The Diamond Conspiracy: A Ministry of Peculiar Occurrences Novel (15 page)

Eliza glanced over to Wellington, before leaning forwards and revealing in a hushed voice, “The Ministry enacted Phantom Protocol. We are still in operation as we have uncovered a plot to remove Queen Victoria from power and put a madman named the Maestro in her place.”

Disclosing the Phantom Protocol order to a member of Section P not only put their operation in danger, but any surviving agents of the Ministry as well. They were supposed to be dark. Now Marius knew. Eliza could only speculate what was running through his mind presently. It was a high risk recruiting Marius, intentionally or not, into their circle; but what Eliza knew of the kaiser, he was Queen Victoria’s favourite grandson. He was also the most loyal. He would not want
to see her disposed of for some commoner to take her place. If that were to happen, there would be a greater commitment of the Prussian Empire in retribution for Queen Victoria’s fall.

Wellington kept silent, his gaze flicking between the two of them.

“Phantom Protocol?” Marius frowned. “I suppose that means whatever resources I provide, this is off the books as the Department has already been in contact with Section P?”

“Of course.”

The German agent sat still for a moment. A carriage rattled past the cafe, children rolled a hoop down the street, and a woman began an argument with another on the corner. Normal everyday life carried on around them, but important decisions were being turned over in the brain of Agent Marius von Hoff. While Section P barely trusted him with anything more than low-level clearance orders and requests from diplomats, Eliza offered to him the fate of the British Empire.

He probably knew that.

“I do not have much to lose,” he said finally, and Eliza realised that she had been, all unknowingly, holding her breath. “If you are right and succeed, Section P is put in good standing with your agency, and perhaps a favour or two will come our way. A good word from your director may even restore my credibility. If we are caught either by the Department or my people”—he tilted his head—“I will be put out of my misery. So what to do with the two of you?”

“The ten of us.”

Marius nearly choked on his coffee. “Ten?”

“Wellington and myself.” Eliza gnawed on her bottom lip softly. “My maid, and seven children, ages seventeen to eight.”

He pinched the bridge of his nose and let out a long, slow breath. “Ten people. Yes. Of course. This is you, after all.” His eyes flicked open and fixed themselves on Eliza. “My contacts may be able to wheedle your way into the delegation . . .”

“Delegation?” Wellington could no longer keep himself quiet. “To what?”

Marius shifted in his seat and then continued. “With your queen’s Diamond Jubilee coming up next year, preparations are already under way. We have a large delegation heading to London by airship. Businessmen, diplomats, security advisors,
quite a crowd are heading there with their families. Luckily—or not, depending on your perspective—I am in charge of shepherding these wayward lambs safely from Berlin to London on Monday morning.”

“They are still planning on celebrating the Jubilee?” Eliza asked, a frown forming in between her eyebrows.

“Why wouldn’t they?” he asked.

She knew how her queen did love grief. Sound’s lie to the world would no doubt have plunged Victoria into deeper mourning—if that was possible. “With news of the prince?”

An expression of utter bafflement crossed Marius’ face. “You mean of Prince Edward setting off on a world tour for his mother?”

“Yes,” Wellington blurted out suddenly. After an awkward pause, he added, “We were assuming the Queen would want the entire family in attendance, so having the Jubilee without Prince Edward there seems a bit surprising.”

Eliza shared a look with Wellington. They had heard Sound reassure Bertie that he would tell his royal mother that he was dead. She felt Wellington tap her knee, and she got his point. This was not something to be revealed to a foreign agent, even one who was a friend. If they ever saw the director again, he would have some explaining to do.

“So tell me about this delegation,” Eliza said, inclining her head to Marius. “It sounds like quite a handful, but easy for a few more people to slip in among them, yes?”

Marius’ own lips lifted slightly as they ventured back onto more stable ground. “As long as they remain inconspicuous. Do you think by any chance
all ten of you
could manage that?”

Eliza and Wellington nodded, but the German agent’s eyes took on a merry twinkle. He knew her too well, Eliza realised. So she leaned forwards and lightly placed her hand on his gloved one. “I promise you, Marius, I will do nothing to endanger your delegation. No explosions, no weapons at inappropriate moments, and no crass talk.”

