The Diamond Conspiracy: A Ministry of Peculiar Occurrences Novel (13 page)

“Later, my sweet, later,” Wellington chided, taking a look at his pocket watch. “We are on borrowed time.”

“That we are. Children?” Eliza called. “Are we ready?”

A moment later, the Ministry Seven and Alice appeared. Eliza slipped on the coat and bowler of the Department which, as fate would have it, fit her quite neatly. Alice and Wellington made their own checks of shotgun and sniper rifle, respectively, as Eliza crossed the kitchens to the hearth. She reached up for where the poker hung, but she tugged the poker downwards and the hook shifted forwards and down. The stone floor before the hearth sank deeper into the ground.

“Christopher, come with me. We need to arm ourselves.”

“Yes, Miss Eliza,” Christopher said with a nod.

“Make this a quick arming, if you please,” Wellington said, glancing at his watch and then outside. “Time waits upon no man.”

“Luckily I
am
no man,” she quipped before descending with Christopher into what Wellington could only assume was the safe house’s armoury.

“What be the plan, sir?” Alice asked.

“We are returning to England. All of us.”

“Pardon me, Mr. Books,” Colin spoke up, “but no offence intended towards you or Miss Eliza, wouldn’t it be smarter if’n we did do what’s we do’s best and take to the streets? Even in Froggyland, streets are wot we know best.”

Wellington admired the boy’s fortitude. However, Colin needed to trust him on the matter.
“Dis-moi, comment vas-tu se déplacer autour de Paris, même à la campagne?”

“What are you on about, Mr. Books, speaking all Frog-like?” the boy snapped.

“I think that was the point Mr. Books wanted to make, Colin,” Eric said, a light snicker peppering his words.

“I would never doubt your inherent talents on survival in the streets,” Wellington started, placing a gentle hand on the deflated child’s shoulder, “but if you were to be caught by the authorities, it would only complicate matters if they discover you are English children loose in Paris. In the case of the Ministry Seven, particularly as you are truly seven now, we must practice safety in numbers.” Wellington called down to where Eliza and Christopher disappeared. “How’s it coming along down there?”

“Nearly done,” Eliza returned.

“Make sure to bring up a map, if you please.”

“Already done, Mr. Books.” Christopher popped back up with a large folio in his hands. “Shall I remove Old Blighty from here?”

“Bring the whole collection up with you, Christopher, there’s a good lad.”

The eldest of the Ministry Seven returned back to the kitchen, only this time he had upon him a small rifle resembling Alice’s and two belts of ammunition and sidearms across one shoulder. Liam and Colin both let out delighted gasps but were quickly silenced by a look from both Christopher and Wellington. In his opposite hand, Christopher carried a large book of maps.

“No chance of any walking sticks down there?” he called down to Eliza.

“Concealed sword, single-shot rifle, or reinforced titanium?” she asked.

“A sword would be lovely, thank you,” Wellington replied,
as he opened the book of maps and began flipping through various regions of England and Europe.

“Beg a pardon, sir,” Christopher began, relieving himself of the small arsenal he was carrying, “but you passed by the England map.”

Looking up from the atlas, Wellington adjusted his spectacles and grinned. “Well done for knowing your geography, lad. And yes, I did pass by it.” He returned his eyes back to the maps. “We need to map a course back to England’s shores, but,” he said before pausing at a map of the eastern coast of France, “we are going to have to enjoy a more scenic route.”

“How’s that, Welly?” Eliza’s voice echoed from the connecting chamber of the armoury and the kitchens.

“We have to assume that if the Department know our safe houses, then the Ministry network has been compromised completely.”

“Agreed,” Eliza said, piling into the centre of the table more sidearms and weapons, along with a fine dark-wood cane with a lovely brass handle.

“Then it would not also be a far cry to speculate they are watching all ports at present. Airship, sea ferry, smuggling boats, or otherwise.”

Her face darkened at his theory. This was sure to be another one of those times where she hated him to be right. “So what’s your suggestion?”

