CHAPTER 3
Hyde Park
Next day….
Michael read the encrypted note in his hand again: Serpentine 2 T. He shoved it back in the pocket of his dark brown overcoat and pulled out a fob watch. Ten past. Odd. Lord Tomkin, the Home Secretary and his superior, had never been late for a meeting in the last ten years he’d known him.
He continued to stroll near the outer rim of the lake observing, assessing, and watching—a ritual ingrained in him since his training. His gaze swept the perimeter of the Serpentine and caught a brood of children chasing a furry oversized dog, their laughter and innocence rang in his ears. His mouth twitched and he suddenly realized he was smiling. Michael dragged his gaze away from the scene, tightness clutching his chest. When was the last time he’d felt like that? He couldn’t recall. He shoved the watch back in his pocket and looked away from the crowd.
Ever since he’d entered the park, he’d felt a prickling sensation of being watched. Up ahead, he noticed an acquaintance strolling through the park with his wife. The couple stopped to converse with a friend. Good. He had no wish to be recognized.
A gust of cool breeze swept through the park and cooled his face. Behind him, he heard footsteps, the sound of crunching gravel underfoot. Michael instantly recognized the gait. He turned toward the approaching man. The burden of Lord Tomkin’s duty was evident in the deep creases of the man’s forehead, the thinning of his gray hair, and the darkening of his once jovial eyes over the years.
“I am sorry to hear about Geoffrey, Michael,” Lord Tomkin said, his tone sympathetic. “I know how close you two were.”
“Thank you,” Michael replied with a tightness in his chest, a reminder that his childhood friend, one that he’d trusted with his own life was now gone. “How’s Emma faring?” He could still hear that damned sobbing.
“She’s in mourning,” Tomkin said, watching Michael. “You should come by the house.”
“I’m the last person she needs right now.” Michael rubbed his hand on the back of his neck trying to ease the tension he felt all morning, like a tight string ready to snap.
“I doubt that.” Tomkin gave him a faint grin. “Come, walk with me.”
They strolled together nearing a large oak tree where two benches were set apart and facing opposite directions.
“What happened last night?” Tomkin asked.
“I gave my statement when your men arrived.” Michael knew Tomkin was dedicated to his cause in keeping his country and Regent safe—without error. The fact that he hadn’t shown up to the scene of the crime last night was quite unlike him.
“Did he say anything to you? Anything that can help us identify the killer?” his superior asked.
Michael recalled Geoffrey’s words, but he wasn’t ready to say anything without assurance of its meaning to anyone, even Tomkin. “No.” Too many uncertainties flooded his mind. Why had Geoffrey insisted on meeting him at the Black Cat Tavern? And who was the bloody cull that murdered him?
His superior sat on the bench facing the Serpentine. Just then a woman swiftly passed him, her feet kicking the hem of her yellow skirt. She took a seat on the other bench, facing the park with her back to them. Instantly, he was aware of the oddity. She was alone. No maid. No escort. Who the hell is she? Tomkin seemed oblivious to the mystery woman. It was quite unlike him.
Tomkin crossed his legs. “Sit.”
“I prefer to stand.” Michael carefully studied the woman behind the Home Secretary. She wore a straw bonnet with an excessively large brim that hid half her face.
Tomkin looked up at him as if he read his thoughts. “We’re quite safe here.”
Safe? “Are we?” Michael replied to Tomkin and kept his eyes on the woman. “You were the one who trained me to question everything, to trust no one.”
“Indeed,” he said. “But the woman you are watching right now is one of mine.”
Just then, the mystery woman stood and sauntered over to them. “Good afternoon, gentlemen.”
Curse it! What the bloody hell is going on? It was as if he’d been punched in the gut, point blank, with no warning. Miss Emma Willoughby, Geoffrey’s fiancée, a woman he’d consoled last night, was one of Tomkin’s spies? He watched her in disbelief. When he saw no trace of grief, a rush of anger and betrayal pricked him deep.
“What is the meaning of this?” Michael asked Tomkin. They both gazed at him as if he was their enemy.
“As I’ve said, Emma is one of mine,” Tomkin said. “She isn’t my niece. It was a subterfuge to safeguard her true identity for the mission.”
“What mission?” Emma’s dark tresses, her supple lips, and those dark chocolate brown eyes could’ve easily convinced anyone she was anything but a spy. Again, Michael searched for the woman he’d held in his arms last night but found no evidence of such a woman, except for her puffy eyes from sobbing for nearly an hour. Other than that, she seemed calm and collected.
“Is this true?” Even before she answered, a sense of deep betrayal burned in his gut. After all, there was only one reason they’d kept their mission from him.