Now a real smile broke out on his lips. “Sounds very unlike you,
meine Freundin
.” Marius pulled out a business card, and scribbled something on the back of it. “The airship is a government charter, and everyone is cleared before they set foot on it.” He slid the card to her. “Cologne station, Sunday night,
along with all the other guests. Until you are given travel papers, pretend you don’t know me.”

She took the note as calmly as she could. On the back was written some kind of code,
der alte Löwe
. She took it and slipped it into her pocket. “Hardly any time to enjoy Cologne then? A shame.”

“Remember, if you are caught,” Marius said, leaning back in his chair, “the Section and I will deny all knowledge. And do not expect help from us once you are in England again. The kaiser would not look kindly on any help we give the enemies of his grandmother—even if they turn out to be helping her.”

“Understood,” she said, downing the last dregs of her very strong coffee. “If we can get the Ministry reinstated, it’ll be good to work together again.”

He gave her a slight tip of his bowler, and then looked at both of them. “I will also talk to my man about better disguises. We have got to rid you of that dreadful tweed.” He took up his newspaper once more as if they no longer existed.

As she and Wellington walked away from Café Mechanisch, she had to stop herself from giving a little skip. They were going back to England, and on their way to quite possibly giving the Department a bloody nose. Things—in her estimation at least—were looking up.

Wherein Mr. Books and Miss Braun Are Once More Interrupted

T
rusting Eliza’s friend was not an easy thing for Wellington to do. Even though he was more than confident he had her affections and her attention, he could not quite chase away the green-eyed monster when she was around men with whom she might have shared intimacy. She’d never really given him any reason to doubt her—which only served to make him feel worse about his base and primitive masculine instincts. If there was anyone who he could trust in the world it was Eliza D. Braun.

A pleasant stay in a foreign country would have been welcome if it were not for the collection of children, an eagle-eyed Alice, and the constant threat of discovery by the Department. Instead of touring the sights of Cologne, their first and only night was spent working on plans for their escape.

At midnight, Wellington and Eliza slipped out of their hotel room to meet with Alice and the anxious children. He was left bemused how large families made it through winter, with children nearly bouncing off the walls like rubber balls. Games of quoits and hangman really didn’t cut the mustard for the extended stay. Two hours later, contingencies in place and
timetables agreed upon, they returned to their room, locked the door, and kept watch in shifts.

The relief on arriving at the railway station Sunday night to catch the designated train for the Prussian delegation was indescribable. Eliza’s friend, Marius, was there, though working hard to contain and organise the rather large deputation of prominent families and their servants gathered about him.

“We are supposed to meet with his contact,” whispered Eliza. “He’s going to be far too busy to talk to us.”

“So,” he grumbled, “a nun, a priest, six children, and two people wearing similar tweed just need to blend in until a contact appears.” He forced a smile. “What could possibly go wrong?”

“Stillgestanden,”
a voice spoke from behind them.

“There is that,” he said, not turning around just yet.

“Just act normal, but not innocent.” She smoothed out the front of her jacket. “If you try to appear wrongfully accused, that serves as a tell worse than over-anxious. Just act normal.”

“Such a subjective term, that is.”

“Ready?” she asked. A moment later, Eliza turned towards the voice.
“Verzeihen sie mir?”

The police officer stepped well within striking distance of Wellington’s walking stick. He fought the urge to look to either side of them. Could they make the train if they struck him down? If it were the two of them, they could easily move and conceal themselves in seconds.

All ten of them? They would be captured within seconds.

The officer looked at Eliza first. Then to Wellington.

“Ist das jetzt in Mode?”
the officer asked, motioning to the tweed pattern they shared.

Eliza smiled pleasantly and replied,
“Passende Musterkombinationen sind der letzte Schrei in Paris.”

It was driving Wellington mad not knowing what they were saying to one another.

The police officer narrowed his eyes on Wellington, then on Eliza, and clicked his tongue. Wellington felt his grip on the walking stick tighten.

“Der alte Löwe braucht einen besseren Schneider,”
the man said with a wry smile.

Wellington felt his shoulders drop.
Thank God. A friend.

“Fräulein Eliza D. Braun?” he asked, his hard features now easing as he presented them with a thick envelope. “Agent Rutger Kaufmann. I would normally follow this with ‘Section P’ but my old friend Marius tells me we are having a bit of fun without the kaiser’s knowing.”

