CHAPTER 17
Merde, merde, merde! Why won’t you simply die?
Tomkin yanked off his blood-stained gloves and turned them inside out before he shoved them inside his coat pocket. That’s when he noticed the crimson stain on his sleeves—the American’s blood. The last-minute decision to terminate the gunman had nearly wrecked everything.
He wiped the sweat off his forehead with his coat sleeve. Thank God Emma and Michael bought into the story about the blank missive, and Samuel and his retirement in Tibet. It wasn’t easy coming up with a convincing lie to cover up the damned mess.
Releasing a frustrated sigh, he closed his eyes and leaned back on the seat. Focusing on the rhythmic sound of the carriage, he slowed his breath. Damn, that was close—too close. If he hadn’t searched the stable for the stable hand, he would never have seen the American. He must take extra care in the next few days leading up to Shaw’s masquerade ball.
Victory was close. So close that he could reach out and touch it. His nerves were getting thin, and even he knew well enough that it was a dangerous thing to lose one’s patience, especially at a critical time like this.
The thought that his enemy was on the verge of success had him seething with anger, but this wasn’t simply about revenge. This was about vindication. He’d waited too long, hadn’t he? The end was near. Less than a week and all this would be over.
While the visit to Chatham Hall was a gamble, it turned out to be worth his time. Emma was quite resilient and she looked so happy to see him. The fact that she had no wish to stay with Michael proved to him once again that she was loyal to him, unlike her fickle mother.
As long as Emma was with Michael, it was safe to say Michael would remain at Chatham Hall and out of his way. Soon, he’d be home again, basking in the success that took a lifetime to carry out.
The carriage went on for what felt like endless hours under the bright moon with no clouds in sight. It was dangerous traveling at this hour, but it was a necessary risk.
He must have fallen asleep because when he awoke he could smell the Thames River. Tapping twice on the roof of the carriage, he waited for the driver to come to a stop. Opening the carriage door, he looked out into the darkness. He stepped out and stretched his arms before walking up to the edge. Looking down at the river, he pulled out his gloves from inside his coat pocket and quickly tossed them into the river.
A few seconds later, the sound of footfalls alerted him. Heart pumping, Tomkin looked in the direction of the sound and saw a young man swathed in a thick greatcoat quickly walk by. The man tipped his head in greeting to Tomkin before he went about his way and disappeared into the darkness.
Wasting no time, Tomkin stepped into his carriage again and the driver drove on. When he saw the familiar sight of Grosvenor Square and its terraced houses with decorative ironwork balconies, he prepared himself to play the role of Home Secretary again.
As soon as he exited his carriage, he stepped out and scanned the street—a habit long engrained in him since childhood. Walking up the steps of his townhouse, he dug through his pockets for his key. Damn, he must have forgotten to bring it with him in his haste to get to the Chatham Hall. Knocking on the door, he impatiently waited for his butler to answer. Knowing everyone would still be asleep, he waited a few seconds before knocking on it again.
The door opened and his butler, Johnson, stood before him donned in a night gown and a black jacket; his gray hair tossed about in all directions. Suppressing a yawn, he said, “You’re home, my lord.”
“Ah, good ol’ Johnson. Yes, I’m a bit early.”
Johnson promptly took his master’s greatcoat and hat. “I will fetch your valet promptly.”
“No, no,” Tomkin said to the butler who’d obviously was still half asleep. “Let him sleep.”
The butler’s bushy brows rose in surprise, but obeyed nonetheless. “Yes, my lord,” he said. “Do you require anything else, my lord?”
“Go to bed.”
Johnson nodded and promptly obeyed.
Tomkin made his way to his study and locked the door behind him. He pulled away from the door and walked across the rug to light the candles. Looking at the leather-bound books that were neatly lined up on the book shelves; he tip-toed, pulled out a brown leather-bound book and opened it. The hallowed out interior of the book held a key to the bottom drawer in his mahogany desk.
Making his way to the desk, he used the key to unlock the drawer. With the sound of the click, anticipation thumped in his chest. He’d waited so long for this opportunity to finally serve him, guaranteeing his legacy. Two comrades from Paris were arriving next week disguised as French diplomats. Acquiring the proper papers was the easy part, but getting the encrypted letter to the Emperor was nearly impossible. Dozens of English dragoons patrolled the beach of Elba day and night.
Reaching into the deep drawer, he pulled out a ledger and documents. Then he lifted the thin divider that hid his secrets. Pulling it out, it revealed a shallow wooden rectangular box. He took it out and ran his hands over the top, fond memories renewing his energy and purpose.
Opening the box, there revealed two pistols he’d brought with him from his last trip to Paris and missives from the Emperor detailing their plan. It took months to receive them since the letters were routed to Paris as an extra precaution, where a trusted solider rerouted them to him.
He pulled out another square box, one that contained letters from Emma’s mother and a little doll he’d purchased for Emma when she was born, but failed to send. A pang of resentment filled his heart as he touched the doll.
Just then, from the corner of his eye he saw it and blood rushed through him in a panic. Instead of three letters, there were only two.
Blast. Where is it? No one was allowed in his study.
He frantically dug through the drawers. Perhaps he’d misplaced one? Even as he was digging through his drawers, he knew the answer. He was meticulous. There could only be one answer. Someone had been in here.
He dragged his hand over his face in panic. Yanking on the pull cord, he waited for Johnson, pacing the room. Within minutes the butler knocked once. Tomkin walked over to his door, unlocked it, and opened the door.
“Yes, my lord?”
“Has anyone been in my study?”
“No, my lord,” he said. “We are aware that absolutely no one is allowed in here under any condition. Is anything wrong, my lord?” Johnson’s bushy brows pulled together.
He pursed his lips. “I should think so.” Looking at Johnson, Tomkin knew this man had been in his service since he first arrived in London. If he could trust an Englishman, it would be Johnson. “Something of mine is missing. I need you to interview the servants discreetly and find out who has been in my study.”
His butler firmly nodded. “Straightaway, my lord. Will there be anything else, my lord?”
“Yes. I am going out. Ready my carriage.”
“Will you be returning to break your fast, my lord?”
“No, Johnson,” Tomkin watched as his butler turned on his heel and left the room.
Now, let me think….
Perhaps there was a spy in the midst? Maybe one of his servants? The last time he had another soul in his study was Geoffrey. Shaw came and went twice since they’d forged an alliance, but not from the front door. Had Shaw crumbled under pressure? Perhaps that ninny didn’t have the spine after all. Surely, Shaw knew betrayal would mean losing his pretty little head. Still, caution was in order and Tomkin needed to make certain of Shaw’s loyalty to him. There was simply no room for errors.
He carefully placed all the items back into his drawer except for the two missives. There was no turning back now. For now, he needn’t worry, the missives were in code that would be nearly impossible to break. Only two agents had that kind of talent and they were both nicely settled at Chatham Hall.
Tomkin walked out of his study and locked the door, double checking the knob to make sure it was indeed locked. When the carriage was readied, he stepped out and down the steps.
All was quiet, as it should be. Looking around the perimeter, he sensed an unnerving calm. And he felt a strange uneasiness that someone was watching him.
Frowning, he gave his order to the driver before he stepped into the carriage and it drove off.