Lord Crayle's Secret World

Chapter Five

Sari stared at the neo-classical grey building with its simple entrance. There was no distinguishing plaque. Just a number—eleven—by the wooden door. She glanced up at George who stood beside her, hands on hips.

‘I’ll go in with you, Miss Sari.’

She patted his arm. ‘No, George. If this is the place, I’m going in alone. I won’t have you be late for work. It’s a long way back to Islington.’

George frowned down at her, wavering.

‘It’s all right, really it is,’ she said with much more confidence than she felt. ‘You can wait here and see me safely inside, but it is about time I stood on my own two feet.’

Without waiting for his response, she crossed the narrow empty street and pulled at the bell pull by the door. The door opened so promptly Sari took a step back in dismay.

A very tall, elderly man inspected her, not unkindly.

‘Ma’am?’

‘I...I was told to come... My name is Sari Trevor and...’

‘Ah, of course, Miss Trevor. Do come in.’ He stood back, indicating a long corridor. Sari glanced over her shoulder, sending George a quick smile before stepping inside with an assurance she was far from feeling.

‘My name is Penrose, ma’am. If there is anything you need, you have only to ask.’

‘I...thank you, Mr Penrose.’ Sari smiled nervously at this rather sweeping statement.

‘Here is Mr Anderson’s office.’ He knocked on the door and opened it. ‘Mr Anderson? It is Miss Trevor. And Lord Crayle asked to be informed if she arrived. I will go and fetch him.’

Even in the midst of her confusion, Sari noticed he said ‘if’ rather than ‘when’. Clearly the earl had not completely trusted her not to just disappear with his money. She took a deep breath and tried to focus on the man who had stood up from his desk. She had expected someone like the earl, but he was almost his antithesis. He was good-looking, but in a pleasant, unthreatening way, with kind blue eyes and very light brown hair. He did not look at all like a government agent.

‘Thank you for coming, Miss Trevor. Please sit down. Did you have any trouble finding us?’

‘I... No, we found it quite readily.’

‘Ah, good. Very good.’

He hesitated, and Sari realised in surprise that he seemed as nervous as she. Her own thumping heart calmed slightly and she smiled encouragingly.

‘It was a bit of a leap of faith. I was afraid I might arrive and there would be nothing here.’

He gave a short, surprised laugh, visibly relaxing, and sat down again.

‘A leap of faith indeed, then. Knowing Michael... Lord Crayle, I assume he was less than forthcoming with details?’

Sari smiled at the understatement. It was a relief that this man was so different from the earl.

‘He mentioned something vague about being agents for crown and country—’ she replied hesitantly and broke off as the door behind her opened and Lord Crayle stepped into the room. She straightened slightly and nodded at him.

‘Lord Crayle,’ she said properly.

A faint look of amusement glimmered in his eyes as he came to lounge against the bookcase by Anderson’s shoulder. Then the light from the window was behind him, encasing him like a dark monolith.

‘Miss Trevor,’ he responded with equal politeness.

Anderson cleared his throat and smiled.

‘Good. Well, let me be a bit more explicit. First, what do you know about the state of Continental Europe today?’

Sari gathered her thoughts. Growing up in politically sensitive parts of the Continent and the Levant had made her very politically aware and she hoped she was not too far out of touch with Europe’s rapidly changing landscape.

‘It seems rather chaotic to me at the moment. Napoleon is still causing trouble, even from St Helena. The Bourbons are struggling to make believe they control France. Metternich is playing the Prussians against the Russians. And Tsar Alexander is hoping to transform Russia into a linchpin of the Continent’s security through a Holy Alliance. And we in our turn have our finger in every pie, trying to make sure none of them succeeds in their attempts to run the show.’

Sari saw Anderson cast a quick glance at Michael but his friend’s gaze was on her, inscrutable.

‘That is a pleasantly concise and accurate summary of our murky political environment,’ Anderson said appreciatively. ‘Part of our role here is to help nip in the bud any attempts to foment trouble on British soil by any of these European powers. Now that it is no longer so clear who the enemy is, some of our statesmen are becoming easy prey to manipulation for one cause or another. Our role is to identify potential troublemakers and limit the damage.’

The significance of what he was saying, of what she was being offered, hit Sari with almost physical force. She hadn’t even known such things existed. Compared to the possibility of being part of such an organisation, her wish to become a governess seemed hopelessly tepid. She had no idea yet what might be required of her, but she wanted to be part of this with an instinctive passion. She had always wanted to do something significant, meaningful, but it had never seemed a feasible possibility. And now, in a mere few sentences, a whole world had opened up before her and she knew her life was never going to be the same. She stared at the sweet, soft-spoken man offering her salvation and bit her lip against the surge of unaccustomed joy that was thrusting up from inside her like a butterfly struggling against its chrysalis.

