Page 44 of The Number of Love
Drake shifted, winced, and covered it with a smile. “That’s a positive for my cause, sir, not a negative.”
“Elton...” The amusement in the admiral’s eyes faded into mild concern. “I don’t usually take it upon myself to interfere in such matters, but Margot is a special case. She is vulnerable from the loss of her mother, though she’ll never admit it. I won’t have you taking advantage of that.”
“I wouldn’t!” The very suggestion made him go tense. Which in turn made fire scream through his middle.
“Not in any reprehensible way. But you ought to know that she has goals for her life, for when this war is over, that don’t include a husband keeping her at home to raise a brood of children. Education, for starters.”
Drake settled back against the pillows, darting only a glance to his right when a chorus of laughter broke out near where the duchess and Nurse Denler were arguing—or pretending to argue—over who would make up the empty cot that was apparently to be filled this afternoon. “She hasn’t already got an education?” According to Dot, most of the secretaries had attended university, at least for a while. Dot was one of the few who hadn’t.
“Not as much a one as she would like. Though I believe she was enrolled at university in Louvain before her father passed away. When she was twelve or thirteen.”
University? At such a young age? He knew his surprise showedon his face. Even so, it didn’t stop a corner of his mouth from tugging up. “Dot did say her new friend is the most intelligent person she’s ever met.”
“Mm. I rather agree with her.” That statement said considerably more than Dot’s claim, given that Admiral Blinker Hall, Director of Intelligence, knew far more people than Dorothea Elton. Still.
Hall shook his head. “And I see I’ve only managed to intrigue you more. Well. I shall leave it to Margot, then, to convince you of the futility of your thoughts.”
“It is surely understandable to be intrigued. I look forward to becoming her friend, at the very least.”
“An infinitely wiser goal. And now I had better be off.” Hall stood, tugging his jacket into place, and motioned to the bag he’d set on the floor. “Would you like me to hand that to you?”
“Please. And thank you for bringing it, sir.” Thoughts of the bag, and hence the other items he’d had on his person that day, bruised the happier thought of a pretty Belgian who could out-think him. “One moment more, if you please. I’m afraid my memory is a bit muddled after I fell. The case I’d slipped into my pocket, with the sample...?” It hadn’t broken, had it? Because if it had, if the tainted sugar had been crushed—Drake could be fairly certainhehadn’t ingested or inhaled any, given the fact that he was still on earth and only in bullet-induced pain, but what of the workers and other intelligence agents who had swarmed the car?
Hall offered a reassuring smile and positioned the bag beside Drake on his cot. “Thoroton sent it ahead of you—perfectly preserved. You apparently protected it as you fell.”
His relief was palpable. “Good. Thank you, Admiral.”
“The thanks go to you for a job well done, Elton. Get back on your feet, and perhaps we’ll get you into the field again before this war is over.” He turned away, then paused and leveled a finger at him. “Tell your sister. By Monday. Understood?”
Drake sighed. “Understood. And I will, of course, caution her to keep it to herself. Although—what of her new friend? Can Miss De Wilde know?”
“I see no harm in that.” Hall’s lips twitched.
Drake nodded. “Then good day, Admiral.” He saluted as best as he could manage and, after the admiral strode away, opened his satchel. There wasn’t much inside it. A change of clothes. The newspaper he’d been hiding behind more than reading. The volume of poetry he’d brought with him.
This he pulled out and opened to the slip of paper he’d been using to mark his spot, his mind still spinning through those last moments. His fingers stilled. “Admiral?”
Hall had made it halfway to the door, but he turned with lifted brows and hurried back to Drake’s bedside, his face clear of anything but question. “Yes? What is it, lad?”
Drake stared at the page, but it wasn’t the French clouding his mind. It was the Spanish shout from German lips. Garbled by the wind, but still clear. “Jaeger.”
Hall sat again, probably so that their words could be quieter. “Yes? His name was in Thoroton’s report. He was the agent accompanying the shipment.”
The one who shot him—that would have been in the report, too, at least as a supposition. “Was he apprehended?” They could surely have had someone waiting when the train arrived.
But Hall shook his head. “Thoroton reported that he’d disembarked the train at some point before the next station.”
Drake’s fingers tightened around the book. “He’ll be seeking retribution. Either on the team in Spain or on me here. He ought to be watched.”
“He will be.” Hall pitched his voice lower still, leaning to within a few inches of him. “Don’t let that worry you—I keep accounts of every German agent still in England, and they’re only free if I’ve deemed them to be of more use to me that way. If he enters the country, I’ll know it. And if necessary, we can make use of the identity of one of the German agents we have in prison to communicate with him, sending a message in a name he would recognize. We’ve done it before, with others, to great success.”
A nod, a smile to show how well he appreciated the admiral’s cleverness.But Drake couldn’t convince his grip on the book to loosen. Perhaps it was only fear—a visceral, purely instinctual reaction to the man who had shot at him twice and struck him once. A few inches either direction, and that bullet would have killed him. It was surely nothing but the finger of God that had directed it through his abdomen in a way that dodged all vital organs and arteries.
But perhaps itwasn’tonly fear. Perhaps it was a premonition born of the instincts he’d sharpened so carefully over the last three years of service. And if that were the case, he’d have to sort out why he thought so and what it might mean. What particular dangers the man could pose. When Drake’s mind was less clouded with pain and medication, he’d work it out.
Margot clutched the glass, praying it would tether her to sanity. Somehow, though, she suspected that the fizzing soda had no such miraculous properties. It couldn’t combat the dozens of chattering people, the crowds that moved in chaotic patterns through Herschell’s house, the too-warm temperature that made her wish she’d agreed to a dress with a shorter sleeve.
Beside her, Dot actually seemed to be having a decent time. She wore an evening dress in green, had a necklace sparkling around her throat, and swayed a bit to the beat of the music. Two couples were attempting to dance in a space not designed for it, while Serocold laughed and launched into another verse of the song he was playing on the piano.
