as much as his wide form and its limited space would allow, “you did incredible work during the war. Hell, I can name half a dozen times that the Blue Raven was the sole cause of any victory we could claim. But the war is over, twice now. You should be out having fun, dancing; or else, find a young thing and settle down in the country. Getting out of the city might be worthwhile at any rate. Visit your brother’s estate, breathe some country air. Don’t go hunting old ghosts.”
Lord Fieldstone looked up at him with fatherly sincerity, and for a moment, Marcus wished he could take his advice.
“Sir”—Marcus pushed his spectacles back up his nose as he spoke—“my instincts tell me this old ghost is no such thing.”
Fieldstone sighed deeply and resumed his pacing. After a moment, he stopped, turning to Marcus. “I imagine there is some reason you went outside the offices, directly to me with this, not to Sterling or Crawley or any of your collegues.”
“The information I received: I have reason to suspect it was generated inside the Security section.”
That piqued the older man’s interest.
“What is this information you speak of?”
Marcus produced a small scrap of neatly folded paper from his pocket and handed it to Fieldstone, who looked it over for interminable seconds.
“Did you write this list?”
“No, it came into my hands.”
“What makes you think this originated inside the section?” he asked gruffly.
Marcus took a deep breath. “The ink and the paper . . .”
“Neither is distinctive.”
“Yes, but both are the kinds used by the Security section. I know; I stare at them day after day. And do you see this small edge of wax? It’s the same as we use in the offices,” he continued, knowing he sounded ridiculous at best, delusional at worst. It was the thinnest possible evidence, and if it had been someone else, he would have likely been disbelieving as well. “My lord, I have a gut instinct about this. And I trust it.” He drew Fieldstone’s attention to his face. “And so have you.”
Lord Fieldstone exhaled as he looked over the list again, seemingly considering his options. Then, “Your information is spotty, at best, you know.”
“I know it.”
“I cannot sanction any action you would choose to take in this matter, you realize.” He handed the paper back.
“I understand, sir.”
“Do you?” Fieldstone sighed and looked up at Marcus, who stood rigidly at attention. “Worth, if I promise to look into this matter, discreetly, will you fall back and allow me to do the inquiry?”
“For as long as I can, sir.” Marcus replied. “Some of the events on the list—they are set to occur within a matter of weeks.”
“Fair enough.” Fieldstone said, turning to the door. “Now, I’m going back down to the party. In five minutes’ time, I am sending a footman up here to lock this door from the outside. I suggest a good night’s sleep for you, Worth.”
“Yes, sir.”
But by that time, the door had already swung shut behind Fieldstone, allowing Marcus to ease his stance and chance exhaling.
His actions would not be supported. Well, he had guessed that. And the minister of the War Department thought he might do well with a respite at Bedlam. Disappointing, but not wholly unexpected. But Fieldstone himself promised inquiry, and he was not barred from investigation, which was all he needed.
Before he’d taken over the War Department, Fieldstone had been a cracking good investigator. He’d ask the right questions of the right people. And, if something unfortunate should occur to Marcus in the meantime—well, he wholly believed in being prepared. He never operated without a backup in place. Without someone he trusted knowing his intentions.
Unfortunately, in this instance, he had been forced by circumstance to also reveal them to someone he suspected was less than completely trustworthy.
Stalking over to the sarcophagus, he wrenched it open easily,
Lord Fieldstone looked up at him with fatherly sincerity, and for a moment, Marcus wished he could take his advice.
“Sir”—Marcus pushed his spectacles back up his nose as he spoke—“my instincts tell me this old ghost is no such thing.”
Fieldstone sighed deeply and resumed his pacing. After a moment, he stopped, turning to Marcus. “I imagine there is some reason you went outside the offices, directly to me with this, not to Sterling or Crawley or any of your collegues.”
“The information I received: I have reason to suspect it was generated inside the Security section.”
That piqued the older man’s interest.
“What is this information you speak of?”
Marcus produced a small scrap of neatly folded paper from his pocket and handed it to Fieldstone, who looked it over for interminable seconds.
“Did you write this list?”
“No, it came into my hands.”
“What makes you think this originated inside the section?” he asked gruffly.
Marcus took a deep breath. “The ink and the paper . . .”
“Neither is distinctive.”
“Yes, but both are the kinds used by the Security section. I know; I stare at them day after day. And do you see this small edge of wax? It’s the same as we use in the offices,” he continued, knowing he sounded ridiculous at best, delusional at worst. It was the thinnest possible evidence, and if it had been someone else, he would have likely been disbelieving as well. “My lord, I have a gut instinct about this. And I trust it.” He drew Fieldstone’s attention to his face. “And so have you.”
Lord Fieldstone exhaled as he looked over the list again, seemingly considering his options. Then, “Your information is spotty, at best, you know.”
“I know it.”
“I cannot sanction any action you would choose to take in this matter, you realize.” He handed the paper back.
“I understand, sir.”
“Do you?” Fieldstone sighed and looked up at Marcus, who stood rigidly at attention. “Worth, if I promise to look into this matter, discreetly, will you fall back and allow me to do the inquiry?”
“For as long as I can, sir.” Marcus replied. “Some of the events on the list—they are set to occur within a matter of weeks.”
“Fair enough.” Fieldstone said, turning to the door. “Now, I’m going back down to the party. In five minutes’ time, I am sending a footman up here to lock this door from the outside. I suggest a good night’s sleep for you, Worth.”
“Yes, sir.”
But by that time, the door had already swung shut behind Fieldstone, allowing Marcus to ease his stance and chance exhaling.
His actions would not be supported. Well, he had guessed that. And the minister of the War Department thought he might do well with a respite at Bedlam. Disappointing, but not wholly unexpected. But Fieldstone himself promised inquiry, and he was not barred from investigation, which was all he needed.
Before he’d taken over the War Department, Fieldstone had been a cracking good investigator. He’d ask the right questions of the right people. And, if something unfortunate should occur to Marcus in the meantime—well, he wholly believed in being prepared. He never operated without a backup in place. Without someone he trusted knowing his intentions.
Unfortunately, in this instance, he had been forced by circumstance to also reveal them to someone he suspected was less than completely trustworthy.
Stalking over to the sarcophagus, he wrenched it open easily,
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