‘Now, why don’t you tell me something about yourself? A bit of family history and how you ended up robbing people on the Heath?’ Anderson continued. There was no condemnation in his tone, and Sari, still caught up in wonder at the gift that had descended on her, was surprised by her willingness to answer his question.

‘There is not much to tell. My father was an orientalist and we grew up travelling between antiquity sites in the Levant. We were supported mostly by another orientalist, Emilio Cavalcatti, a Sicilian who used to be a successful mercenary. Emilio and my mother both died during a typhoid epidemic when I was sixteen and my father, my brother and I returned to England. My father took in translations for a while. He...died three years ago. By then there wasn’t much left. We sold what we could, and George worked, but it wasn’t enough for us all.’ She dropped her gaze as shame dimmed her excitement.

‘It might seem strange that I...that I allowed George to support us, but he and Mina have always been family. He was part of a robber gang when he was a boy and it was thanks to my parents that he escaped that life and met Mina. He and Mina insisted Charlie remain in school, no matter what it cost us. And I did try to find employment, but I was unsuccessful. But matters... Anyway, we were about to sell a few of our last belongings, including the pistols Cavalcatti had given us, when I told George we could make more money using them than selling them. After all, he already knew what to do... I know it sounds mad and immoral, but we were desperate. It actually made sense at the time. That is all.’

She ended her story and glanced up. Anderson’s kind blue eyes were full of compassion, and she ducked her head again for a moment, feeling suddenly weary and close to tears. Anderson extended a hand as if to comfort her but withdrew it as Lord Crayle moved closer to the desk.

‘What skills do you have?’ he asked abruptly, and she drew herself up.

‘Skills? I... Well, I can’t embroider or play an instrument if that is what you mean.’

Michael laughed. ‘Drawing-room accomplishments aren’t quite what we are looking for here. I meant anything that might be useful. I already know you are a decent shot. Anything else?’

‘I believe I am more than a decent shot, my lord,’ she stated with some hauteur, and his smile deepened for a moment. ‘Aside from that, I am very good with languages and I can fence...decently.

‘I can pick locks, too. I suppose that may be useful?’

‘Very useful indeed,’ Anderson replied faintly.

‘Where precisely did you learn those skills?’ Michael asked levelly.

Sari wished he would move away from the window so she could make out his expression. He was hard enough to read as it was, but standing there like a shadow only made him more intimidating. She was used to reading people, but she had no idea what he was thinking.

‘Mostly from George and Signor Cavalcatti. Cavalcatti taught us all how to fence and how to pick locks. He had a Smith-Caldwell safe he would travel with and we practised with that. It was a bit smaller than yours, Mr Anderson,’ she added with another mischievous smile.

Anderson sat back in surprise.

‘How did you know...?’ He glanced from her to the bookcase that hid his safe.

‘You didn’t secure the bookcase fully. I can see the gap reflected in the window behind you. Cavalcatti had a safe with just that distinctive grooved dial with the silver rim.’

* * *

Michael considered Anderson’s clearly admiring gaze. Given his initial reluctance, he had fully expected to have to ease his friend’s way through this interview, but he had clearly underestimated her. He wondered if her behaviour was calculated. If it was, it was brilliant—that mixture of forlorn waif and mischievous young woman was very effective in exciting Anderson’s protective instincts. Calculated or not, objectively she suited the Institute’s needs. But her disclosures were highlighting some serious problems as well. Despite her rather peculiar upbringing and unconventional skills, she was clearly less experienced than her performance on the Heath had seemed to indicate. Her obvious intelligence might also be as much a drawback as a benefit. But it was more than that. Something less tangible was bothering him. There was something too intense, too driven about her.

Out of nowhere he remembered a children’s book he used to read to his brother and sisters. It had been about the adventures of a young page, Cedric the Small, an unlikely little hero whose determination to save his family from the evil Knight Mercur led him both into and out of trouble. It was a classic story about brain over brawn, but it had been Cedric’s mix of warmth, vulnerability and mischief that had made him so appealing. Miss Trevor was like a female version of Cedric. And Cedric got into trouble as often as he managed to get out of it.

‘So you think you can open the safe?’ Michael asked curtly, forcing himself back into the moment.

‘Yes. I would need a glass, preferably crystal. Would you like me to try?’

He smiled slightly at her defiant confidence. And at the fact that he believed her. He doubted she would promise what she didn’t feel she could deliver.

‘Not at the moment. Deakins for one will be delighted to meet you.’

‘Who is Deakins?’

