Hew held up both hands. “No. I promise I never took any part in those sorts of dealings. I was more of a messenger, a courier, if you will. I might be sent to Spain as an assistant to the ambassador, and while he met with the Queen’s advisors, I would meet with a friend to the Crown and receive information. Occasionally, I was asked to pass on information or a package of some significance.”
She cocked her head, her honey blond hair falling forward. His gaze followed it, and he remembered that he’d smelled something clean and like cinnamon when she’d leaned over him before. Had it seeped into her hair from tea or a spice in the kitchen? Was it on her clothes? Would she think it odd if he tried to sniff her? Yes, he decided. She would object.
“I thought men of your station found spying beneath their dignity and rank.”
“I wouldn’t call my work spying—”
She snorted.
“—but even if it was, I’m not the sort to crave battlefield glory. I’m not the sort who needs to charge into the fray with raised sword, though I have done my share of fighting when necessary.”
Miss Howard looked as though she had more questions, but true to form, she refrained from asking them. “How does your diplomatic work put you here?” she asked.
The sound of the rain against the thick windows grew louder. Hew hoped Mr. Howard was not caught in it. He hoped the man wasn’t lying dead in the street. If he hadn’t been half-delirious with fever, he would have warned the man. As it was, he needed to fight that delirium now. He could all but feel the surge of fever rising in him again and gnawing at the fringes of his lucidity. Hew wanted badly to close his eyes and surrender. Instead, he focused on Miss Howard’s deep brown eyes. He’d always liked brown eyes on a woman. This woman met his gaze with a level stare, and he liked that too.
“I’m not a diplomat anymore. I was recommended for another position with a group called the Royal Saboteurs.” And there he could thank his Uncle Ernest again. His uncle had worked with the Saboteurs’ leader, Baron, years ago. Uncle Ernest had put in a good word for Hew, and a few months later, he’d been on a train to northern England and the training camp known as the Farm.
“And this group undoubtedly wanted you for your so-called skills in observation.”
He gave her a faint smile, deciding to ignore her slight. “Among other reasons. I’ve been training with them since January, honing my skills in surveillance and various other arts. The mission of the Royal Saboteurs is to protect Queen and Country. It may surprise you to know that there are forces, both domestic and foreign, who wish harm to England and Queen Victoria. It’s our mission to sabotage their efforts.”
“Sir, at this point, the only efforts I see sabotaged are yours.”
He gave her the best glare he could manage when his head was pounding. “I was ambushed, but, to be fair, I was not in London for a mission. I just finished a mission and came to visit friends and enjoy a brief holiday.”
“We are a tourist attraction now.” She gestured to her chamber and the building at large.
“Yes,” he grumbled. “You could charge sixpence a week.”
“For you, a crown,” she shot back, echoing their earlier conversation.
“I’d laugh, but it would hurt too much.”
“I know the feeling because, if I understand correctly, you are some sort of spy who was attacked by some other spy, and when Mr. Randall sent you here to convalesce, he was involving us in an international incident.”
“It might be a domestic incident. My mission before I came to London was investigating a bridge collapse. You’ve probably heard about it.”
She blinked at him.
“A train traveling near Carlisle went over a bridge. Midway across, the bridge crumbled and a section collapsed. Ten people were injured and three killed.”
“I hadn’t heard. I’m sorry for them.”
Hew stared at her. He didn’t expect her to know of the investigation—at least not his part in it—but the accident had been in all of the papers. The agents at the Farm had even heard about it. “How have you not read of this?” And then he realized she might not be literate. He shouldn’t have assumed. “Or perhaps heard of it?”
“I work for my bread,” she said, “and not the sort of work that allows me to relax with friends on holiday. We are open every day except Christmas, Easter, and the queen’s birthday. If I’m not at the shop selling tea, I’m at the docks buying tea. I don’t have time to read about train accidents on the other side of the world.”
“Cumbria is hardly the other side—” He waved a hand. “You’re right. This doesn’t concern you.” He closed his eyes out of frustration and pain.
“Except it does now. Clearly, whatever you did in your investigation angered someone.”
Hew’s eyes snapped open. “It’s not a given that my stabbing and the train investigation are related.” It was a possibility but not a certainty.
“What other conclusion is there? I presume the train accident was no accident, and when you uncovered the sabotage—that is your mission, yes?—you became a target of the...what word did you use? Saboteurs?” She stumbled a bit over the pronunciation, her London accent making it seem far less French. “Yes, you became a target of the saboteurs”—she almost had it now—“who followed you to London and decided to kill you before you could...” She glanced at the ceiling and put a hand to her chin as though thinking. “I don’t know what they were trying to prevent. Surely you have sent your findings or you would not be at leisure to visit friends in London.”
Hew stared at her. If his stabbing was related to the train investigation—and she made a good argument that it was—she was smarter than his attackers. She’d easily found the flaw in their plan. But she didn’t know all the details, though he imagined if he gave her one or two, she’d have the entire thing solved, despite never having seen the train, the wreck, or even knowing where Carlisle was.
“I’ve sent preliminary findings along with my theories about who might have a motive for the sabotage.”
