“If you would all please be seated, we will begin.”
They were gathered in the formal dining room, the eleven people Sir Arthur had invited milling about until the man himself brought them to order. Joanna found herself sitting between Lord Adam Bateman and Lord Thorston, trying to keep her eyes from darting down the table at Michael. She had slept entwined with him the previous night, somewhat awkwardly at first but with more ease as the night went on, in what turned out to be the best rest she’d had since her arrival in Dublin. She hadn’t had a chance to speak with him this morning, though, as Sir Arthur had arrived earlier than planned and let it be known that he was ready to attend to business.
“Each of you has been called here because you have proven yourselves honorable, trustworthy men, and because you are needed—needed by your King in defense of the realm, as well as by each other to continue your individual work. Mrs. Perkins will have already told you the purpose of this assemblage is to pass along information you might come across that would be of use in the fight against the so-called Emperor of France and those of his ilk. That is indeed the case.”
Joanna saw Michael frowning at the use of her alias. Perkins was etymologically equivalent to Pearson, but she supposed it was strange for him to hear his wife—a wife that had once been the person closest to him in the world—called by a name that wasn’t really hers...or his.
“As you go about your regular activities,” Sir Arthur continued, “you will simply remain alert for such information. When you discover something relevant, you will compose a letter and convey it to one of five messengers I have engaged to bring your correspondence directly to me. They will be stationed in various parts of the country, so one should be near to you at all times. This way, your letters will travel faster and more securely than by post.”
Lord Thorston sighed beside Joanna and muttered, “He likes speech-making as much as my brother does.”
Bateman straightened in his chair. “What if you are not available? You are about to disembark for the Peninsula in anticipation of a direct confrontation with Bonaparte. It is therefore plausible you may find yourself in the midst of a major battle. In such circumstances it is highly likely we will be unable to communicate with you.”
“Arrangements have been made to forward all correspondence from this group to Mrs. Perkins, wherever she is at the time, should I be unreachable.”
“Will we be allowed to correspond with each other?” Fortescue asked.
Sir Arthur looked at each of the faces around the table. “You would want to do that?”
“Certainly. Some of these men are scientists, as I am, and we could benefit from each others’ counsel. Some are involved in other occupations that might prove useful to me, or where I might provide something for them.”
Sir Arthur’s eyes shifted from man to man as their heads began to nod, including Michael’s. He’d said connections made within this group might be helpful, and here he was making them despite his initial resistance and his dislike of Hartland.
“I know some of you are involved in attempting to curb various crimes in your localities,” Bannerman said from across the table. “Perhaps we could alert one another if one of us discovered something nefarious planned to happen or an unsavory character was traveling to another’s city or village.
Choruses of “yes” and “excellent idea” circled the table while Sir Arthur looked as if he were trying to figure out when he’d lost control. Joanna grinned and let her gaze drift again to Michael, who looked much more comfortable that she had thought he would be. His posture was straight but not stiff, one open hand rested on the table, and she could practically hear his mind whirring as the discussion went on.
Sir Arthur held up his hands, palms out in a supplicating gesture. “It seems there are many benefits to you all keeping in contact with each other.” He waited for the room to quiet before going on. “I will ask that you reserve the use of the messengers for extremely urgent business only, if you use them at all among yourselves. All other correspondence not involving me will be sent through the regular post. Mrs. Perkins, you will collect the direction of each man and compile a list to be distributed. Each man will memorize then destroy his copy before departing.”
Joanna merely nodded, but she knew she’d be spending the next day or two copying out that list. Would Michael help if she asked him to?
“Are we to have a name?”
Joanna leaned forward to see who had spoken, and discovered Hartland sitting at the foot of the table with an impish grin.
“A name?” Sir Arthur responded.
“Yes, like the Royal Scots Greys or the 95th Rifles.”
“Those are army regiments, Hartland,” Alexander countered before Sir Arthur could. “We are not a military unit.”
“We certainly are not. But it will be easier to refer to this group if we have a name. Wellesley’s Watchdogs?”
Michael had been quiet thus far, but he spoke up at that. “We shouldn’t be referring to this group at all except to people who are a part of it, and we all know who the members are. If the group has a name, then someone can tie us all together. And if something happens to one of us, we would all be in danger.”
“Mr. Devlin makes a good point,” Sir Arthur said with what looked like relief on his face. “You will have no formal name. You are not spies on foreign soil, but it is infinitely safer if no one outside this room knows about our affiliation.”
The ten men at the table became more sober at this pronouncement, but heads were again nodding. And Michael—a working class Catholic—had won a moment of respect from a wealthy Protestant.
Joanna smiled to herself, her shoulders loosening and letting go of tension she hadn’t realized was there. It had indeed been wise to include Michael in this group.
She had only to convince him to include her in his life.
~~~
They spent two more days at Glanmire House working through the practicalities of Sir Arthur’s system—Where exactly would these messengers be? And how would they be contacted? What if one of the group traveled away from home?—and producing copies of the list containing each person’s direction.
Joanna and Michael spent those nights in their separate bedchambers, too weary when they retired to discuss anything of importance. Joanna decided that, despite sleeping fitfully alone in her bed, it was probably for the best they had some time apart. They’d been together practically every moment since leaving Dublin nearly a week ago, and she needed to decide just how to explain her five-year disappearance.