‘He’s one of the instructors here. He specialises in all sorts of less-than-legal skills. In fact, I think the two of you will deal admirably.’

Anderson shot him a quelling glance, but Michael ignored him.

‘Perhaps we should tell you what you will be doing over the next few months. Before you become an operative agent, you will undergo a schedule of training, including a physical regimen, politics and a variety of other topics. If you complete your training to our satisfaction, you will join the others on whatever mission is assigned. Are you still interested?’

Sari nodded, trying and failing to keep her mouth prim. She didn’t even trust herself to speak yet, she was so excited.

‘Good. Anderson will take you around to meet the instructors. And I believe I mentioned that you should find accommodation not too far from the Institute,’ Michael added practically. ‘Penrose can help.’

‘Thank you, I will keep that in mind, Lord Crayle, but George knows London quite well.’

‘Will you come with us?’ Anderson asked him as they stood up.

‘No, I have some matters to attend to. I just received the latest reports from Denby and I want to review them. Come by when you’re done, Anderson. Enjoy your tour, Miss Trevor.’

She nodded hesitantly as he walked out. She was almost relieved he wasn’t coming with them. It was hard to be natural under the scrutiny of his cold grey eyes. Or rather, it was hard to be unnatural. She wanted so much to present herself as competent and worthy, but somehow she felt too...exposed when he was watching her. It would be easier to concentrate with just Anderson there.

* * *

An hour later Anderson entered Michael’s office, and Michael glanced up from the documents he was inspecting.

‘Well?’ he asked, taking in his friend’s relaxed smile.

‘Well, you were right and I was wrong. I think she’ll do just fine. I’ll work on a schedule for her as of next week. Give them time to find accommodation and settle in the area first. What an extraordinary young woman...’ He trailed off.

‘A nonpareil,’ Michael said drily after a moment. ‘So, what training are you considering?’

‘Well, given our experience in the Varenne case, I thought she should brush up on her social skills. She’s not completely green—she spent three years in country society out near Oxford, but she was never in London society, so the finer points of Almack’s are lost on her. Albermarle will be happy to have someone to train aside from the usual roster of ruffians as he calls them. Paretski on politics and Antonelli will start her on a physical regimen including fencing. And Deakins, of course.’

‘Of course. Sabotage.’

‘All right, Michael, what’s wrong?’ Anderson asked with uncharacteristic bluntness. ‘This was your idea, but you’re about as enthusiastic as mud.’

Michael considered his words carefully.

‘I’m not sure we can trust her.’

‘If you don’t trust her, then why the devil did you recruit her?’

‘That is different. I trust her to carry out whatever mission you impose in full faithfulness to you and King. I do not trust her...motivations.’

That was not quite the word he was looking for. In fact, now that he thought of it, he could not completely pin down where his feeling of unease stemmed from. Perhaps it was the undefinable quality of his discomfort that bothered him most about her. He preferred to know where the threat was coming from.

‘I think you’re just miffed she almost put a bullet through you.’ Anderson snorted.

‘You’re probably right,’ Michael conceded with a self-deprecating smile. ‘What a blow to my self-esteem!’

‘She’s meeting Antonelli at ten o’clock next Monday morning,’ Anderson said after a moment. ‘You should come by and have a look.’

Michael felt a surge of affection for his gentle, always-conciliating friend. It was a constant wonder to him that someone so averse to discord could derive such pleasure from managing a band of spies.

‘I will be there.’

Chapter Six

The following Monday morning Michael closed the door of the salle d’escrime quietly behind him. Both Antonelli and Sari were completely concentrated on each other and the clash of their foils. Antonelli was clearly a master fencer, guiding and correcting without a word or a discordant gesture. What surprised Michael was that the young woman was good, if unorthodox in her style.

She wielded her foil like a sabre, with long smooth strokes, coming in from irregular angles and forcing Antonelli to adjust in ways Michael knew must feel unnatural for him. What was most surprising was that the old master had not pinned her down, disarmed her and given her an earful for not respecting tradition. He had certainly done so to Michael during their first encounter some twenty years ago. Where the devil had she learned this?

Finally, Antonelli took the full offensive, drove her back off the strip and flipped her foil out of her grip with a powerful lunge.

‘Touché, et bien touché.’ She saluted with a breathless laugh, her cheeks flushed.

Antonelli gave a slight bow, his greying hair still almost perfectly coifed. Only the faintest sheen on his face denoted he had exerted himself at all.

‘Et bien joué,’ he returned. ‘But you need a firmer grip, signorina. And there is too much swing in your arcs. Each should be an inch shorter; do not waste energy slicing the air. Fluide, mais courte.’

