The Ambitious Orphan (2 page)

Mycroft followed
Daniels out to the new car. His previous one had never made it back
from the adventure overseas. For now, at least, he would have to
keep an eye on them. Warning his brother now would only make
matters worse, and he didn't want to make Amelia think she had more
of his heart than she did. It was already likely that she'd think
him more attached to her than he was, given how long she'd been in
his house. Now that his desires were somewhat satisfied, it might
be worth sending her back to Bath for a while.

The traffic in
London was a little worse than usual, and Mycroft arrived at the
palace several minutes later than normal. Not that it mattered. He
hadn't bothered to announce his arrival.

The doorman
recognised him and showed him to a small waiting room while he
fetched the main butler. Mycroft sat back, crossed his legs and
made himself look at home.

He was examining
his neatly trimmed fingernails when the butler finally decided to
show up. Mycroft paused just a moment longer and then looked
up.

“Hello Mycroft.
Thank you for paying us a visit,” the butler said and motioned for
the woman lingering just through the doorway to come in and serve
tea. If nothing else, that was one pleasure of visiting the palace.
The tea was always perfect.

“I understand
there are a few questions about my report,” Mycroft said, wanting
to control the conversation from the start, and only waiting just
long enough for the servant to leave before he began.

“Yes, although I
suppose they're more observations, really. You didn't exactly do as
we expected.”

“I believe the
results were within acceptable limits.”

“Of course, and
for that you have her majesty's gratitude. However, we have
noticed, and mentioned before, I might add, that this young lady,
Amelia Jones, seems to be the cause of several issues lately.”

“She hardly causes
them,” Mycroft said in an uncharacteristic display of defence. The
butler pursed his lips together and waited for Mycroft to stay
silent for a moment. Inside, he laughed at the antics. It was
always such a strange power play when he talked to anyone at the
palace. They all acted like they had far more power than they
really did and expected everyone around them to treat them as they
appeared.

“Whatever is the
cause, she definitely seems to have led to some decisions we feel
to be out of precedent and the level of carefulness we have come to
expect from your family.”

Mycroft almost
laughed aloud at this, knowing they were glossing over some of the
problems his younger brother had caused over the years. Amelia was
hardly worse, and when it came to her desire to cooperate she was
actually better.

“Previously, we
suggested that it might be a good idea to either find her somewhere
safe or give her enough training she can handle the situations she
keeps getting into, in the way you or your brother might.”

“Yes. Since then
she has trained quite significantly.”

“But you've not
enrolled her into our program.”

“No, she has no
wish to learn from anyone else,” Mycroft said, leaving out that he
also had no wish for anyone else to try to instruct her. Anyone
else would only undo what he'd begun.

“I see.” The
butler paused here and Mycroft knew he wouldn't like what was
coming next. “I don't know how to put this delicately, so I'll put
it succinctly. Do either you or your brother have intentions for
Miss Jones? It would also solve the problem somewhat if she was
given a safer, more sheltered role to play.”

“No, neither I nor
my brother have any intentions. She is merely a friend of my
brother's and someone I have trained. So far, all her involvement
with our affairs has been as a result of one incident in which she
was exposed to a terrorist who escaped capture. I am merely doing
what is necessary as a result of that moment to repair the damage
done to her life.”

Mycroft put his
empty teacup down and hoped it would signal his reluctance to talk
about the topic any further. Neither one of them would marry Amelia
to keep her pent up in a house somewhere, not after everything
she'd gone through because of him. It would be an insult to the
level of intelligence and perseverance she'd shown.

“Perhaps, then,
you would be kind enough to talk to her about joining our
program.”

“I will suggest it
to her,” Mycroft said, lying.

“Thank you. I will
let her majesty know she is likely to have a new recruit to the
team you put together. They've been very useful in the past.”

Mycroft nodded,
not able to say anything without giving his true thoughts away.

“Now, I believe
there are a couple of wrinkles to smooth over given the recent
events in Ukraine. There's a speeding ticket for your old car and a
scrappage charge. The Ukrainian military are also claiming that a
bullet-proof car of another description was seen leaving one of
their military facilities after a helicopter was taken for a
joyride and that this was later found abandoned near a private
airport.”

“I know nothing of
the helicopter and what might have happened to it but I am more
than happy to foot the bill for the cars and ticket.”

“And who was
driving the cars at the time?”

“I couldn't tell
you,” Mycroft said. The butler nodded, knowing this reply was a
lie, as was the comment about the helicopter. They were at least
smart enough to know what had happened with that. Thankfully, they
didn't want to know as much as he didn't want to tell them.

“Finally, do you
foresee any more problems with this particular group of
terrorists?”

“Yes, but my
brother and I have a new lead and plan to deal with them once and
for all. If you leave it with me, I can assure you, within a month
this will all be a topic for a rainy day.” Mycroft stood. The last
part was true at least, but that meant he had work to do.

Amelia shivered
and decided she'd sat outside long enough. It was late February
and, although she liked sitting in Myron's garden, it wasn't warm
enough to sit there for long.

It still surprised
her how well she'd fitted into life in the big house. Myron had
taken her to his bed each night and made sure she enjoyed
everything that followed. In that department, she had no
complaints.

During the day, he
was a good bit colder with her than usual. It was evident that he
didn't want her disturbing his work, but he ate with her and seemed
genuinely pleased to have her company at meals. At least, he did
when he spoke.

The best bit about
the house so far, however, was his study. It was the most amazing
personal library she'd ever seen and, once inside, it was always
where her feet wanted to lead her.

With Myron gone,
she lingered in the doorway, admiring the beautifully constructed
room. Shelves and shelves of book-filled mahogany lined three of
the four walls. The floor was a lush green carpet and all the
chairs within were traditional leather wingbacks.