She didn’t answer straightaway. In fact, he saw the hesitation flicker in her eyes, and then it disappeared with a quick nod. His friend was dead and he had no clue she was using him for her own agenda. A deep sense of treachery hit him with a brutal force and for several seconds he was speechless. How could she have done this?
“You’re good,” Michael said, his mouth pulling into an acrid grin. “You certainly fooled me and Geoffrey.” He’d shamefully envied his friend for the jewel he’d found. He knew Geoffrey would have given her the world and his life without question. “Did you have a hand in your fiancée’s death?”
“No, I had nothing to do with your friend getting killed last night,” she answered.
The odium in her tone when she said ‘your friend’ felt like salt in his wound. “And I’m supposed to believe that from a woman who lied and cajoled my friend into thinking you loved him.”
“Nothing you haven’t done thus far, Mr. Whitfield,” she said. “Your friend was a traitor and I—”
“Unfounded.” He stepped toward her. Their eyes locked and he saw the fury in her eyes. “This traitor you speak of served the Crown well, our country, and saved my life in battle many times over. He would have died for you without a second thought to his own safety.” Michael tried to still the swirl of emotion that stormed inside him. Bloody hell. He hated the way she affected him this way. And he cursed the day he met her in that damned shop nearly a year ago. He should have kept on walking, but instead their innocent flirtation had turned into much more than he had ever hoped.
“Enough of this,” the Home Secretary ordered when Emma opened her mouth to retaliate. “She had no wish for it to go this far. It was the only choice we had to get close.”
“Get close? What has he done?” From the look in their eyes, it was clear they’d judged Geoffrey before he had a chance to defend himself. Not that it mattered because he was dead and now it was up to him to find the truth behind all the lies.
“He has fooled you quite brilliantly,” she said glaring at him. “He wasn’t the man you think he was. If you knew the full truth, I doubt you’d consider him a friend.”
“Like you,” he said. “Indeed, you are not free of your own judgment.” Then he turned to Tomkin and said, “Tell me what the bloody hell is going on and why Geoffrey was the target?”
His superior and Emma seemed reluctant to answer. Clearly, they didn’t trust him. Why else would they be so secretive? This was ludicrous. “I’ll find the person responsible. You can count on that.”
“Very well,” Tomkin said. “Emma’s father was the former Home Secretary. Her parents were murdered two years ago by a Napoleon sleeper spy. We’ve been trying to find this man and bring him to justice.”
The former Home Secretary was Emma’s father? “Murdered?” Michael said. “I was told he suffered a heart condition; that he’d passed in his sleep.”
“That is what we led everyone to believe. The Prince Regent didn’t want to stir any public concerns regarding his murder, and asked me to personally handle the case and find the man who did this. We let everyone believe Emma’s mother left England, to grieve peacefully.”
“Or woman,” he said sharply. “You believe Geoffrey was somehow involved with the French?” After Napoleon was exiled to Elba, all of his spies scattered about the globe, running from capture, or at least that was the word. He knew of Napoleon sympathizers and perhaps traitors in England but why now? Their leader had been captured, the war ended.
“So where is the proof of his involvement?” Their case was weak and failed to convince him of Geoffrey’s complicity to the heinous crimes.
Tomkin looked at Emma for a moment before he spoke again. “We aren’t certain if he is the murderer. At least, he may have been relaying information to the person we are looking for. I understand this isn’t easy. He was your friend.”
This was madness. “There must be evidence before you accuse a highly decorated man of high treason and murdering the former Home Secretary in cold blood.” When Tomkin made no attempt for defense, Michael continued, “Like I’ve said, you have no proof and yet you have the gall to taint a man’s name with conjectures.”
“Emma found the list—the identities of the Regent’s agents, their missions, all of it in Geoffrey’s study. There would be plenty of people who’d love to get their hands on it.”
Too easy. “Anyone could have planted that in his study. What you should have done was question Geoffrey first.”
“We couldn’t risk it,” his superior said.
Emma pulled out a sheet of paper and handed it to him. “Here,” she said. “This is a list of the names I found in Geoffrey’s study.”
Michael snatched the folded paper from her and looked at the familiar scribbles with skepticism. “Script can be forged.”
“True,” Tomkin said. “But only two people know of this list and one of them is the Prince Regent. The other is me. The fact that he had it is a crime in itself.”
Michael let out a weighted sigh and raked his hair. The image of the shooter and his friend’s last few words pointed toward uncertainty. Why would a man of his standing deliberately choose to commit high treason? “Why didn’t you come to me first?”