She stood to attention as Antonelli rattled off his criticism, fully focused, her hand unconsciously responding to his comments. Michael smiled. So far it seemed the only person who brought out her prickliness was himself. He took a couple of steps forward away from the door and they both looked up in surprise.

‘Michael!’ Antonelli exclaimed, using the Italian pronunciation, Mee-ka-el. ‘But how wonderful! You are neglecting me, my friend.’

‘Not intentionally, Marco. I have been busy up north.’ He took Antonelli’s hand warmly.

‘Always busy. It is not good for the soul, young man.’

Michael smiled at Antonelli’s mode of address. He had never stopped calling him young and he wondered what it would take for him to change.

‘Well, I’m willing to make amends, if you have the time. And if Miss Trevor hasn’t worn you out, old man.’

Sari was startled into an involuntary gurgle of laughter at the mock concern in the earl’s tone.

‘I tried. Desperately,’ she said. ‘I think Signor Antonelli could have disarmed me in his sleep.’

‘I sympathise,’ Michael replied. ‘For the first year I trained with this taskmaster I don’t think he looked up once from the book he was reading except to tell me the session was over.’

Sari laughed and Antonelli shook his head, smiling indulgently at them.

‘It was surely a very enthralling book...’ she offered as palliative, but Michael shook his head.

‘I appreciate the attempt at redemption, but it was no such thing. I didn’t even rank above Reverend Trull’s Sermons on the Decay of Modern Morals.’

The absurdity of Antonelli being engrossed by such a book was clearly too much for Sari, and she burst out laughing. Antonelli chuckled.

‘Enough of that, you two. Now, signorina, you had better run and change if you are not to be late for Mr Deakins, he of the gunpowder and smoke. It would not do to upset him.’

* * *

Sari was reluctant to leave, but she smiled at the two men and left the salle. She was intrigued by the change in Lord Crayle from her previous encounters. It was hard to reconcile his light hearted self-deprecation with the tight control or the watchful disdain that had characterised their previous meetings. She wondered which of these personas reflected the real man.

Certainly she knew he was anything but inept at fencing. Anderson had casually mentioned that Lord Crayle was one of the country’s finest fencers. She had the instinctive feeling that although he might laugh at himself, it was because he could afford to. He might not be as forgiving towards himself if he were to fail in earnest. She would do well to remember that under his unexpected and disquieting charm was the cold and ruthless focus she had witnessed back on the Heath.

She shook her head, as if to free it of these thoughts. This was her first day at the Institute and she needed to be focused. She had to keep reminding herself this was real. From the moment she had returned to tell George and Mina that she had indeed secured employment, everything had been a slightly unreal whirl of activity. George had done them proud by using his contacts at the hostelry to find a lovely little house for rent in Pimlico with one room for her, one for George and Mina and another for Charlie when he would come to London for the holidays. The sorry sum of their belongings had not taken up half a cart, but Mina had inspected their new rooms with a sweeping martial gaze. When she was armed with a fistful of coins, Sari had full faith it would not take Mina long to turn the modest furnished house into a warm home.

But perhaps the most rewarding moment had been sending off the letter to Charlie’s headmaster, including the arrears in fees, and another to Charlie himself telling him of their new direction. She had never told him how low they had sunk and she was not going to tell him how they were now evading debtors’ prison. She wanted him happy and safe and unworried. For the first time in years she felt a return of optimism.

* * *

Back in the salle, Antonelli stood by as Michael prepared for their practice.

‘Strange things wash up on your shores, young Michael,’ he observed after a moment. Michael looked up from the foils he was inspecting. Strange was one way of putting it. The way Sari swung between that impulsive, uncalculated charm and a mix of hauteur and bravado was disconcerting.

‘Stranger than even I thought. What did you learn about her?’

‘She said a Sicilian had taught her to fence many years ago. Along with a few other tricks, I would hazard, knowing Sicilians. She has grace and daring, but not much method. It will be a challenge to discipline her.’

Michael wondered if her good behaviour would survive the test of time once the word discipline was mentioned.

‘Good luck. She may be more intractable than first impressions indicate.’

Antonelli dipped his head to one side, considering. ‘Perhaps, and yet I think she will meet me on this. It will be interesting to see what differences there are between men and women...’ He paused as Michael faintly quirked a brow in amusement.

‘Now, now, none of that nonsense,’ Antonelli admonished. ‘However, my friend, I am also wondering what will happen when the men notice a young and most attractive female is wandering the corridors?’

Michael frowned. ‘I hadn’t considered that. Perhaps we should keep her schedule different from the others. All these young fools need is an object on which to focus their bravado and easy infatuations and we will have mayhem on our hands.’