One wall was
broken up with three, floor-to-ceiling, window bays, each with a
box seat in the window. It was at the closest one of these she had
been resting during the day.

The final wall,
which held no books, had the most enormous marble fireplace she'd
ever seen. Even now, a small fire burned merrily in the grate, and
she'd noticed Myron's only breaks, outside of eating, included a
moment every now and then to place more logs on the fire and tend
to it in any other way that was necessary.

While he worked,
she made sure she sat still and didn't fidget too much, but in
these moments she'd taken to fetching tea for both of them or
allowing herself to change task, from reading to writing or
whatever else she could do while sitting quietly in the light of
the window.

It was a sedate
way of life, but it had helped her feel safe and recover from
everything that had happened in Russia in a much shorter time than
she'd ever have expected. The first time she'd been captured by the
Russians, it had taken several weeks for her to feel calm again. It
had only been four days this time and already she felt mostly
normal.

In her exploration
of the house she'd noted there was also a small home gym and a pile
of mats and pads that would quickly turn it into a sparring dojo.
So far she'd not seen Myron use it, and she hadn't dared to do so
herself. Even now that she was alone in his house for the first
time, she wasn't sure she wanted to be anywhere else but his
study.

Feeling a little
strange being in Myron's home without him, she decided to stick to
the one room he seemed to be comfortable with her spending time in.
She wandered over to the bookshelves, letting her fingertips glide
over the ageing leather covers.

Most of the time
she'd been there she'd only looked at the English books, but while
her perusal would cause no disturbances, she decided to take a more
leisurely look at the rest of the collection. Less than half the
books in the room were in English, and Amelia soon realised that
Myron had many first edition copies of books in their original
language. She was looking at a fortune in books.

Not sure how he'd
react to her touching the books, she withdrew her fingers and tried
to decipher the titles. The shelf she was currently looking at was
full of Russian books, making it impossible for her to identify
anything other than the few well known author names like Tolstoy
and Dostoevsky.

She moved onto the
French ones, having just enough knowledge of that language to make
out most of the titles. When she found The Count of Monte Cristo
she let out a noise half way between a gasp and a squeal of
delight. It was one of her favourite books, and here was what
looked like an original French copy.

Throwing caution
to the wind, she pulled it out of the bookcase, needing to see if
it was also a first edition, like so many others. As she gingerly
pulled open the front flap, a piece of paper came out and fluttered
to the floor.

Distracted by this
unexpected result, Amelia bent down and retrieved the piece of
paper. It was yellowed with age, almost as much as the book itself,
and the ink used to write a message on it was deeply faded, but
Amelia could still make out the letters enough to know it was
Myron's handwriting, although the words were gibberish. No doubt it
was a message in code.

It was set out
like a letter with a recipient and someone who'd signed it at the
end. When she saw the date, she gasped and dropped it. It was dated
1871.

For a few seconds
she stood in place, the book she was clutching forgotten as she
stared at the letter on the floor. It had landed face up, and as
she stood frozen she realised it was unmistakable. The letter was
in Myron's hand and dated almost a century and a half earlier.

Not quite wanting
to trust her own eyes, she picked the letter back up and carried
both it and the book over to Myron's desk. Although he left very
little out on the desk, she knew he kept a small notebook in one
drawer; it contained his handwriting.

When she tried the
drawer, it was locked. Again, she hesitated. Every bit of her
curiosity was enflamed by the situation. It wasn't the first time
she'd found signs that Myron and Sebastian were far older than they
appeared, and using new names to mask the seeming immortality they
both possessed, but she'd never found proof that either of them
were living a lie. And it wasn't exactly something a person really
wanted to believe in. Immortality was the topic of fiction.

Taking a deep
breath, she stepped away from the desk. It was only then she
remembered she had a letter from Myron in her handbag up in her
room. It had been left in Mycroft's car and then under Daniels'
care when she was taken from the hotel. She'd brought her notebook
when Daniels had picked her up to tackle what had also turned out
to be a fictional task. It contained all the handwritten challenges
he'd ever sent her.

Already telling
herself that she was probably just being foolish, and that she'd
find it similar but obviously different enough, Amelia tucked the
letter and book back momentarily and hurried up to the guest
bedroom.

Although she'd
slept in the same bed as Myron every night she'd been there, he'd
had the housekeeper make up another bed for her, and it was where
she was storing the few clothes and other belongings she had at his
house. It was another sign of the odd behaviour the Holmes brothers
both exhibited. They were definitive bachelors, and she knew she
was more involved in their worlds than many women had ever
been.

As soon as she had
her notebook in hand she slunk down the stairs again, treading
lightly and avoiding all the places that creaked and groaned. She
stepped back into the study, almost expecting to see Myron back at
his desk, but the room was as deserted as it had been when she'd
last walked out.

She glanced at the
clock and noted that he'd been gone almost an hour. Depending on
the length of his conversation at the palace, he could be back very
soon. Wasting no more time, she hurried back to the book and
crouched on the floor to hold the letter she'd found and one of the
letters he'd sent her side by side. Other than the colour of the
ink and the damage time had done, they were identical. They'd even
been laid out in the same way.

Both were in code,
although very different codes, but every letter was formed in the
same unique, but neat, way. They were both slanted the same small
amount and the letters were the same size. There was a small chance
they might be written by two different people, but she doubted
it.

Wondering if the
contents might also reveal some clues as to what might be going on,
Amelia pulled out her pen and hastily copied the old letter into
her notebook. As she wrote, she listened out for the door. At no
point did she want Myron to catch her. She knew he'd see it as a
betrayal of his trust, even if she knew she'd never betray him and
would take what secrets she learnt to the grave with her.