Lord Crayle's Secret World. Lara Temple
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name is Penrose, ma’am. If there is anything you need, you have only to ask.’
‘I...thank you, Mr Penrose.’ Sari smiled nervously at this rather sweeping statement.
‘Here is Mr Anderson’s office.’ He knocked on the door and opened it. ‘Mr Anderson? It is Miss Trevor. And Lord Crayle asked to be informed if she arrived. I will go and fetch him.’
Even in the midst of her confusion, Sari noticed he said ‘if’ rather than ‘when’. Clearly the earl had not completely trusted her not to just disappear with his money. She took a deep breath and tried to focus on the man who had stood up from his desk. She had expected someone like the earl, but he was almost his antithesis. He was good-looking, but in a pleasant, unthreatening way, with kind blue eyes and very light brown hair. He did not look at all like a government agent.
‘Thank you for coming, Miss Trevor. Please sit down. Did you have any trouble finding us?’
‘I... No, we found it quite readily.’
‘Ah, good. Very good.’
He hesitated, and Sari realised in surprise that he seemed as nervous as she. Her own thumping heart calmed slightly and she smiled encouragingly.
‘It was a bit of a leap of faith. I was afraid I might arrive and there would be nothing here.’
He gave a short, surprised laugh, visibly relaxing, and sat down again.
‘A leap of faith indeed, then. Knowing Michael... Lord Crayle, I assume he was less than forthcoming with details?’
Sari smiled at the understatement. It was a relief that this man was so different from the earl.
‘He mentioned something vague about being agents for crown and country—’ she replied hesitantly and broke off as the door behind her opened and Lord Crayle stepped into the room. She straightened slightly and nodded at him.
‘Lord Crayle,’ she said properly.
A faint look of amusement glimmered in his eyes as he came to lounge against the bookcase by Anderson’s shoulder. Then the light from the window was behind him, encasing him like a dark monolith.
‘Miss Trevor,’ he responded with equal politeness.
Anderson cleared his throat and smiled.
‘Good. Well, let me be a bit more explicit. First, what do you know about the state of Continental Europe today?’
Sari gathered her thoughts. Growing up in politically sensitive parts of the Continent and the Levant had made her very politically aware and she hoped she was not too far out of touch with Europe’s rapidly changing landscape.
‘It seems rather chaotic to me at the moment. Napoleon is still causing trouble, even from St Helena. The Bourbons are struggling to make believe they control France. Metternich is playing the Prussians against the Russians. And Tsar Alexander is hoping to transform Russia into a linchpin of the Continent’s security through a Holy Alliance. And we in our turn have our finger in every pie, trying to make sure none of them succeeds in their attempts to run the show.’
Sari saw Anderson cast a quick glance at Michael but his friend’s gaze was on her, inscrutable.
‘That is a pleasantly concise and accurate summary of our murky political environment,’ Anderson said appreciatively. ‘Part of our role here is to help nip in the bud any attempts to foment trouble on British soil by any of these European powers. Now that it is no longer so clear who the enemy is, some of our statesmen are becoming easy prey to manipulation for one cause or another. Our role is to identify potential troublemakers and limit the damage.’
The significance of what he was saying, of what she was being offered, hit Sari with almost physical force. She hadn’t even known such things existed. Compared to the possibility of being part of such an organisation, her wish to become a governess seemed hopelessly tepid. She had no idea yet what might be required of her, but she wanted to be part of this with an instinctive passion. She had always wanted to do something significant, meaningful, but it had never seemed a feasible possibility. And now, in a mere few sentences, a whole world had opened up before her and she knew her life was never going to be the same. She stared at the sweet, soft-spoken man offering her salvation and bit her lip against the surge of unaccustomed joy that was thrusting up from inside her like a butterfly struggling against its chrysalis.
‘Now, why don’t you tell me something about yourself? A bit of family history and how you ended up robbing people on the Heath?’ Anderson continued. There was no condemnation in his tone, and Sari, still caught up in wonder at the gift that had descended on her, was surprised by her willingness to answer his question.
‘There is not much to tell. My father was an orientalist and we grew up travelling between antiquity sites in the Levant. We were supported mostly by another orientalist, Emilio Cavalcatti, a Sicilian who used to be a successful mercenary. Emilio and my mother both died during a typhoid epidemic when I was sixteen and my father, my brother and I returned to England. My father took in translations for a while. He...died three years ago. By then there wasn’t much left. We sold what we could, and George worked, but it wasn’t enough for us all.’ She dropped her gaze as shame dimmed her excitement.
‘It might seem strange that I...that I allowed George to support us, but he and Mina have always been family. He was part of a robber gang when he was a boy and it was thanks to my parents that he escaped that life and met Mina. He and Mina insisted Charlie remain in school, no matter what it cost us. And I did try to find employment, but I was unsuccessful. But matters... Anyway, we were about to sell a few of our last belongings, including the pistols Cavalcatti had given us, when I told George we could make more money using them than selling them. After all, he already knew what to do... I know it sounds mad and immoral, but we were desperate. It actually made sense at the time. That is all.’
She ended her story and glanced up. Anderson’s kind blue eyes were full of compassion, and she ducked her head again for a moment, feeling suddenly weary and close to tears. Anderson extended a hand as if to comfort her but withdrew it as Lord Crayle moved closer to the desk.
‘What skills do you have?’ he asked abruptly, and she drew herself up.
‘Skills? I... Well, I can’t embroider or play an instrument if that is what you mean.’
Michael laughed. ‘Drawing-room accomplishments aren’t quite what we are looking for here. I meant anything that might be useful. I already know you are a decent shot. Anything else?’
‘I believe I am more than a decent shot, my lord,’ she stated with some hauteur, and his smile deepened for a moment. ‘Aside from that, I am very good with languages and I can fence...decently.
‘I can pick locks, too. I suppose that may be useful?’
‘Very useful indeed,’ Anderson replied faintly.
‘Where precisely did you learn those skills?’ Michael asked levelly.
Sari wished he would move away from the window so she could make out his expression. He was hard enough to read as it was, but standing there like a shadow only made him more intimidating. She was used to reading people, but she had no idea what he was thinking.
‘Mostly from George and Signor Cavalcatti. Cavalcatti taught us all how to fence and how to pick locks. He had a Smith-Caldwell safe he would travel with and we practised with that. It was a bit smaller than yours, Mr Anderson,’ she added with another mischievous smile.
Anderson sat back in surprise.
‘How did you know...?’ He glanced from her to the bookcase that hid his safe.
‘You didn’t secure the bookcase fully. I can see the gap reflected in the window behind you. Cavalcatti had a safe with just that distinctive grooved dial with the silver rim.’
* * *
Michael considered Anderson’s clearly admiring gaze. Given his initial reluctance, he had fully