“We head east, not west.”

She looked as if she were about to protest, but then gave a slow, steady nod. “Head further away from the safety of Britannia?” Eliza stepped closer to him as they both examined the map. “So how deep are we delving into the belly of the beast?”

“I was hoping you could give us an idea of where to go,” he replied, sweeping his hand across the map of Europe. “Since you have all your field experience to call on.”

“We could try Barcelona or Madrid, but again we might have the same problem.” Eliza tapped her finger on the map. “Even though we have operatives and offices in so many locations, we really do not have many havens to choose from—not if the whole network is compromised.”

Wellington felt the need to brace himself against the thick, wooden table. He had only been activated two months prior to this, and now he found himself disavowed and a target of Her Majesty’s Department of Imperial Inconveniences. A cramping pressure worked across his back and shoulders, no doubt a manifestation of the responsibility he and Eliza were undertaking.

“Welly, are you all right?”

He looked up at Eliza. Why didn’t he have an answer for her?

“Stop,” she said softly. “This is our responsibility, and we will see it through. We just have to consider our options.”

“Yes,” he uttered, his voice dry and strained. “I’m just concerned about the distance we will need to cover.” He then looked up at Alice and the Seven. “All of us.”

“Are you certain, Miss—” Alice started.

Eliza immediately cut her off. “I will not have you all leaving my side. Not until we are all safe. The Department, as you all saw today, has a long reach. They could attempt to use you against us.”

“We kept clear of them peelers once before,” Serena stated.

“That as may be, but I’d rather not take that chance again.” Eliza made eye contact with them all, even Alice, before adding, “We stay together.”

“Coo, mum,” Eric said, taking his hat off, “we feel as if we’re being a right trouble. If we has just stayed in London town, them Department blokes would have forgotten about us, seein’ as how big the city is and all.”

“No, Eric, you don’t know these people as I—” Eliza then stopped in her words, and Wellington was not certain if he should be thrilled or slightly concerned at the light that danced in those brilliant sapphire eyes of her. “That’s it,” she whispered. She was looking out into space, and it was obvious she was planning their trip.

“Eliza, what’s it?”

“As far as we can conclude,” she began, flipping back pages of the atlas as she spoke, “the Department is focusing their efforts on our network of safe houses and active Ministry theatres, yes?”

“It would make the most sense,” Wellington replied.

“Then what if we were to lose ourselves in one of the
grandest theatres of them all?” Her hand turned the page and she straightened to her full height, presenting it to Wellington with a bright smile and breathless satisfaction.

Wellington looked over the map from end to end. Alice and the children leaned in together, then looked back to their ward with a collected movement that Wellington could swear had been choreographed for the ballet.

“Pardon me, miss,” Alice spoke, much to Wellington’s surprise, “but that’s a mad thought, that is.”

Christopher wasted no time in having his own thoughts heard. “Miss Alice is right, mum. We have done some daft things before, but this is—”

“Bloody brilliant, this is!” Wellington said, placing his hand on the map. “The journey will not be easy by any stretch, but once within the borders we could easily disappear.”

“All of us?” Christopher insisted.

It was Christopher’s authority that caught Wellington off guard. The boy was on the cusp of manhood, but it was his age that had made him the “leader” of the Ministry Seven, not necessarily the lad’s confidence or savvy. However, Wellington recognised the tone in his voice. He himself had used such a tone with officers above him when orders would be issued that put his men in harm’s way.

The Ministry Seven had lost one of their own, and Christopher would not let that happen again.

“Christopher,” Wellington said, giving Eliza a quick glance before addressing him, “I know this may appear reckless, but I understand Eliza’s strategy. We need to go where the Department will not expect us to go, and the further we get from the Empire, the safer we will be.”

“But they could still be there, yes?” asked Christopher.

“It’s a possibility,” Eliza said. “But we will be safe there. I have a reliable contact.”

Wellington blinked. “You do?”

