The Armored Doctor (Curiosity Chronicles Book 2) (16 page)

“While I applaud your efforts to ensure London’s security, what does this have to do with me or Miss Benton? And why did you have me bring this along?” Jacob raised the box containing the gauntlet gun and breastplate.

“The weapon must be strictly safeguarded after what we have uncovered. As for Miss Benton, our agents confirm that she is safe at her address. We had better go inside.”

Why were agents even at her address?

The Secretary keyed in the code to open the door. Jacob entered the room with the agents and the captured spy. He took a look at the spy’s rumpled, worn suit and bowler. The spy glanced at Jacob and the Secretary before turning a grizzled cheek.

“We think he’s been operating in London for the past four or five months, disguised as a vagabond,” the Secretary explained. “We also think he may be paying members of the working classes and vagrants to secure information for him. Doctor, this is why I brought you here.” The Secretary signaled to one of the agents, who reached for a folded document behind his coat lapel. The Secretary took the document and unfolded it.

Jacob recognized Abigail’s early sketch of the refurbished gauntlet gun.

“We found this on the spy. We have reason to believe that your assistant has been stealing and trading your armor designs.”

#

“I’m telling you, I am not a thief.”

Abigail sat at the small table in her room under the watchful eye of a female COIC agent and the agent’s male partner. The landlady stood at the door and shrugged helplessly at Abigail as the male agent searched through her closet and hope chest.

Ransacked was the better term, Abigail thought. She cringed as she heard fabric ripping. The agent tore through the pocket lining of one of her best skirts. The next minute he ran a knife through the inner seams of her finest dress. Boots, jackets, blouses, and her spare reticule all were thrown out of the closet for the chance to find more supposed evidence to support the COIC’s outlandish claim.

“Why would I steal from Dr. Valerian and trade to a criminal spy ring?” she asked the female agent standing over her.

The agent, severe in her prim black skirt and jacket, shook her head. “It’s not for me or Agent Ford to say why you’ve done anything, Miss Benton. What our fellow agents found on that French spy is enough evidence to warrant a search of your room.”

“You still haven’t told me what it was you found.”

“A sketch of the weapon that Dr. Valerian commissioned for the agency. The shading technique looks much like those on the table.” She pointed to the sketches Abigail worked on for leisure.

Abigail was speechless. She couldn’t figure out how any of her sketches could wind up in the hands of a spy. She went to no places other than Jacob’s residence, the college, and the laborer’s hospital. Of the last, she went there but three times, and she never carried a sketchbook and pencils with her.

“You’re silent now, Miss Benton. Is that an admission of guilt?”

She met the female agent’s superior gaze. “Absolutely not.”

“What were you hoping to gain for trading that sketch over to one of Broussard’s men?”

“I did no such thing. In fact, I have no idea who this Broussard man is. How did a spy get his hands on my drawing?”

The female agent didn’t respond. Abigail assumed it was because she didn’t know the answer to the question, either. She asked the agent another. “Have you spoken to Dr. Valerian about this?” Abigail knew that he was the best person to help her fight the charges.

“I haven’t spoken with him. Now, you must tell me, where do you make most of your sketches?”

“At Dr. Valerian’s residence. Sometimes here, as well, but I turned over all the work-related sketches to him since the project finished completion.”

“Did you overlook one?”

“Not that I’m aware of. I kept everything in one portfolio that I gave him.”

Abigail turned as Agent Ford moved from laying siege to the closet to now pillaging her hope chest. Petticoats and other unmentionables, as well as her books, all fell victim to his haphazard rummaging. “Please tell him not to do that.”

Agent Ford dug up to his elbow in the chest and came out with a sketchbook. “Agent Donald, I found something.” He opened the book, flipped through the pages. “Never mind. It’s blank.”

Abigail sighed. “Agents Ford and Donald, I respectfully ask if you are finished.” “For the moment.” Agent Donald opened a small notebook suspended from a chain about her waist and proceeded to jot notes. “We’ve found nothing here to have you placed under arrest. You haven’t been officially charged with theft yet, but this investigation is ongoing. I would advise you not to try to flee the city.”

