Scotland Hard (Book 2 in the Tom & Laura Series)

Scotland
Hard

by

John Booth

It is an age of adventure and daring heroes. The
British Empire
is growing, helped by the power of Military Magic. Our heroes Tom & Laura return to
London
and are immediately kidnapped to be sold into slavery. Cam, Daisy & Arnold set off in hot pursuit, but everybody else believes Tom & Laura are dead.

Book 2 in the Tom & Laura Series

First published in 2012 by John Booth

Cover Design by Maria K.

Copyright ©2012 John Booth
All rights reserved

John Booth asserts the moral right under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988 to be identified as the author of this work,

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without written permission from the author, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover
 
other than that in which it is published and without similar condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the authors’ imaginations or are used fictitiously and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

1.
  
Death

To: Her Royal Highness, Queen Victory, Empress of India.

Saturday 3rd November 1860

Dear Vickie,

I am sending this short letter with Bertie to inform you of recent developments. A nasty incident took place at Hobsgate today and I am sure that Bertie will regale you with the details whether you ask him to or not. Suffice it to say that some brave young people lost their lives in your service.

An attack purporting to be directed on the orders of the
United States
Government was made on English soil. The perpetrators are either prisoners or dead and their mission was a failure. It is highly unlikely that the
USA
would have sanctioned such an attack and it is my belief that it was funded by individuals for purposes unknown. I have advised the Prime Minister to keep the knowledge of the attack a secret and I believe he sees the wisdom in that approach.

Bertie will also tell you of Laura Young, a ‘Class A’ who will reach the age of 17 on Wednesday. Her existence has tipped the balance of power and the long term consequences are difficult to predict. Ask Bertie to tell you of Thomas Carter when there is no one else in the room. I am sure you will appreciate the implications of what he can tell you.

I am returning Miss Young and Mr. Carter to the safety of MM3 in
London
. They will have accompanied Bertie for most of the journey. Perhaps I might meet you and
Prince Albert
in some informal manner so that we can discuss these matters further.

Sir Ernest Trelawney

Director General of Military Magic, Department 3

London
, Sunday 4
^th
November 1860

Charles Drake bent down to put the plates of food on the floor. He groaned in the way that older men do when exerting themselves.

“There you go, Sir Ernest, Miss Mann. That’s a good piece of fish I bought from the market this morning.”

The two cats paid no attention to Charles, though they had been sliding round his legs until moments before. There was cooked fish to be devoured and nothing else mattered until it was consumed.

Charles smiled. The cats were his children, even though they were street cats he’d lured into his flat years ago with the promise of food and a warm place to sleep. He always left a window open so they could come and go as they pleased.

He waved a telegram at Sir Ernest and the cat flicked his thick black tail. Sir Ernest was the color of the night.

“You’ve picked me for a late night mission. I wonder why and if you even know? Always three moves ahead of the game is our Sir Ernest. I remember once when he ordered me to
Austin
. Didn’t find out about the assassins back in
New Orleans
for three years.”

Sir Ernest sneezed and reengaged the fish.

Charles consulted the telegram again and read it out loud.

“Collect the girl you delivered and her friend from the place you took her. Expect her past midnight. Take to HQ. Take care.”

Neither Sir Ernest or Miss Mann were the slightest bit impressed. Miss Mann had ginger and white fur, and looked every bit the queen she was.

“A telegram from Sir Ernest Trelawney. Here to my home. That’ll be Laura and Tom, you can bet. There must be trouble if he’s gone to these lengths.”

Charles looked around his single room home. It was in the upper part of a four storey terraced house that had seen much better days. There was no money in being a retired spy and if it wasn’t for the generosity of Sir Ernest in giving him a driving job for MM3, he would be begging on the streets. As it was, he got by and the work was light if prone to strange hours. He had talked with Laura Young a couple of months ago when he took her to Paddington from her parent’s home. She was a determined young woman and he pitied the man she married, though she was pretty enough.

Miss Mann jumped onto the table and allowed him to rub her ears. She purred so loudly it drowned out the noises from the street below. It was getting late and the street vendors were out, selling everything from pies to their bodies. It was a long time since Charles had partaken of the latter.

“And what do you think, Miss Mann? Will we have trouble tonight or will it be plain sailing? Ben is hitched to the cab and eating his oats, but I think I’d best prepare my gun. You can’t be too careful, what with the Hungarians so upset. I wouldn’t be surprised if they attempted an assassination. Miss Laura would be a valuable prize.”

He took his gun from its hiding place and started to dismantle it ready for cleaning. Miss Mann was joined by Sir Ernest on the table and they sat down beside each other and watched as he pulled an oiled rag through the barrel, using the string tied to it. It took time to load the pistol, pouring in the black powder and ramming it home. By the time he finished it was almost time to go.