“I do.” She crooked an eyebrow at him. “Don’t look surprised, Welly. I’ve not blown up
all
my friends in my missions abroad.”

“So, what about us?” Christopher asked, motioning to the rest of the Seven and Alice. “How are we going to get out of this together?”

Eliza nodded. “A fair question.” She started flipping back through the atlas to the map corresponding with their hideout. “Once we divvy up weapons, food, and gear, we will have one more stop to make.”

Wellington glanced at the pile of supplies in the middle of the table. Wasn’t everything they needed there already?

“There,” Eliza answered him, her finger pointing at their next stop within French borders.

Very clever. “Well played, Miss Braun. Well played.”

Wherein Two Gentlemen Take a Journey

I
f there were anything more magnificent than a hypersteam train, Wellington Thornhill Books had not seen it. Until now.

Standing on the platform of the Gard de Norde, waiting for Eliza to appear, though, he found himself in awe of the
Stahlblitz
. This was the Franco-Germanic hypersteam express that continued to break all records for travel across Europe. Wellington couldn’t help letting his eye trail rather lasciviously over the technological marvel that dared with each voyage to break what hypersteam enthusiasts called the hundredfold. The train gleamed in the gaslight of the platform lamps like a slim, polished-brass bullet, literally humming with excitement on the tracks.

His hands itched to examine the refinements German engineers—and perhaps the more gifted clankertons—had made to the original design. Eliza had disappeared into the hustle and bustle of Paris, with vague instructions to meet her at the station at midday. Could she possibly have known that he would be so close to the magnificent
Stahlblitz
? It seemed like a punishment indeed if she had.

He was lurched out of his reverie when a hand landed on
his arm. His grip tightened on his walking stick, ready to deal a blow to whomever had taken such a liberty with his person.

One look at the familiar face and the oddity of it all made him stop.

The sparkling blue eyes of Miss Eliza D. Braun never ceased to give his heart a start, but the light-brown handlebar moustache perched on top of her lip muted that usual moment’s elation. She made for a very dapper, short man, with a dark bowler jammed down over her head, and a suit of strangely familiar tweed on. She had also done a very convincing job of, once more, tying down her rather impressive bosom, so much so that he wondered where it had all gone.

“Hello, my love,” she said in a voice pitched only a few octaves below her usual voice.

“Miss . . .” Wellington stammered, feeling his temperature rise a little as he tried to brush off her hand. “I mean . . .”

“Mr. Elton Bellington,” she cut him off, waving a pair of tickets beneath his nose, while at the same time drawing him away from the press of people passing through the entrance. “You, my darling, are Samuel Cavenaugh, and we are off to Hamburg.” She looked him over, and after a quick glance to either side of her, remarked, “Looking rather spry for a dead man.”

“What cheek, Elton. Our fellows back at the Department will talk.” He took the tickets from her and examined them. He glanced around them and leaned in closer. “Eliza, these are for a
shared
single berth, we cannot . . . that is . . .”

“The Department is looking for a man and a woman, so we not only disguise ourselves as their own but pose as two men travelling together.” Her smile under the all too convincing facial hair was still the same one he loved. She gave one of the moustache’s curls a tiny stroke with the back of her index finger. “I hope you can accept my little turn with facial hair. It’s all the rage in Berlin, you know?”

“But you don’t think sharing a berth will attract attention? Two men, one cabin, and a cross-country excursion?”

The bemusement in Eliza’s eyes faded, replaced by a strange concoction of pity and frustration.

“Think of where we are going,” she said, taking the hand in which he held their travel arrangements and placing a gentle
kiss against it, jamming Wellington’s breath in his throat. “Handlebar moustaches aren’t the only rage in Berlin.”

Now he knew he was flushing red, perhaps because she had hit a sore spot. Aside from his military service, and the odd holiday or archival business, he was nowhere near as well travelled as Eliza. His education and childhood had not been very conclusive to learning or experiencing anything outside what his father had wanted him to learn.

It didn’t mean he didn’t want to, though.