Wellington suddenly felt a sense of dread slip under his skin. The smile he was wearing was one he had seen before—on Eliza’s face.

“Agent Kaufmann,” Eliza said in a hushed tone. “This is my partner, Wellington Books. We thank you for your help.”

“Those are your travel papers and legends.” He then presented them with a thinner envelope. “The maid and children are in second class. I managed to procure a single compartment for the two of you.” He shrugged. “My apologies, but all the suites have been taken by the delegation.”

“Believe me,” Wellington said, “our priority is safe passage, not comfort.”

“When next you see me, I’ll be dressed as a porter. New clothes are in your compartment. Marius believes the children and maid should be fine in their own disguises, and then we will find something more appropriate for them in Berlin.”

“Excellent,” Eliza said. “Will we rendezvous with Marius at any time?”

“In Berlin, yes, but not until then.” Rutger tipped his hat to them both. “Now, off you go. I will see you once we are under way.”

Eliza gave Wellington a quick wink and wandered further down the platform to where she could effectively slip tickets to Alice and the children. His eyes roamed over the various travellers, eventually stopping on the only collection of people that had their own line of security keeping journalists at a considerable distance. Aristocrats were, Wellington had already observed, rather self-involved at the best of times. Put a group of them together like this, and soon enough there was the inevitable clash of personalities and arrogance. He caught sight of Marius standing on the platform, clipboard in hand, and a fleet of Portoporters at his back. It seemed very little against the ranks of German aristocrats who massed before him, though, complaining at the top of their lungs, or getting their servants to do it.

“So far so good,” Eliza whispered into Wellington’s ear on
her return. “Between what we have planned on reaching Berlin’s Travel Centre, we should easily slip into the entourage without fail.”

“The Travel Centre?”

“Yes,” Eliza said, leading him towards the second-class compartments. “On account of its central location, the Germans constructed an aeroport around their largest railway station. It is now a major hub, and should be busy enough for us to easily make ourselves part of the group without much bother.”

He slipped his hand around hers and gave it a squeeze. “Excellent.”

Her grin was off-kilter. “Now all we need is to make it to Berlin.”

Once in the cabin, Eliza shut the door and let the blinds down while Wellington pulled down the suitcase in the above luggage rack. He heard a tearing of paper, and Eliza was unfolding their travel papers.

The train gave an abrupt jerk and started off, sending Eliza into his arms.

“Thank the stars for those quick reflexes of yours, Wellington Books,” she murmured softly. “Or should I refer to you as Your Baronship?”

Wellington blinked. “I beg your pardon?”

She returned to her feet and handed him his legend. “Baron Viktor Bommburst, and I am your darling wife, Willomina. We owe our fortunes in life to munitions and military defence.” Eliza chuckled. “Bit of a ribbing from Marius, methinks. The children are travelling as a class of gifted youngsters, and Alice is our maid.”

“Darling,” Wellington blurted, “I know absolutely no German!”

“Don’t worry,” she assured him, “I will teach you a few key phrases if we find ourselves cornered.”

When a knock came at the door, Eliza pulled out one of her pistols quick as a flash. Wellington peeked out the corner of the blind, before giving Eliza a nod, then opening the door.

“Your Grace,” Rutger said with a smile as he entered their tight compartment brandishing a bucket of ice, a bottle of Riesling, and two glasses. “You seem to have been fortunate not to have any other passengers join you.”

Now under the guise of a porter, Rutger slipped the bucket into a large ring by one of the windows. He then handed Wellington and Eliza empty glasses as he proceeded to open the bottle of wine.

Eliza raised a single eyebrow. “Dare I ask?”

“Presently, delegates are enjoying a delightful soirée on the observation deck. I thought Marius should not be the only agent enjoying the odd glass or two of wine, so I decided to liberate a bit of the bounty of our fine country for you and your partner here.” Easing the cork out of the bottle, he poured them each a glass. “I can vouch for the label.”

“Have you tried it before?” Wellington asked.

“This is my family’s vineyard,” he replied with a grin. As he filled Eliza’s glass, he added, “However, whatever vines I attempted to cultivate and grow withered and died. My father suggested service to His Majesty, and that is how I found myself in Section P.”

