip back to that, but only in moments. In the brief time he had known her, she had come far. “I understand my enhancements put off some.”

“Just the opposite, Alice,” Wellington returned. “I find them utterly fascinating. While I now know that in your leg you are carrying an impressive firearm, that bit of trivia hardly warrants my impropriety.”

Alice turned to Wellington, her smile quite sincere and disarming. This was another unique trait of Eliza’s semi-clockwork housekeeper: she was not a fixture or addition to the household. Alice was a breathing entity, and she had a voice.

“Mr. Books, the mistress insists that when I have a question of her, I should ask. If I may be so bold, sir, might I make the same insistence upon your person?”

He unlaced his fingers and rubbed his hands against his knees, considering Alice’s kind offer. “Would you mind?”

“Sir, I am flattered by your concern, but really, it might be for the best if you had a question, you might wish to ask it of me as I’ll feel much better.”

“Better?” Wellington considered that for a moment. “Better in that you answered whatever question I deemed inappropriate to ask?”

“No, sir,” she replied. “Better in that you wouldn’t be staring at me.”

“Ah.”

He noticed Alice’s eyes catching the sunlight and an odd smile formed on her face. “But sir, would you mind after you ask your question that I ask a question of my own?”

“You? Ask me a question?” He chuckled. “It is not so much improper as it is unexpected, but certainly.”

“Very well then. We have an accord.” Alice grabbed a broom and started sweeping where shards of glass remained from the shattered window. “Ask me a question.”

Wellington finished his tea and set the cup and saucer aside. Then came his first query. “Do you tire quicker? I would imagine manipulating the weight of your limbs carries a toll.”

“It did, at first.” She moved to the nearest fireplace and began her dusting, sweeping into a small pan remains of figurines no doubt brought back from Eliza’s escapades. “Eliza and that clever gent, Mr. Axelrod, were most patient in teaching me how to work with, not against, the . . .” She paused, her brow furrowing. “Oh dear, what is that funny word Mr. Axelrod used? Started with an ‘m,’ I believe. Mo—”

“Momentum?”

“That’s the word—momentum. It was Mr. Axelrod who taught me how to use only a bit of myself and let the momentum carry me along. Like those dandies on the bicycles, you know?” She gave a little chuckle. “He is quite amazing in the sciences.”

Wellington sniffed. “That’s one word you could use.”

“Since then, I’ve been able to work a bit longer, not that Miss Eliza likes it when I do. But when the spirit moves me, I like to get more things done. Less of a burden on her.”

He nodded, and then picked up his cup and saucer. “Tea, Alice. Two lumps?”

“Certainly, sir,” she replied, giving a hiss-accented curtsey before moving towards him.

Wellington noted that when Alice quickened her pace, her limp disappeared. Perhaps it was easier for the maid to sprint and run rather than walk. The “cyclist” analogy was making more and more sense.

“So, if needed, you can move quickly.”

“Indeed, sir,” she said as she pushed the tea cart closer to Wellington. “I am a housemaid, sir, but I also must see to the apartments.”

“You mean, as a caretaker?”

On that, Alice afforded a wry smile. “Yes, sir. Something of the sort.”

She took the cup, placed two cubes at the bottom of it, and then began pouring.

“Does Miss Braun—”

“Pardon me, Mr. Books,” Alice interjected, keeping an eye on the tea. “You did promise me a question of my own.”

Wellington opened his mouth in protest, but his mouth shut as Alice pulled away from him. His cup was full, but he could not partake just yet.

“Very well then, Alice.” Wellington set his brew aside and sat upright in the couch. “Quid pro quo.”

Alice kept her eyes cast down for a moment. Then she shut them, took a deep breath, and when her eyes flicked open they fixed on Wellington Books. It was a look that made him start lightly. Had he been holding his tea, he would have added to the mess Alice was still tending to.

“Last night, one of those harpies had you. Had you dead to rights.” She was still as a statue, her eyes never faltering from their gaze on him. “And last night you handled that Samson-Enfield Mark III as if it was God’s divine gift bestowed upon you since your birth, sir. The first shot was an easy kill. The second? Sir, that lass was in full concealment. Based on a footfall, you were able to train your firearm on her and execute a lethal shot. There was no luck in that.”

Wellington took up his tea and savoured a sip. It did little to soothe him. “And your question, Alice?”

She took a single step forward. “If what Miss Eliza tells me about you is true—and she has never given me reason to doubt her honesty—you and guns are not on friendly terms. What’s your game, Mr. Books?”

