Mycroft pointed at the room to one side of him, hoping Amelia would hurry up and get inside before he dragged her in there. In all his years at the club, such an embarrassing incident had never occurred because of him. Not even Watson had made such a blunder.
Some level of understanding seemed to finally come to her as she walked into the room before him and held her gloved hands demurely in front of her. She stopped in the middle of the room while he pulled the door closed and made sure it made no sound.
Once it was closed and providing them with an insulated bubble to make noise within, he strode around to his side of the desk but found he couldn't sit down.
“What the hell do you think you're doing?” he said, his voice even and clipped, but full of the emotion he felt.
“I'm sorry, I didn't mean to...”
“Not only is this a gentlemen's club and you are most decidedly not male, but this is also a silent club. You've made more noise in less than a minute than is heard here in a whole year.
“I really am sor...”
“And on top of all that, I distinctly remember telling you not to contact me in any way that could be noticed or discovered by others. Everyone here just heard you were looking for me.”
Amelia finally shut her mouth again and stopped trying to apologise. He thought this would be an improvement until he saw her eyes water with the threat of tears. He let out a disgusted growl and turned his back on her. Trying to keep all the rage within him from boiling over and making him explode into an angry tirade, he closed his eyes and focused on smoothing out his breathing.
When he felt calmer he faced Amelia again and found she was doing the same thing. One tear had escaped and tracked down her cheek, but she was standing, shaking and fighting with her breathing. Impressively, she appeared to be regaining control.
He sneered as the small amount of respect he couldn't help but feel flared his temper once more.
“Explain,” he said, snapping his mouth shut over the word. Her eyes flew open but she didn't speak. Instead, she swallowed and looked down at his desk.
“I found another letter this morning.”
“At the hotel?” She shook her head and then nodded. He raised an eyebrow, not willing to play games. “Spit it out.”
“I found it at the hotel, but it was in my handbag, and he could only have put it in there last night. It was angry, and hinted at violence.”
A shiver ran through her and he felt his face sneering once more.
“You're scared,” he said, not phrasing it like it was a question. He hoped his disgust at the emotion was evident.
“Yes. He could hurt me, if he tried.”
“And you think I'll protect you?” He didn't hide his scorn at her assumption.
Shock widened her eyes and she took a step back as if he'd slapped her. He immediately regretted mocking her instinct to run to him, which only made him angrier. Not once had he ever softened towards someone, and he didn't want to start now.
Silence filled the room again, something normally comfortable in this place, but not while she stood there, full of emotion. While he watched her, she opened and closed her mouth several times, but he didn't want to relieve her awkwardness and speak even if he'd known what to say.
“I bumped into Guy Thomas,” she said, finally speaking.
“No. I've already told you. It can't possibly be him.”
“I was followed to dinner last night.”
“It was my man. He said he thought you saw him.” He expected this to comfort her, but her breathing only quickened.
“Then how did Guy know to be there? How did...”
“Oh, for Christ's sake, even I knew you were going to be there. Ms Brent advertised it all over her social media.”
Amelia frowned but didn't back down.
“I know it's him, Myron. He's the only person who's been there every time. You're wrong, you have to...”
“Enough,” Mycroft yelled.
She was stunned into silence, but it was too little too late. He fought to lower his voice to say one last thing.
“Get. Out.”
For just a second, she hesitated, searching his face, but then she fled and he heard the clattering of her soles on the hard floor as she ran from the club. He faced the wall again, shaking uncontrollably.
It was bad enough that she'd been so foolish as to come straight to him, but to let her fear get the better of her so completely that she would accuse him of being wrong? Their agreement was over. He hoped he never saw her again, but he knew he also needed to reprimand Daniels.
As soon as he could be sure he would appear dignified, Mycroft followed in Amelia's footsteps outside, making no noise in comparison to her hurricane of sound.
When he stepped outside, Daniels had just shut the car door on Amelia. He couldn't see if she was looking at him or not but he didn't care if she was.
“I'm sorry, sir. I tried to keep her in the car and fetch you but she got past me,” Daniels said, knowing he was in trouble too. Although the chauffeur's actions had contributed to the problem, he knew the man had never made a mistake like it and wouldn't ever again.
“You should never have brought her here, but most importantly, I should never have let her stay in my house. You'll take her home once more, Daniels, but it will be the last time.”
“Yes, sir. Of course, sir.”
He watched them pull away before he walked back into the club. When he got back to his room, a brandy decanter and glass had appeared on one side of his desk. The butler knew him well.
Over the next few minutes he sipped a large helping of the drink, feeling its warmth in his stomach. When he had settled back into the calm of the club's atmosphere, he managed to turn his mind to other matters. He reached for his phone to send a message to the agent he'd had following Amelia to find his agent had already contacted him to let him know she was scared by something and on her way to London. The agent also pointed out that her publisher had postponed several events in Amelia's schedule for the next few days.
Mycroft frowned, feeling a flicker of doubt at sending her away. A moment later he'd crushed it and reassigned the agent to help locate the Russian and Korean men still roaming the capital of London. With that done, he also informed Daniels to come back to the club once he was done with Miss Jones. Only so much thinking could be done without him actively pursuing a new lead. Hopefully Sherlock would have visited the owners of the stolen boat and found a pathway or piece of information that shone some light on who was running or funding this splinter-cell of terrorists.
