Her eyes widened.
He grinned.
"I – I must be on my way." She glanced quickly at her coachman, a young fellow who watched them with undisguised interest.
James scowled at him and he merely smirked in response. Insolent. "Well?"
"Did you follow me here?" The voice was all Mary, now – not Mark, not Mrs Fordham. He'd not realized how much he'd missed hearing it.
"Answer me first."
She glanced towards the carriage again. "We haven't time right now."
"So out with it."
With a sigh, she tried to pull her hand away.
He curled his fingers around hers and gripped hard – hard enough to hurt.
"Carter!"
The young coachman hopped down from his seat. "Yes, Mrs Fordham."
James promptly relinquished her hand. "Until tomorrow, Mrs Fordham."
She didn't reply. But he caught a glimpse of her expression as she mounted the steps to the carriage, and it was both worried and cross. Good.
At least there, they were even. Fourteen The early hours of Thursday, 7 July The Agency's Headquarters
The drive back to the Agency was swift and tense – on Mary's part, at least. She couldn't see Felicity, perched atop the carriage, but her imagination was vivid. She saw herself shamed, scolded, sacked. And she had little to say in her own defence, except the stupid-sounding "He didn't seem to recognize me." How could she have been so naive as to hope that? So foolish as to conceal James's presence from the Agency?
Once in the attic office, though, the conversation took an unexpected turn. Rather than reprove Mary, Anne sighed. "I must confess, I worried about your ability to blend invisibly into a building site."
"I thought we did well, considering the pressing nature of the assignment," said Felicity smoothly. A trifle defensively.
Almost without pause, Anne asked Mary, "Have you any suggestions as to how you might explain yourself to Mr Easton now?"
Mary nodded slowly. "I had an idea… not an especially good one, I'm afraid, but it's plausible."
"Wait a moment," drawled Felicity, leaning forward. "Even with a beautifully turned, utterly plausible background story, we're rather missing an opportunity here." Both Mary and Anne turned to her with some surprise. "This is the second time you've encountered James Easton. He was rather helpful to you during the Thorold case, was he not?"
"He was." Mary cursed the warmth in her cheeks that must signify a blush.
"And he's certainly curious about your current activities. Even I could see that."
Mary nodded, remembering the smirk on "Carter's" face as she and James bickered on Mrs Wick's doorstep.
"I think no matter how perfectly you performed as Mark Quinn, he would always have recognized you. He probably knew you straight away, but was keeping silence for his own reasons."
"I expected him to know me. But when he didn't let on, I thought it best to leave it alone."
"And he's just returned from India. This isn't the sort of small job he'd normally bother with."
"That's right."
"Clever, discreet, and underemployed." Felicity made an elegant gesture with her hands. "Why not recruit him to work for the Agency?"
"What?!" gasped Anne.
Mary stared. It was either the best or the worst suggestion she'd ever heard. It might be both.
"Of all the absurd, impulsive, inappropriate schemes!" Anne nearly spat the words. "How utterly nonsensical!"
Bright flags of colour appeared on Felicity's cheeks. "How so? Easton demonstrates all the traits we seek in candidates."
"He's… why, he's-"
"Male. Is that the problem?"
"Well, it's certainly a problem for the Agency. We were founded on the Scrimshaw Principle: women, who are undervalued and underestimated at every turn, have the advantage when it comes to intelligence work."
"I'm well aware of the Agency's history," said Felicity. "But in this case, Easton has the advantage. He has experience of building sites, and a position of authority."
"That's because we had no business accepting this case! We strayed outside the Agency's area of expertise, and this confusion is the consequence. James Easton, whatever his virtues, can play no part in the usual work of the Agency."
"The 'usual work of the Agency'," drawled Felicity, "bears reconsideration. The current case demonstrates that perfectly. If we cannot accept work – interesting, well-paid, important work – we ought to question our self-imposed limitations. Male agents may be just what we need in order to grow as an organization."
"The current case is not just beyond our scope! It is inimical to our aims."
"Please!" interrupted Mary, standing awkwardly. Anne and Felicity stared at her, startled. They seemed to have forgotten her presence entirely. "I must return to Lambeth. I've a decent story to tell James Easton for the moment, until you – until a decision is made."
Anne swallowed and said, in something approximating her usual tone, "It's very late, Mary. Why don't you stay here until morning? It's quite safe for you to do so."
Mary nodded reluctantly. She had already compromised her seamless existence as Mark Quinn. James Easton had destroyed her cover. It seemed she had nothing to lose by staying one night in her old bed, here at the Agency – while it was still the Agency she knew. Thursday, 7 July A long evening, a fierce quarrel, an impending confrontation. Given these three, sleep for Mary came only towards dawn, and she was nearly late for work as a result. Running the last few hundred yards into Westminster, she dodged round a gent in a badly ironed suit, realizing only at the last second who it was.
Octavius Jones tipped his hat to her with a flourish. "Hello, laddie!" he called loudly. "What have you for me today?"
"Nothing, sir."
"Come, now – a clever boy like you? Tell me something. Anything."
She backed towards the site entrance, step by slow step. "Er – funeral's today, sir."
"You won't get paid for that!" he said with good-natured contempt. "Tell me something that's not public knowledge."
"I don't know what you mean, sir."