Theft. Investigation. Arrest. Abigail’s blood pressure elevated with the growing list of words associated with criminal involvement used to describe her. She tried to breathe through her alarm. “I won’t flee the city, but I need to leave this room.” Jacob was probably irate with her for being an hour late. But once he heard her of the ordeal she was going through, he would move immediately to provide his assistance.

Or would he? A nagging thought penetrated her mind. Did Jacob think she stole from him? Did he contact the COIC to investigate her?

“You won’t be going into work today, Miss Benton.” Agent Donald finished writing. “Dr. Valerian is one of the COIC’s contributors, and it’s our right to protect him and the commissioned project. Because you’re the main suspect, we’re suspending you from Dr. Valerian’s employ, effective immediately.”

#

Jacob sat across from the French spy and looked him directly in the eyes. After hours of listening to the COIC agents and the Secretary interrogate the spy to no further avail as to how he came into possession of the weapons sketch, at last Jacob had his turn.

“How did you get this?” He set Abigail’s sketch on the table between them. The agents and the Secretary lined the wall, observing.

The spy, who had previously revealed his communication skills in the form of expletives, hurled a string of them at Jacob.

“Let’s try this again, and if you answer me well, perhaps I’ll pardon your French.”

The spy sneered and made a sound of contempt through his nose. “I do not have to tell you anything, crippled man.”

Jacob crossed the right foot of his mechanical leg over his left knee while he regarded the unkempt man. “ Perhaps I can persuade you to speak.” He swept his hand towards the men along the wall. “These agents know you’re in New Britannia illegally as a spy. Those are grounds to be tried, thrown into jail, and even executed. If you answer my questions, an unfortunate end could be avoided.”

“I work for one of the most visionary of men, Monsieur Emile Broussard. I am not afraid to die, even at the teeth of New Britannia’s dogs.”

“How does one man who’s rarely seen or heard from, even from within your country, inspire so much loyalty in his followers?” voiced the Secretary.

The spy swiveled his head to look at him. “Broussard sees to the needs of those who aid him.”

“He doesn’t seem to be doing that well of a job.” Jacob pointed to the man’s suit and hat. “You could make do with a better wardrobe. I thought the French were very meticulous in that regard.”

“I have higher things to concern myself with.”

“Is stealing from women one of them?” Jacob asked to determine whether Abigail had sold the sketches to the spy, or if he took them from her. Jacob didn’t believe that Abigail would betray him, but he needed proof for the COIC agents.

The spy answered him with sarcasm. “I cannot help if your
femme
employee is careless with her work.”

“I can assure you she is not careless. How did you take the sketch from her?”

“Her room at the boarding house has a window. I’ve watched her from across the street when she sketched at her table.” The spy smiled suggestively. “She is pretty,
non
?”

It took all of Jacob’s reserve to keep himself from launching at the man’s throat. The spy wanted to ruffle him. He needed to keep calm and get answers. “You broke into her room and stole the sketch when she wasn’t there. How were you not seen or heard by the other tenants?”

“Why do you assume that I had to force my way into her room? Perhaps
la mademoiselle
freely invited me.”

Jacob couldn’t keep from displaying his disgust this time. “She would never associate with the likes of you.”

“But would she favor you, a man in need of a cane? Young, but with silver in his hair?” The spy made that nasal sound of contempt again. “You talk about my clothing,
monsieur
, but I can change my suit. You cannot take the scar off your face.”

Jacob rose. The COIC Secretary put a hand on his shoulder. “Enough. I’d have a word with you.” He pulled him to the side.

“I’m trying to get this man to confess how he got Abigail’s sketch,” Jacob spoke polite words, but his voice came out low and even in response to the Secretary’s unwanted intervention.

“Can’t you see he’s leading you on a red herring? Look how he’s trying to make you vexed.”

“He’s not the only person. You’ve accused my assistant of theft. You brought me to headquarters while you left her unprotected.”

“That’s not entirely true. Our agents were with her. They went to her room at the boarding house this morning and did a search. They found nothing.”