On the third day they departed together in her carriage; she needed to pay a visit to a particular someone in Belfast and he agreed to accompany her as far as Dublin. They sat side-by-side on the front facing seat, his hat and her bonnet keeping company opposite them. But neither of them spoke, and every time the carriage swayed Michael was careful not to bump her, not to touch her at all.
Well then, why not tell him about her missing years now? If he was already disenchanted with her, what did she have to lose?
“His name was Simon Burroughs.”
Michael’s head swiveled around, his brown eyes meeting her gaze. “What?”
“Simon Burroughs. He’s the reason I didn’t come back to you five years ago.”
This time his whole body turned and one arm when up along the back of the seat cushion. “So it was a man.”
She turned to face him. “But not like you think.”
“All right then, I’m listening.” His tone said he was calm and open-minded, but the lowered brows and down-turned lips told a different story.
“I told you the truth in the note I left, that I had a mission and planned to be back in a month or two. The mission itself was straightforward and I completed it with no problems. The trouble began when I stopped at an inn one night as I was making my way back to Ireland.”
She paused there, scanning his face for any hint of what he might be thinking. Whatever was going on in his mind, though, was now carefully hidden behind a neutral expression.
“A man came to sit with me as I was eating dinner—yes, I was eating in a private parlor,” she said, interrupting herself before Michael could, “but the innkeeper came to me, saying this man professed to know my husband and wondered if I might take a message to him. I was wary, of course, but I consented and the man was ushered in to my parlor.”
“Simon Burroughs?”
“His lackey. He said his master knew that Perkins wasn’t my real name and that I was no lady.”
Michael’s jaw clenched, and Joanna wondered if he even realized his was gritting his teeth.
“There was a letter, too, containing my full name and the fact that I was in Sir Arthur’s service.”
“How did he know that? What did he want?”
“That was precisely what I wanted to find out.”
His hands clenched into fists. “You went after him, didn’t you? Without even telling me.”
“At first, yes,” she admitted, carefully controlling her breathing as she spoke. “I thought I could track him down quickly, discover his source of information, and put an end to his game.”
“You tracked him down, but it wasn’t quick.”
“No. Burroughs kept himself well hidden. It took me three months just to find his name.”
Michael’s body was rigid now. “And in those three months you didn’t think to send me word that you were alive? Or any time after that?”
“But I did,” Joanna replied with a frown. “Just once. I knew it was a big risk—if Burroughs found out you were the Demon he’d ruin you, or worse. I knew you’d be worried, though, and sent a note to your cousin Anne thinking that she would pass it on to you. It was vague and probably unhelpful, but I wanted you to know I was well and that I’d come home when it was safe.”
The anger in his face vanished. “You sent it to Anne? When?”
“It must have been late July, maybe early August. A few months after I’d left Ireland.”
“Joanna, Anne was arrested near the end of July that year. She was accused of conspiring with her employer to help plan the United Irishmen rebellion and jailed as a spy.”
Joanna’s hand covered her gaping mouth, then dropped into her lap. “I didn’t realize... I told her in the note not to reply. So you never—”
He shook his head. “She disappeared after they released her. I haven’t seen her since.”
They sat unspeaking for several minutes, listening to the horses’ hooves striking the road. One letter sent in five years certainly wouldn’t exonerate Joanna in Michael’s eyes—nor would she have forgiven him if the situation had been reversed. But it did prove that she hadn’t walked away without a care.
Would that be enough to rebuild a marriage?
Probably not. But perhaps it was enough to start the process.
“I assume Burroughs is no longer a threat.” Michael’s tone was steady but his words carried just a hint of his natural brogue.
She wanted so much to touch him, but she didn’t dare. Not yet. “He is not.”
“And we are both safe?”
She nodded. “From him.”
“Are there others he was connected to that we should worry about?”
“Not that I am aware of.”
He fell silent again and she sat back against the cushions, trying to give him both physical and psychological space to think through the situation.
“Is Wellesley’s intelligence gathering ring the only mission you’re currently working on?”
“No.” She was prepared for anger at her answer, but was taken aback when he cracked a smile instead.
“I know better than to ask about what you are working on.”
Good. That was progress. “What have you been working on?” She knew there would be some regular criminal the Demon always had his eye on, and remembered how he’d liked to discuss possible strategies with her.
“The head of the Ormond Boys has been trying to stir something up with the Liberty Boys.”
“Again?” She chuckled and felt her shoulders relaxing. It was good to know some things never changed.
“Always. Catholics and Protestants, butchers and weavers, constantly feuding. I don’t think they even know why anymore.”
Joanna watched some of the tension ebb from his muscles and she reached for his hand. “I hope we don’t follow their example.”
“I hope not, either,” he said, turning over his hand so it was palm to palm with hers. “But what are we going to do?”
“Do you despise me?”
His warm brown eyes met her blue ones. “Of course I don’t.”
She took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Then perhaps we can begin again.”
“As husband and wife? I don’t think I can jump right back into that relationship.”
“You—we—won’t have to. I will need to travel some to continue my...work. But what if I made my home in The Liberties,” she laced her fingers with his, “and spend my off duty time courting you?”
That elicited a surprised laugh from Michael. “You want to court me?”
“Yes. I’m the reason we’ve been apart these years, so I should be the one doing the wooing.”
“Do you have any idea how to court a man?”
She gave him her most inviting smile. “You will just have to wait and see.”