“Absolutely. We have two ladies in training at the moment, as well as one who completed a mission last winter.”
“And they crawl about in the mud?”
“They do.” He thought of Margaret Vaughn and Lucy Galloway. Neither had been faster than he on the obstacle course, but Margaret could decode anything, speak a dozen languages, and she was a wonder with a knife. Lucy, on the other hand, had no fear and had a love-hate relationship with explosives. She might not be the quickest through the obstacle course, but she could move like a phantom and be at your side before you ever knew she was in the same room. “There’s not a man or woman in the Saboteurs who doesn’t deserve to be there,” Hew said, and he meant it.
“Must you return to the Farm or do you wait in London for your next assignment?” Lydia asked. “I do hope you will stay a few more weeks so you might meet the baby.”
Hew smiled. “Unfortunately, I must return north by the end of the week, but Randall knows where to send word. Once the child is born, I will return posthaste.” He finished his tea. He considered staying for another cup, but Lydia Randall did look tired and Hew felt a bit melancholy now that he’d mentioned his fellow agents. He wondered what Duncan, Cal, and Will were up to. For all he knew, Cal and Will might be in London at this very moment.
“Now I shall take my leave,” Hew said.
“It’s still early,” Lydia protested, but Randall gave him a grateful look. Clearly, he was concerned about his wife and wanted to put her to bed.
Randall rose. “Mr. Arundel doesn’t leave for a few days yet. We’ll see him again.”
Hew motioned for Mrs. Randall to stay seated and crossed to her, kissing her hand and thanking her again for the exceptional tea. “I’ll send a tin of it back with you,” she said.
“I’ll be the most popular agent at the Farm,” he said, then walked out of the dining room with Randall. But instead of seeing him to the door, Randall accompanied him outside.
“Will you walk?” Randall asked.
Hew looked up at the sky, from which a steady drizzle fell. “I think I will hail a hackney. Knowing my luck, the heavens will open up halfway to the hotel.”
Randall motioned to a footman, who moved to the corner to hail any approaching conveyances for hire. “Is it just my imagination,” Randall said quietly, “or does she look tired?”
Hew did not have to ask who she referred to. “Your wife does look a bit pale and weary, but no more so than any other woman in her condition.”
“She ate almost nothing.”
Hew wasn’t sure what to say. He didn’t have any experience with breeding women, and he didn’t know what Lydia Randall’s lack of appetite might portend. Surely, he could not go wrong by reassuring the father-to-be. “I’m certain it’s nothing a night of sleep won’t cure.”
“I hope so.” Randall looked over Hew’s shoulder at the sound of an approaching conveyance. “That one is occupied,” he said, his tone irritated.
“You needn’t wait in the rain with me,” Hew said. “Go inside to your—”
He felt the prickle of something off—something wrong—and because he was not expecting it, reacted just a second too late. He turned, swinging his arm up to ward off an attack, but the attacker had already struck. Hew felt the blade of the knife sink into his ribs. Surprisingly, after the initial pain that took his breath away, he felt nothing. He swung out, catching the attacker on the jaw and sending him stumbling away.
“Get him!” Hew yelled. At least he’d tried to yell. His voice came out as little more than a wheeze. But Randall jumped into action, sprinting after the attacker who was now running into the street. Hew watched with annoyance as the approaching hackney slowed, the door opened, and the attacker jumped inside. Randall had to jump out of the way to avoid being trampled by the horses.
“Nicely done,” Hew muttered as he sank to his knees. Whoever had planned this attack—and there was no doubt it had been planned—had timed it perfectly. If Hew hadn’t turned the second he did, the knife would have plunged straight through his back and punctured his lungs. As it was, the knife had slid into his side, just below his lungs. He tried to rise, found his legs would not cooperate, and then put his hand where pain had begun to radiate. The knife was still there.
“Bloody hell!”
Hew wasn’t certain where the voice came from. The streetlights had gone out and the night was closing in.
“Call for a doctor. Hurry!” Someone caught him just as Hew fell over.
“Call for a doctor. He’s been stabbed.” It was Randall. Hew knew that voice.
“I’m fine.”
“You’re not fine,” Randall argued. “You have a knife sticking out of your side.” Randall stiffened. “Lydia, darling, go inside. It’s not safe out here.”
“But Randall!” Her voice was high and sounded terrified. Hew’s vision cleared for long enough to see her coming toward them. The front of her dress was wet as though she’d spilled water in her lap. Except Hew did not think that was water.
“The baby. He’s coming!”
“What?”