“You really should get out more,” she sighed.

“Your disguise is rather masterful,” he conceded.

She winked at him. “I do make a rather handsome young man, if I do say so myself.” She tucked her hand into his elbow, leaning her smaller suited frame against his. “Let’s try and find our carriage. We might have to get a little more . . . relaxed when we get there.”

The wicked look she gave him sent a frisson of anticipation up his spine. Still, there were other things to consider. “What about Alice and the children?”

“Oh, I do believe
Sister
Alice and her children are managing quite well,” Eliza said, craning her neck in the direction of what sounded like a right scolding.

Wellington followed her gaze to a nun wagging a finger in Liam’s face. He would have come to the boy’s rescue had he not known the nun was, in fact, Alice. The stop Eliza had suggested at the priory had been so they could help themselves to the Seven’s present disguises. The school uniforms and all the children bathed and cleaned to nearly military standards made the Ministry Seven almost unrecognisable. Christopher, Wellington could not help but be impressed, remained in character as a quiet priest, keeping a Bible pressed close to his chest. Alice, donning the habit, was ordering the blushing Liam to return the pinched wallet back to the man. With all attention on the lad caught in the act, the world was oblivious to Serena deftly relieving another two ladies of their coin purses.

Eliza merely shrugged and whispered, “They are probably thinking of the journey ahead. One of many reasons why they make such wonderful operatives for the Ministry: their survival instincts.”

They continued along the platform, with occasional jets of
heavy steam lingering around their ankles, the thick condensation parting to their steps. “They are in second class. I didn’t think it would do to make our entourage obvious,” she said cheerfully, tipping her hat back to examine the numbers on the carriages they passed. “Alice and the Seven are all comfortably ensconced separately from us. Elton and Samuel can have some quality time.”

He didn’t quite know what to say to that, especially since she pressed her body up against his. It didn’t matter the situation, he was all too aware of her impressive attributes hidden beneath her disguise, and a yearning built in his own body to pull her loose of those bindings. That particular image burned suddenly very brightly in his mind, and he had to jerk away from her a fraction in embarrassment.

“Oh, Wellington,” she said with a slight purr in her voice, “you have the very same idea as I do.” Before he could object, she wheeled him around and placed a kiss full on his lips.

While the sensation of her fake moustache tickling his lips was at first a little distracting, her firm yet soft mouth on his soon overwhelmed his surprise. He clutched her closer, and suddenly realised that the men’s outfit suited her rather well, and that the very idea that her feminine curves were concealed beneath it was actually rather exciting.

With some sadness he released her, and set her back on the platform. Wellington adjusted his suit a little, but couldn’t help looking at Eliza with a slight smile. He hoped her blood was pumping as hard as he knew his was.

Her hat and facial hair were a little askew, and it took her a moment to adjust them. “Perhaps you have been to Berlin.” Eliza locked her fingers in his and pulled him to the door of the first-class car. “This one is ours, and I do believe our cabin is a sleeper by chance too.”

“As long as it has a lock on the door,” he said, already tugging at his cravat.

The hypersteam was quite full, and they had to push past their fellow travellers to find their accommodation, but find it they did. Luckily, it did indeed have both a bed and a sturdy lock. Eliza tugged the door open, and they fell into the rather close quarters. Wellington could only feel her warmth on him, and craved to touch her skin.

“The Ministry is going down like a punctured airship.” Eliza yanked the rest of his cravat off him. “We’re being chased by the whole damn Department.” Her lips traced along the line of his neck, while his fingers had real trouble with the buttons of her jacket and vest. “And Lord knows how many of our fellow agents have been killed.”

“All ample reasons,” Wellington said, circling her waist and staring into her eyes, “for us to make the most of the time we have.”

The quarters were close, and the train was starting to pick up speed exiting the station. With one hand Wellington managed to yank down the blinds on the door, while cupping her body against his. The binding on her curves was going to present a challenge, but part of him thrilled to it.