Once Wellington’s glass was full, Rutger replaced the bottle back into the bucket. “Now, if you will excuse me, I have to tend to the other passengers. Easiest way to get up front, check on the children.”

Wellington took a sip of the wine as he locked the door. Rutger had every right to be proud of his family’s vintage.

He looked outside his window, seeing the countryside passing by in a blur. They just needed to stay alive for five hours. “Your friend Marius has pulled off a miracle,” he said, adjusting his cravat and feeling just a little less tension in his shoulders.

Eliza let out a sigh, taking a long sip before resting her wine-glass on a small pullout table. “I will agree with you once we see the Cliffs of Dover and are on the ground in England safely. We will be cutting it close, but should make the rendezvous.” She shot him a sad smile. “It is going to be hard to avoid going to Miggins.”

Wellington suddenly realised he was pining for his Archives again, and couldn’t help but break out into a cold sweat when he thought of the Department fools rifling through it—or worse, attempting to dismantle what remained of his analytical engine. His valise, hopefully within the
Ares
at the London Aeroport, contained the heart and soul of his computation
device, but what was still hidden beneath Miggins Antiquities remained the true treasure trove of the Ministry.

“We will manage,” she said gently, snapping him out of his worry.

Eliza took his hand and squeezed it, and despite all the troubles around him, he couldn’t stop himself. Setting down his own glass of wine, he leaned over and kissed her, the smell of her skin and the taste of her lips overcoming him like fine brandy. Every moment that could have offered them a touch of the delicious intimacy he enjoyed on the
Angel
had been sacrificed out of fatigue and stress, and they still had very little at present, yet as their kiss deepened he was very glad that the door had a lock on it.

The swaying of the train and the closeness of the cabin made it just more erotic, and before Wellington knew it, he was sitting on the cushioned bench with Eliza straddling him. He became suddenly aware of the curves that were underneath her jacket and shirt.

“I knew, while the tweed is dire, you liked this look on me,” she managed to gasp before kissing him again, working free the ascot around her neck. How he had missed this side of Eliza. “I hope you don’t mind my allowing you to enjoy me in it fully.”

She tore open her waistcoat, revealing her Ministry-issue corset. With the disappearance of the ascot, the curves of her breasts were in full display.

“I intend,” he said, placing light kisses on both of them, eliciting soft moans from her, “to enjoy you fully out of this dangerously appealing look, as well.”

Eliza pulled him closer, her legs tightening around his hips. They had been on the run for what seemed like a lifetime, and it had been so long since they had enjoyed one another, since he had felt her fingers against his skin.

The train was suddenly moving slower, the rocking becoming more and more subtle. Three hard thumps made her jump a little, but Wellington growled out. “It’s just the changing of tracks. We’re heading onto a spur line, to get to the aeroport—”

“Travel Centre,” she panted.

“Whatever the bloody thing is called,” he hissed before
pulling her neck closer to graze his teeth and tongue against it. Wellington assured her, “Chances are this route is rarely used so they have to stop to switch tracks manually. We’re perfectly fine. We will be under way in just a moment.” He tugged at her Department jacket. “Now please, for the love of God, let me ravish you!”

Her coat was proving difficult in removing as her whole body was tense. He wondered how relaxed she would feel if they were ever closer, skin on skin. It was amazing how one simple touch of her hand could lead him to such rash thoughts so quickly. She was quite as dangerous as the weapons she preferred.

Then came a loud knocking at the door.

They both froze and looked at each other, their raw, blind desire lifting as the three knocks sounded again.

“Bloody hell,” Wellington seethed.

“Yes, this is hell,” Eliza returned as she sprang away, picking up her jacket from the floor. “A train compartment with no water basin in sight. Maybe I should use some of the ice in that bucket, drop a few cubes down my cleavage.” She laughed drily. “So much for this,” she said, discarding the ruined vest. “Have you seen my cravat?”

He held it up as the knocking occurred yet again.

“I can only imagine what Alice and the children are up to,” Wellington said, feeling a hot flush on his cheeks as he went to the door.

He pulled the blind to one side to catch a glimpse of Rutger. He appeared to be alone.