“I wasn’t certain you could be trusted.” Emma studied him.
“What makes you think you can trust me now?”
Emma gazed into his eyes. “Last night, when you came to inform me of Geoffrey’s death, I knew then that you could not possibly be involved.”
He’d rather forget about what happened last night and get on with finding the killer. Since Geoffrey’s demise, he’d questioned everything. Who was the shooter? The nature of their dealing? Could he have done anything differently to save his friend? And each time Michael didn’t like the end result. Geoffrey had been up to something, that was certain, and Michael meant to find the truth.
He turned to face her. “You gave quite a performance last night. Tell me…were you ordered to extract information from me when we met at the shop that day?” He saw the flicker of resentment in her eyes. Had the kiss they shared that evening been intended from the beginning? Was he a puppet in her quest to find the killer who took her family?
He waited, but she quickly veiled the answer he sought from her.
“Emma sacrificed more than you realize,” the Home Secretary said.
“Sacrifice?” Michael said. “Did you share your bed with Geoffrey to get to the truth?” he asked, despite the fact that his friend hadn’t mentioned such a union.
Her expression went from docile to rage in a second. She took a step towards him. “There is absolutely nothing I won’t do to make certain that the man responsible gets what he deserves for murdering my family.” Her eyes glistened with fury.
He felt her anguish, yet Geoffrey wasn’t here to defend himself for the crime he’d been accused of. “Then you can understand, Miss Willoughby that I will hold steadfast to the belief of your fiancé’s innocence until there is proof to show otherwise. I will get to the bottom of this. Whatever the outcome.”
“What more proof do you need?” she said. Her gaze never left Michael. Shaking her head, she took another step toward him. “I have been told of your wit and great courage, but I see now that instead you are a man of blind ignorance.”
“I’d watch what I say, if I were you.” Michael’s jaw twitched.
“Stop this, both of you,” Tomkin interrupted.
She hesitated for a second, as if she meant to retaliate but stopped herself. Michael watched a tendril escape the confines of her dark brown hair. He had foolishly envied Geoffrey. Oh, yes, he had indeed. But it was a lie. All of it. Duped like a fool. He chuckled inwardly at his own blind idiocy because he had fallen in love with an idea, a character Emma had played brilliantly.
“I have but one assignment for you both.”
“Both?” Emma raised her brows.
Michael glared at her and she glared back at him. “Surely, you jest?”
“I am quite serious,” he said. “And I expect both of you to be civil. You will both travel to Tibet and deliver this to a man named Samuel.” He handed her the sealed letter. “The last I heard, he was residing in the Dalai Lama’s Potala Palace in Lhasa. You will pose as a married couple.”
“Tibet?” Michael blurted out. “And who the hell is Samuel?” He wasn’t about to travel halfway around the world without answers.
“Find him and you’ll get all the answers you seek.”
Michael huffed at the absurdity of traveling to, of all places, Tibet. “Look at her; she’ll not survive a day out there.” He assessed Emma in one fell swoop. She’d no doubt succumb to grumbling her way through the terrain, that is, if she made it that far.
“Well then, it’s a good thing she has you to protect her.”
“I do not need his protection,” she affirmed.
“You’ve got to be jesting.” Michael’s gaze raked her once more. She remained still and unaffected, reminding him of how she had fooled him many times over.
“You will need her once the missive is delivered.”
Michael watched Emma. She looked confused, just as he was. “Why? How is she involved?”
“Again, you will soon have all the answers you seek once you find him.”
“Then I don’t see any reason why I can’t accomplish the mission myself.” A confident grin pulled at her lips. “I’ve come this far, haven’t I?”
“As much as I admire your courage, my dear girl, you will not survive the mission without Michael.” Tomkin sighed. “He knows the land, the terrain, and he has resources you will need there. He can protect you.”
“I think not,” she protested. “There has to be another option.”
“This is the only option,” Tomkin affirmed. “You will deliver the missive together.”
Bloody hell, it would be sheer torture journeying to a place like Tibet with her. Not to mention Europeans and English, in the past, have attempted in vain to enter Tibet. They were not welcomed there. Even if they made it that far, there was the problem of Chinese military guarding the borders. If the Chinese didn’t kill them first, no doubt they’d kill each other before they stepped foot in Tibet.
“We are unsure if Geoffrey made copies of this list, so all agents and their families have been ordered to disappear until further notice from me. Cooperate and follow my bloody orders.”
“And if we refuse?” Michael said.
“Then the man who slaughtered your family and ordered your best friend’s death will have won. Not to mention countless more innocent lives will be at stake.” He paused. “I trust that is the last thing you both want.”