She smelled different in the Department tweed, but underneath, the faint whiff of her perfume reached him.

“Wellington,” she said into his ear, “we are both entirely overdressed.”

He pulled her hair loose, wrapping his fingers in its dark ruddy curls. “That moustache will have to go.” His voice did not sound like his own, but he rather enjoyed hearing it so primal.

A loud bang at the door made both of them jump. Eliza leapt backwards, giving both of them room to draw the Remington-Elliots from their holsters, even with their clothes hanging slightly askew. With a nod in his direction, Eliza leaned towards the door.

“Ja?”
she asked.
“Kann ich ihnen helfen?”

“Miss Eliza?” whispered Alice in reply.

Eliza opened the door to see Alice the nun staring back at her, a large leather-bound ledger clutched tight in her arms.

“I made sure I was not followed,” she assured them both, “just as you taught me.”

“Come in, quickly,” Eliza insisted, waving her in with the small pistol, “before you are seen.”

Once the door shut, Alice gave a long sigh. “Once the children situated themselves, they were asleep within minutes. Poor things were tuckered right out.”

“Alice,” Eliza warned. Wellington afforded a grin at how Eliza, even in this mad dash across Europe, insisted that her maid practice a polished approach to communication.

“Sorry, miss. They were exhausted so I insisted they have a rest. There was little protest.” Alice then presented them both with the large book. “With all the excitement at the château, I did forget to bring this to your attention again. Christopher and the children had this with them, and while I hardly understand the letters as you and Mr. Books here would, I understood enough to know you both needed to see this.”

Eliza opened the leather-bound journal and scanned the names. “What do you make of these notes?”

He adjusted his spectacles as he read over her shoulder. “These notations look like formulas of some sort. A chemical breakdown.” Wellington pointed lower down the page. “And there, same formula. And there.”

“Welly,” Eliza began, following the notes from where he pointed to the names associated with them. “That’s Arthur Pembrose, the Duke of Manchester. And that’s Margaret Bent, the governor of the Bank of England.”

“Her husband is on this list as well, few rows up,” he said, narrowing his eyes on the chemical formulas. He looked up to Alice. “Did the Seven find this ledger at the house they had broken into?”

“Yes, Mr. Books. Christopher said the house belonged to a man in the medical profession.”

Saving her place in the book with one hand, Eliza flipped back to the first page. Her eyes scanned the page, coming to stop on the name in a corner of the first page. “H. Jekyll.”

“Seems that ‘Doctor H. Jekyll’ enjoys a very exclusive clientele,” he said as Eliza turned the page.

“Wellington!” Eliza hissed.

The book was across her lap, open flat to reveal both pages. Across the top of the left page in a brilliant flourish script read a single name:

Peter Lawson, the Duke of Sussex

Opposite it was written another name:

The Maestro

For the Duke’s page, there were chemical notations far
more complicated than the previous pages. Wellington’s own understanding of the chemical and medical sciences were limited, but he could tell there were many variations from the original formula at the top of the page. Lower down, the same formula appeared, only with other elements bonded to it, a few adjustments to hydrochlorides and sulphates here and there.

The notes on the opposite page—the Maestro’s page—Wellington understood perfectly.

“These must be the schematics for that odd chair the Duke of Sussex was sitting in when we saw him in California,” Eliza said as her hand ran down the page’s length.

“Yes, but these designs make no sense.” His fingertips followed a section of the piping from the large tanks in the back of the chair. “If this were a life support system, as it has been designed to appear, then these tubes would connect with the chair’s occupant. Look here.” He traced one pipe to a metallic gauntlet. “This vents pressurised blasts to the glove.”

“What would that do?”

Wellington chuckled. “It would flex the fingers.”

“That’s it?”

He shrugged. “That’s it.”

Eliza seemed to catch on to the patterns quickly. “There’s a connection between this tube and the Gatling. We all know what that does. Another that goes to the ocular.”

“I would gather that controls brightness and intensity. Maybe colour, if so desired.”