Katie MacAlister - The Trouble With Harry

“Sounds like it’s another task for your runners,” Noble said. “How is your other investigation coming along?”

Harry sighed and climbed into the carriage after his friend. Nick took the seat opposite, his eyes interested and watchful. Harry hesitated speaking about the threat to his children, but in the end he gave a mental shrug. He had told both men about Plum’s history with de Spenser after seeing the body because he trusted them; Nick learning about the other situation couldn’t hurt. “It’s not coming along at all. The few leads we had — men known to be friends with the anarchist group Sir William led — are either dead or in prison. He had few close family members, and fewer friends. No one from the anarchist group is left. We can’t find proof that anyone who worked under him at the HO has an ulterior motive. If Briceland didn’t have the damned letter, I’d say it was all a mare’s nest, built on nothing but a foundation of tissue.”

“That’s understandable. What will you do next?”

Harry sat back against the soft cushions of the carriage, closing his eyes for a few moments while he tried to order his thoughts. “First I will hire a few more men to look into de Spenser’s activities since he arrived in England. Then I will meet with the men looking into the situation with Stanford, and see if anything has turned up. Later I’ll talk with Sir Paul Stanford, and ask him myself about his brother, as well as de Spenser. Following that,” Harry opened his eyes and grinned at his childhood friend, “I intend on introducing my wife to one or two calisthenics she has not yet tried.”

The day passed quickly, much to Harry’s surprise. He rallied his men, gave assignments to those who were conducting desultory investigations into a man who died fifteen years before, received a report from the man in charge of his family’s safety, met with Lord Briceland to discuss the possibility of one of the junior secretaries who had absconded with some funds as being the person they were searching for, lunched with Noble at his club while both of them sent out feelers as to what the feelings of the ton were regarding de Spenser’s death (a sort of shocked diffidence was the most common reaction, de Spenser having been out of the country for so long that few people remembered him), sent a note to Plum that he would be home for dinner, and received an answer to his request for an appointment with Sir Paul Stanford.

“I’ll see Sir Paul tomorrow,” he told Noble later, as the two men were parting for the evening. “By then the runners will have hopefully gleaned a few kernels of information about de Spenser’s comings and goings, not that I particularly care who killed the man. Still, Plum will want to know, so it won’t hurt to take a closer look at his life.”

“Can’t hurt at all,” Noble agreed, punching Harry in the arm as they parted. “Enjoy your calisthenics. Er…you think you could get me a copy of the book? I have a feeling Gillian would like it, not that she’s not very inventive on her own, but you looked positively haggard this morning. Anything that can result in the sort of satiated look you’ve had plastered on your homely face all day is something I want to look into.”

Harry punched him back, not hard, but not gently either. Just hard enough to let him know he appreciated the quality of the insult. “Do you think you’re up to it, old man? You are five years older than me. Gillian would never forgive me if you found the calisthenics were too strenuous for your aged body.”

“Right, that’s it, tomorrow. Five Courts. We’ll just see who’s too old.”

Harry cracked his knuckles with delight. “I accept. Been a while since I boxed with you. I still owe you for the time you blackened my eye.”

Noble rubbed the bump that marred an otherwise flawless nose. “And I owe you for breaking my nose. Good luck, and Harry?”

Harry paused as he was about to get into his carriage. “Yes?”

Noble gave him a look filled with concern. “Have a care. With all the men you’ve got guarding the children and your wife, your mysterious assailant may think it’s easier to attack you.”

“What a singularly charming thought. If only he would be so kind as to do that.” Harry shook his head as he waved his friend off. He was still dwelling on the number of tortures he’d like to inflict on the man who had tried to harm his children when the carriage pulled up outside his biscuit-colored stone town house. He frowned. There seemed to be a number of people outside on the street, and was that yelling he heard from inside the house?

Harry pushed his way through the crowd that had gathered at the steps leading to the doors, racing up them with a heart suddenly wrung painfully tight at the thought of trouble.

The sight that met his eyes as he dashed inside was so astounding he came to a halt. It was as if a tornado had set down right there in the hall, a tornado made up of several rings of people and children and a number of cats he recognized as belonging to Thom. The cats were running in a frenzied circle in the ring closest him, around the perimeter of the hall, being chased by a small white-and-black calf that bore a short piece of rope tied around its neck, and a wild look in its eyes. McTavish — who for some reason was nude except for a pair of cut down too-large slippers that Harry recognized as being an old pair that used to belong to him — chased after the animals. Two footmen and George chased after McTavish. Beyond the circling animals, one man lay on the floor, evidently having been knocked unconscious, while another was on his hands and knees, his arms held protectively over his head as he yelled a number of curses at the twins, who were taking turns beating him with two chamber pots. Harry spent a moment in gratitude that the pots had not been in use before the twins decided to beat the stranger with them, then moved his gaze to the next group of people.

Thom was arguing violently with a man in the dark clothing of a watch officer, waving her hands and yelling above the sound of the children and animals. Beyond Thom a man of middle years was being accosted by Digger and India, both of whom were trying to pull him away from the door to the library. The man was obviously trying not to hurt the children as he pried their hands from his arms, but no sooner had he removed one hand than another latched onto him, the children yelling at the top of their lungs all the while. Plum stood in the doorway to the library, wringing her hands and pleading with Juan to remove himself from where he stood with outstretched arms, as if protecting her from harm.

Harry watched it all for a moment — animals, children, servants, strangers, and Plum — then put his fingers to his lips and blew a piercing whistle that sounded painfully in such a confined space.

Miraculously, it worked. For a moment. Then the animals, children, servants, strangers, and Plum all descended upon him. “Halt!” Harry bellowed, then took immediate charge. He pulled off his jacket and handed it to George. “You children, to the right, over there in the corner. George, put this on McTavish. Ben, Sam: you two and Juan to the left, near the door. You, the one on your knees, help your friend into that chair. I don’t know who you are, sir, but I will thank you to stop glaring at my wife, she’s in a delicate condition. Please move yourself over there, near the stairs. Plum—” He held open his arms. She ran to him, clinging to his shoulders as she glared back at the man.

“Harry, that man says Charles is dead. Is it true? Is he really dead? Did you — you didn’t — you didn’t arrange—”

“Yes, yes, and no to all the rest.” Harry dropped a little kiss on her head just because he felt like it. He gently removed her hands from his shoulders, turning her so her back was to him, wrapping his arms around her in a protective gesture that he assumed the man standing near the stairs could not mistake. “I gather you are with the police force?”