Page 87 of A Lady's Handbook of Espionage
She curled her fingers around the coins. “Consider it done, sir.”
Callahan turned to go, then paused. He glanced back at Lily, taking in how she seemed to hold herself together through sheer force of will. “You likely won’t see me again tonight, but I’m sending round a man named Mattias Wentworth. Tell the girls he’s safe to let through. He’ll have his lads take care of that body for you, quick and clean. No one the wiser, come morning.”
Relief flickered over Lily’s face. “Thank you, sir.”
With a final nod, Callahan strode out into the night. He quickened his pace, hunched against the chill. The sooner he got to Wentworth, the sooner they could start damage control.
And the sooner he could get back to Isabel.
*
Callahan’s boots echoed in the foyer of the Home Office. Even at this late hour, a few gas lamps burned, and staff crossed his path. There was always someone here who never slept.
Which included Wentworth.
He took the stairs two at a time. When he reached the office, the spymaster was bent over his desk, working late as usual. He didn’t startle at Callahan’s abrupt entrance, merely glanced up with a raised brow.
“We have a problem,” Callahan said without preamble.
At that, Wentworth straightened. He was already reaching for his coat. “I assume this is more pressing than whatever sent you off in your evening kit?”
“Right. It’s a bloodstained, body-shaped problem currently growing cold on the floor of a whorehouse, to be precise.”
Wentworth pinched the bridge of his nose. “Fuck. Tell me.”
“One of Ripon’s guests was murdered tonight. Viscount Harrington. A gent with particular scientific inclinations, as it happens. Specifically, an interest in Ramsgate’s work.”
“What do we know?”
Callahan fell into step beside the spymaster as they strode from the office. “It was a professional job. Quick and clean. Harrington was dead before he hit the floor, his throat slit. The killer slipped in and out again while the viscount was intimate with a doxy. Poor thing saw it happen.”
“And Harrington? Did you glean anything from him before he bled out?”
“He let slip that Ramsgate was mucking about with some chemical combination the viscount considered ‘concerning’. Isabel believes it might be a weapon.”
“We need to contain this. Keep it quiet so Ramsgate doesn’t know the Syndicate is cleaning up loose ends.”
“Already ahead of you. I’ve got the staff at the Crimson Veil sitting tight, and I sent for Ripon.”
“Good thinking. Your cover. It’s secure?”
“As secure as it can be, given the circumstances. Why? Having doubts about my ability to play the bumbling American?”
“I have doubts about everything, Callahan. It’s why I’m still alive.” Wentworth hailed a hack and turned to Callahan before getting inside. “I’ll go and run interference with Ripon and have a few of my men keep eyes on the house to make sure Ramsgate doesn’t leave, just to be safe.”
Callahan nodded. The urge to return to Isabel was a physical ache in his chest. “I’d best be getting back. Wouldn’t do for Mr Ashford to be absent.”
*
Callahan was relieved to see light spilling from beneath the bathing chamber’s door when he returned to Basil House. A muted sloshing came from within – the shift of water in a bath.
Thank God. She was safe.
“Isabel? Did you find our killer?”
“He ran off. I’ll just be a minute.” Her voice sounded wrong – thready and distant.
Unease prickled Callahan’s nape. He shucked his coat, setting it over the chair.