“A valid question.” Wellington’s tea and saucer never clattered as he held it before him. He couldn’t understand why he was so calm, seeing as his secret was no longer secret. “As much as you want Miss Braun to walk through that door safely every evening, I wish the same thing. I would not hesitate to lay my life down for her. Not just out of duty to the Ministry, but because I . . .” His mind suddenly went blank. Why would he do this again? “. . . because I choose to do so. We are partners. While life in the Archives moves at a more pedestrian pace than her previous exploits, it is that
other
life I have caught glimpses of in our brief time together that has made me feel . . .” And his voice trailed off again.

“Alive, Mr. Books?”

He nodded appreciatively. “Well put, Alice.” He took another sip of tea, and then continued. “What is ‘my game’ then?” He paused, considering the question. “Alice, I have no simple answer to give you other than this. You have seen a glimpse of what I am capable of. So, ask yourself this question—why am I not in the field, but in the Archives, a place that no doubt your mistress has shared her displeasure for spending time there?”

She gave a little shrug, a most curious smile crossing her face. “Well, for the most part.”

He inclined his head to one side. “I’m sorry?”

“There are some things in the Archives that have caught Miss Braun’s attention.”

“Really?” Wellington shook his head. “Damned if I know what they are.”

He waited for Alice to recover from the sudden giggle that had overcome her before continuing. “It may not surprise you that I was influential in our escape from the Havelock estate this previous summer.”

“No surprise at all,” she said, returning to her duties in reclaiming the parlour. “I found it a bit unlikely that Miss Eliza couldn’t recall a firefight. She has a mind for such things.”

“So why would I, possessing such skills of marksmanship and survival, be down in the Archives, except by choice?”

That question made her pause in her duties. “By choice?” Alice’s furrowed brow then relaxed, and her hand went to her chest. “Sir—”

“I wish to serve at Her Majesty’s pleasure, but on my terms.”

The maid nodded. “I understand.”

And what struck Wellington so deeply was that she did. Completely.

“The mistress,” Alice began. “She doesn’t have an inkling, does she?”

“Your mistress is a superlative field agent, but this secret I have managed to keep from everyone at the Ministry, including our Director.” Wellington gave her a warm smile. “I will tell her. When I’m ready.”

Alice glanced at the door, and then said, “Beg your pardon, sir, but would you mind if I spoke freely?”

“I have no objection.”

With another quick look at the door, she turned to face Wellington, but suddenly she seemed to have a difficult time looking him in the eye. “Miss Eliza is quite special. You can trust her.”

“I know.” Wellington took a sip, but he still felt cold, even with the drink’s warmth in his stomach. “When the time is right.”

“Considering what you and Miss Eliza do in secret,” Alice said, motioning around them both, “time is not to be taken for granted.”

Wellington was impressed with Eliza’s tutoring of the young girl. For a house servant, Alice was quite savvy. He could not imagine the anguish she had suffered on losing her legs, but perhaps it had been a blessing in disguise.

He watched her clean for a few minutes longer, and then asked, “Does Eliza ever share mission details with you?”

She gave a bark that Wellington assumed was a laugh. “If I may be so blunt, I dress, sometimes bathe, and—as you now know—stand watch over the mistress when she sleeps. With such intimate knowledge, what do you think?”

He gave a nod. “Well, Miss Braun is hardly one to stand on Ministry policy.” Wellington smiled, as he could now, at least for the moment, relax a bit and enjoy his tea. It was, as per usual, perfect. Alice had needed only a few tries before finding exactly how Wellington took it. “She is hardly your average employer, is she?” Wellington asked, setting aside his cup. “She has encouraged from you a rather forward demeanour with her house guests, wouldn’t you agree?”

“No, sir, just with you.”

He nodded, his lips pursing as he did. “I see.”

“In private, though, Miss Braun has welcomed me to speak my mind, be bold in my heart, and remain confident in my abilities.”

“Of that, I have no doubt,” he said. “I’m curious about what you intend to do if something were to happen to her.”

She continued to sweep shards of wood and glass up into the dustpan as she asked, “Whatever do you mean?”

“The risks we are taking . . .” Wellington leaned forward, keeping his eyes fixed on hers. “The Ministry does not know we are investigating this case. As far as they are concerned, we are in the Archives. If they were to find us in the field . . .”

His voice trailed off on that thought. He meant to say, “
If they were to find her in the field . . .”
but it had instead come out as it did. They were partners, after all. He had lied for her, and she would—without hesitation—do the same. The little side jobs she carried out while they were away on official Ministry business were easy to cover, but now they were at it again with this case. Or in this situation,
cases
. They were both daring the devil with this little confidence game of theirs.

“I shouldn’t worry, sir,” Alice said, returning to her dusting by the fireplace. “If Miss Braun were to find herself without need of my services, I have her recommendations and accolades to find me work at another house.”

That jarred him back to his original question to Alice. “I’m sorry. Another manor?”

“Well, yes.”

“But what about all the choices you have in the world, choices that Miss Braun is encouraging you to explore?”