“Where the devil is he?” said Absalom, whiskers twitching in irritation. He took a sip from his brandy, regarding the others around the table with a furrowed brow.
They were back at the Savoy, having finally rearranged their dinner date with Rutherford, along with a few additional guests. Rutherford, however, was running late… for a second time. They’d been at their table for over an hour, and Donovan was beginning to think he was a no-show. “Perhaps he just doesn’t like goodbyes,” he said, flicking ash from the tip of his cigarette into the cut-glass tray.
“Nonsense,” said Absalom. “He’s just a bugger for getting waylaid, is all. Never has been able to keep a date. It’s why he has such a terrible love life. He’ll be here, if he knows what’s good for him.”
Donovan laughed. He turned to Flora. “I’ll be glad to get home,” he said, “but I’ll miss this place, for all its quirks.”
Flora smiled. “You know, I think what we need is a vacation,” she said. “A proper one. Just you and me.”
Donovan frowned. “I’m not so sure I’m very good at vacations.”
She laughed. “No. I don’t suppose you are.”
Gabriel was sitting across from him, holding Ginny’s hand beneath the table. He’d been through a lot, but he was almost back to his usual self: cocky and talkative, and keen to impress.
Ginny had been quiet since they’d found her, tired and disheveled, in the shadow of St. Paul’s. She barely remembered what she’d done during the battle, but the rumors amongst the soldiers were that a beautiful, ghostly spirit had come to their aid, smiting scores of Koscheis and saving their lives from the Russians’ devastating elemental attacks.
Newbury sat beside Gabriel, sipping quietly at his glass of red wine. He’d spoken little since arriving, but Rutherford had hinted that he’d played a significant role during the battle, although to what end, nobody seemed to be clear. It didn’t seem appropriate to ask.
The last of their guests was Hargreaves, who had sat in sullen silence since arriving. Donovan wondered if perhaps he’d taken umbrage at the fact he’d been excluded from the final stages of the mission, but in truth, he suspected he was simply mourning the death of his colleague. Regina’s death had been a grave loss, to all of them, and in addition, she’d died at the hands of Boyd, her former colleague and friend. It had left something of a sour taste in Donovan’s mouth.
“So, you’re heading back to New York tomorrow,” said Newbury. “Are you feeling rested?” He cocked a knowing half smile.
“Hardly!” said Gabriel. “In fact, I’ve been considering demanding a refund. London isn’t at all like they said in the brochure.”
Newbury laughed. “No, I don’t suppose it is.”
They lapsed into silence, looking to the door.
“What do you think will happen now?” said Ginny. “Will there be reprisals? Are we looking at another war?”
Absalom shrugged. “I fear so. The Tsarina has already issued a formal apology to the nation, claiming it was the work of a rogue element in her military, that they’re being weeded out for trial and summary execution. She’s also offered to pay for all the repairs to the city, but it won’t be enough. Rumor has it Alberta is already hatching plans for a retaliatory strike.” Absalom sighed. “No doubt my agents are going to be busy. Eh, Hargreaves?”
Hargreaves nodded, but didn’t answer. Absalom had told them earlier that Hargreaves had led a search of the Underground tunnels used by the Russians. He’d found scores of bodies down there in various states of decomposition. It seemed the Koscheis had been using them as a gruesome repository for some months. At least it went some way to explaining the bodies they’d encountered beneath City Road.
“And besides, there’s a few of the blighters still loose in the city. Someone’ll have to hunt them down, and I can’t see the boys at the Met being up to it, what?” Absalom glanced at Gabriel. “Which reminds me, if any of you—and I mean any of you—would like to stay on, my agency is always on the lookout for good people. There’d be no problem with paperwork. I can see to all that. You just need to say the word.”
Gabriel grinned. “Thank you, Major. It’s a tempting offer, but my home is in New York. I find myself pining for the place when I’m not there.”
“Ah, well,” said Absalom. “Can’t blame a man for trying, now can you?”
“What’s this? Not trying to replace me already, are you? I’m only, what, ten minutes late?”
They all turned to regard Rutherford, who stood huffing beside the table as he fought to regain his breath.
“Ten minutes!” roared Absalom. “See! I told you!”
Sheepishly, Rutherford pulled up a chair beside Ginny. Behind him, the waiters—who’d been patiently awaiting the cue to serve—moved in, hastily placing bowls of soup before each of them, now that the last of them had finally arrived.
Rutherford took a swig of water. “Look, I’m sorry I’m late. You should have started without me. It’s just, there’s this albino count I’ve been tracking for weeks, and one of my informants had word, and well… you know how it is.”
Gabriel smiled. “We know how it is. But it’s good to see you, Peter.” He raised his glass. “And now you’re here, I’d like to propose a toast,” he said. The others reached for their glasses. “To Regina, for giving her life in the pursuit of what she believed in.”
“To Regina,” came the echoing reply.
“Now, what’s this,” said Gabriel, taking his spoon and running it through the soup. His face fell. “Oh, no. This won’t do at all. What is it about this place and the soup. Waiter? Waiter! Over here!”
Donovan glanced at Flora, and sighed. It was going to be a long journey home.