“Now I’m vexed. By what right do you have to intrude upon her?”

The Secretary’s back stiffened. “By right of the agency’s commission. We sought out a weapon to use against Broussard. I won’t have it stolen by his spies and sympathizers.”

“Abigail is not a sympathizer.” Jacob saw movement over the Secretary’s shoulder.

The French spy was up from his chair, his restraints broken. One of the agents rushed at him. The spy pulled free of his grip and made for the door. He shook the handle, then he glanced up at the code panel and wires.

The second agent caught him by the shoulder, forcing him to turn around. The French spy’s body went slack and doubled over as he did so. The agent dropped his hold as the spy sank to his knees and fell face forward.

Jacob cautiously approached the spy’s form and turned him over. The spy’s suit jacket parted to reveal an object protruding from his shirt in the upper left corner. Crimson bloomed around it. “He stabbed himself.”

“Through the heart, it looks like,” said the Secretary. “Where’d he get the knife? He was searched.”

Jacob saw a vent in the spy’s jacket sleeve. He peeled the worn, dirty fabric back to see a pocket sewn into the lining. “He kept it hidden there.”

The Secretary proffered a grim sigh as the two agents gathered the man up. “He knew he wasn’t getting out of here, so he made sure that we wouldn’t get our answers.”

“I still intend to get them.” Jacob rose with the aid of his walking stick. “But first, I’m seeing to Abigail’s safety. Broussard’s spy ring will come looking for her if her address was one of the last places this man visited before he was caught.”

“You can’t go to her. Until the investigation is complete, she’s suspended from working with you.”

Jacob gripped the walking stick tighter while his other hand closed into a fist. “I am not a COIC agent. You do not have the authority to suspend my employee or keep me from going to her, commission or no commission.” He took the box containing the weapon. He walked out the door after the two agents opened it and carried out the dead spy.

As Jacob expected, the Secretary came after him as soon as he was through the second door behind the agents. “Doctor, I want to believe Miss Benton is innocent, too. I was the one who recommended that you hire her.”

“And it’s because of her that there even is a finished project. Why do you turn on her and treat her like a criminal when you have little to go on?”

“New Britannia has powerful enemies within and beyond her borders. As one of this agency’s top officials, I can’t afford to give suspects a wide benefit of doubt.”

Jacob pained at Abigail being called a suspect. “If you want to protect the citizenry, then you shouldn’t assume its members are guilty until proven innocent.”

They emerged into the main lobby of the near empty building. Most of the agents and officials had gone home for the evening.

“You’re right, Dr. Valerian. I’m going to get to the bottom of this and see if Miss Benton’s name can be cleared.”

Jacob didn’t have time to hear the Secretary’s good intentions. His only concern was for Abigail, and he was going to her aid tonight. “If that’s the best I can hope from you, then I must take it. Good evening.” He exited the building.

But the Secretary followed him outside. “I’m coming with you. We’ll take my coach.”

“Good.” Jacob rerouted to the vehicle.

The Secretary followed. “You’re actually glad I’m coming with you, then?”

“Yes, but only because I’m in a terrible hurry and can’t be bothered to wait for a hackney cab.”

Abigail returned the last ruined dress to her closet. Torn clothing and a room in shambles were the least of her worries, but they certainly added insult upon injury.

Her mind still whirled from being accused of theft. So much that she had to steady herself by picking up the mess left behind by the COIC agents. Yet it took forever, and the agents left that morning. It was now going on suppertime.

And she had yet to see or hear from Jacob. Abigail imagined that if she hadn’t come to him by now, he would have come to her. After all, he fretted for her safety for weeks after that gang attacked them. Did the COIC take it upon itself to make sure that he didn’t contact her?

Someone knocked on the door. Hope rose in Abigail’s chest as she went to answer it, only to have the emotion dissolve once she saw who the person was.

“Catherine.” She saw her sister’s tight-lipped expression and relived the angry episode they had in the park yesterday afternoon. Her sister looked as though she was still upset. A repeat of harsh words was the last thing Abigail needed at the moment.

“The landlady told me your room was this way. May I come in?”