Neither government was claiming responsibility for the group, which didn't mean one of them or both of them were uninvolved for certain, but it did mean Mycroft had to dig further. At moments like this he wished he could clone himself. When he had to rely on others to hold meetings and keep an eye on places, he ran the risk of missing a vital clue. Only Sherlock's involvement gave him a peaceful oversight.
It took Daniels seven minutes longer than Mycroft estimated it would to take Miss Jones home and return to the club. One look at the chauffeur's face let him know that his prediction wasn't inaccurate. Daniels had talked to her about something before he left.
“I hope you didn't say anything of consequence to Miss Jones when you dropped her off.”
“No, sir. I wished her well with her books and waited to make sure she was safe inside a locked house before I left,” Daniels said, but they both knew he hadn't said everything and Mycroft had picked up on it. “She gave me a signed copy of the newest book, sir.”
Mycroft rolled his eyes as he got into the car. In less than a second his senses were hit by the smell of her perfume still lingering near the other seat. He tried to block it out but it was no good. Four blocks from Sherlock's he had Daniels pull over.
“I'll walk from here. While I'm at my brother's have the car valeted. I want it to smell of something other than Miss Jones by the time I'm done.”
Daniels nodded his assent to the command and Mycroft walked off. He could still see the black car in the distance when he regretted his decision. November was cold.
Knowing he couldn't appear indecisive, Mycroft tilted up his head and walked as calmly as he could up to his brother's front door. After putting the knocker straight, he walked in and made his way up the stairs.
Sherlock opened the door and admitted him to the warmth of the flat before Mycroft had put his foot on the top step.
“I thought I'd be seeing you this evening.”
“Yes, I hoped you'd seen this couple who had their boat stolen.”
“Right, yes. I did.” Sherlock paused and Mycroft found himself wondering why. There was no other reason he would be visiting his brother this late at night.
“Did you find out anything useful?”
“The husband is a control freak who checks up on his wife's spending habits without her knowing. He's going to get a shock when he finds she's blown a month's wages on jewellery.”
“And how is that useful?”
“Not sure yet, but I think it will be. I found this.” Sherlock handed over a small coin. “A seven and a half, gold, ruble coin. It's genuine.”
Mycroft examined the coin and noticed it had Czar Nicholas II on one side and the double headed eagle of the Byzantine Empire on the other.
“These were only made for one year.”
“Eighteen-ninety-seven,” Mycroft said, not needing his brother to tell him. In the mint condition this coin was in, it was worth a lot.
“He had more of them.”
“They paid for the boat, then.”
“It certainly looks that way, doesn't it, brother of mine?”
Mycroft nodded and held the coin up to the light to see it better in Sherlock's dimly lit living room.
“Oh, that looks pretty. Is it valuable?” Mrs Wintern asked as she brought in a tray of tea and biscuits.
“A thousand pounds perhaps. To the right collector, even more.”
“You'd better not lose it, then.” With this last addition to the conversation she left them to talk. Mycroft poured himself a cup and enjoyed the warmth it brought. He really shouldn't have walked the last few streets.
“I've already put a few friends on watch at the house, but I don't know if he'll be the best of leads. It is a little early to tell.”
“It's likely to be a one-off purchase.”
“Of course, when he notices he has one less, he might try to warn them.”
“Perhaps. He will know you took it.” Mycroft didn't say this to show concern for his brother. If Sherlock hadn't known that on stealing it, he'd be an idiot not worth feeling concern over.
“I was hoping for that. He's a control freak. He probably counted them twice a day.” Sherlock grinned and flopped into the chair opposite Mycroft before picking up his pipe.
“Anyway. I'm between cases now. I solved Mrs Feltern's problem.”
“The cat?” Mycroft phrased it like a question but he didn't really need to ask.
“Yes. It was making a nest to give birth in. Seemed to think her black smalls were the best lining.”
“Climbed up a tree?”
“Yes, one end of the washing line was tied to an apple tree. You worked it out as well, then?”
“It was the only logical result,” Mycroft said and finished his tea. He felt better than he had since Miss Jones had shown up, and knew Daniels would pull up outside with the car at the right moment if he walked out now. With a smile he got up.
“Leaving already, brother?”
“Our business is complete, is it not?”
“It is. I just thought you might have another reason for coming to see me.”
“What possible other reason could I have? It's not either of our birthdays and it's still eight weeks until Christmas. Not that either of us make any extra effort then.”
“No, nothing like that. I thought you'd want information on Amelia.”
“Why on earth would I want information about her?” Mycroft almost spat the last word, and did nothing to hide his disgust.
“The police arrested a man outside her house less than two hours ago.”
“Who?”
“Some middle-aged man who was a carer for his own mother. She died recently.”
“But he can't be her stalker,” Mycroft said without thinking.
“No I don't think he is, but the police arrested him. I don't know any more than that. Amelia isn't answering her phone.”
“Then how do you know anything?”
“Her publisher announced it not long after it happened. I assumed you'd know already.”
“I've been at the club all day.” Mycroft frowned. “Good evening, brother.”
Giving Sherlock no time to respond, Mycroft hurried from the flat and was pleased to find Daniels waiting. In the end, Mycroft was the one who'd been late.
“Home,” he said once he was settled in the back of the car. He wanted to find out what had happened to Amelia and if she was all right. The police didn't arrest someone unless they breached laws, and that meant Guy Thomas had broken into her flat. Or worse. And she'd been trying to ask him for protection against the man only a few hours earlier.