There was a loud and unexpected knock at his door. The cats flew off the table and out of the window, Sir Ernest knocking a frying pan off the range with his legs. It made a loud crash as it hit the floor.

Charles cursed. Had it not been for the noise, he would have pretended to be out. Now that would look dangerously suspicious. Most of the work of a spy is to never stand out in the crowd, on the street, or in the house in which you rent a flat. His eyes fell to the loaded gun on the table and he picked it up and slipped it into the sideboard drawer.

He stepped silently to his door and slid open the spy hatch. It paid to take precautions in his job as you lived longer. The door was bolted and there were no windows looking out of his flat that could be easily reached from the ground unless you were a cat. He had chosen this flat because it could serve as a fortress if required. The door was solid oak and would stop a rifle bullet at short range.

Charles sighed with relief as he recognized the man on the other side of the door. Ever since the attack on
London
a few months earlier, Charles had been a little paranoid.

“Oh, it’s you, sir,” Charles said, opening the door to MM3’s Director of Operations, James Saunders. “I was just about to set off to pick up the two youngsters, sir.”

Saunders smiled and reached up to pat Charles on the shoulder. Saunders was a small man with a very large handlebar moustache, and those were the only things people remembered about him.

“No need to panic, Charlie. I’m sure they can wait a few more minutes for you,” Saunders said cheerfully. Saunders was a thin man, immaculately dressed as if for the theatre, in top hat and tails.

This was the first time that Saunders had visited Charlie’s flat and he looked around the room.

“So this was how the other half lives,” he said. He turned to the fireplace and gestured. “I must say that I do like that.”

He pointed to a cavalry sword hung on the wall in its finely decorated scabbard. It was Drake’s regimental sword, a reminder of before he became a spy. Saunders walked over to it and Charles stood aside to let him pass. He took the sword down from the wall, removing it from its scabbard and putting the scabbard down on a chair.

“Careful, sir. That’s real sharp, I still keep it battle ready,” Charles said nervously as Saunders whipped the sword backwards and forwards through the air in front of him.

“Oh, I’m sorry. Here, you take it.”

Saunders thrust the sword into Charles’ stomach. It pierced his body with a sickening squelching sound.

Charles looked down in horror as his life began to ebb away. He looked in astonishment at Saunders and read satisfaction in the small man’s eyes. All Charles’ strength left his body and he slumped to the floor, unable even to speak. His hands grasped around the sword blade, though he lacked the strength to pull it free.

“I shall be making your pick-up tonight, so don’t you go worrying about it. You carry on dying. It’s a shame I had to kill you, but I had no choice. There is too much money riding on those two to allow them to get away from us.”

Saunders walked casually over to the coat rack by the door and put on Charlie’s greatcoat. Charles watched him, unable to do anything more as his lifeblood dripped onto the wooden boards and seeped between them. Saunders took a large woolen scarf from the rack and wrapped it artistically around his neck.

He looked into the mirror on the wall and smiled with satisfaction.

“Perfect disguise, those two will never know it’s me that’s driving them,” he said in a conversational tone. “Well, not once I remove my top hat and put on your cap. Not that it matters what they discover, because they certainly will not be coming back to MM3. However, I’ve always believed that in this business it never hurts to be too careful.”

Saunders gave Charles a short bow, clicking his heels together in military fashion before walking out of the flat without a backward glance.

Charles Drake cursed his own stupidity as his life ebbed away. The indignity of being killed by his own sword in his own flat was almost worse than the pain he felt from the wound.

He should have been suspicious at Saunders’ unexpected arrival and taken appropriate precautions. It was a sad way to end what had been a career of some distinction, if not one that would have ever have been acknowledged by Her Majesty.

It was still not too late to raise the alarm though. There was his gun inside the sideboard. If he could reach it and fire it, he might be able to attract a neighbor’s attention and get them to warn MM3.

Charles groaned in agony as he began to crawl the few feet to the sideboard. He left a trail of bright blood behind as he dragged himself across the floor. He did not dare to pull the sword from his body, as he knew that might result in his instant death.

His grasping hands sought the handle of the drawer and he managed to pull it and all its contents all over him. Cutlery clattered across the floor. He had lost most of his vision from the loss of blood, and so was forced to grope on the floor around in desperate search for the gun.

His hand felt the cold steel of the gun barrel and he slid his fingers down to its comfortable polished wooden stock. Charles ears were ringing as he lifted the gun as high in the air as he could and pulled the trigger. The blast of the gun shook the room and gun smoke created a small cloud above Charles’ body. He was dead when the gun fell from his hand to bounce across the blood stained floor.

A little later, Sir Ernest and Miss Mann walked through the open window and stared at his body for a while before retreating back into the night.