Sir Henry returned to London the same day. He had only gone back to Yorkshire at the suggestion of Mrs North, after all, and Miss Evershed had made it perfectly clear that she wished for nothing more to do with him. There were more pressing matters awaiting him in London, after all, but even a long ride back to the city had done little to erase from his mind the image of her pale, drawn, sad face as she was driven away from him.

There had been good news of a sort, however. Upon his return to the War Office, he had been greeted with the news that Captain White and Lieutenant Quinn had at last some news to report from France. After weeks of silence, Fontaine had made a move. He had, according to White's report, made contact with a man whom they believed might be the go-between, a slight man with pale blonde hair. Of course, they would have to observe Fontaine closely for several more weeks, even months, to ensure that they had the right man, but it was a start.

Sir Henry forced himself to feel some joy at the prospect of stoppering the leaks from the War Office, but his whole heart felt hollow. What did it truly matter, when miles away, Ruth was suffering? He sighed deeply, and reached for the cabinet in his desk, which contained a bottle of whiskey and a glass. However, before he had retrieved the glass and bottle, there was the sound of running footsteps - a rather unusual occurrence in the War Office, surprisingly enough - and then the door burst open, to reveal one of the corporals who usually occupied the Office's entrance hall, with Sergeant Wells hot on his heels. "Sir, I did try to tell him - "

"Whatever has occurred, Corporal, to make you believe it is acceptable to burst, unannounced, into a superior officer's study?" Sir Henry snapped, standing up.

The young corporal gulped and wilted. "I'm sorry, sir, but it's Captain Carter - "

"What about him?"

The corporal glanced pleadingly over his shoulder at Sergeant Wells and then turned back to Sir Henry. "He's been shot, sir. You'd best come quick."

It was all over surprisingly quickly. When Sir Henry arrived in the entrance hall of the War Office a few moments later, it was to the sight of Captain Carter lying on his back on the floor, his head pillowed on someone's jacket. Quite a crowd had gathered, among them Major North.

"Lucas - what happened?"

Major North turned from his observation of Carter's state, face stricken. "We spoke just before he left - about the new agents he's been training up. He walked outside, and then we heard the shots. Two of them, in quick succession. There must have been more than one man, no one could reload a gun that quickly. Foster and I ran outside and found him on the steps. We brought him back in here and sent someone for a doctor, but - " He shrugged helplessly and gestured down at Carter. The bloodstains showed clearly even on his red jacket - blooming over his heart and chest.

Harry sighed and clapped North's shoulder. "Don't worry." He knelt down next to his old friend and comrade. "Adam? How do you feel?"

Carter's eyes flickered open and he let out a rasping laugh. "Capital, Harry. Never better." He coughed and his lips were brightened with the first traces of blood. A wince of pain ran around the gathered soldiers and Carter clutched at Harry's jacket.

"They were waiting for one of us to come out, Harry, I'm sure of it. Cloaked and masked, both of them." Carter paused, gasping for breath, and Harry covered his hand with his own. "Steady, Captain Carter," he ordered, his voice that of a commanding officer on the field of battle. "Plenty of time for all that later."

Carter no longer had the energy to laugh, but he rolled his eyes anyway. "Don't be a bloody fool, Harry. I'm not long for this world. Please… promise me you'll take care of Wes. Tell him I'm sorry. So sorry for everything."

Harry nodded, already making plans. "Of course I'll take care of him."

Carter's hand tightened around his, fractionally, momentarily and then his grip loosened and his breathing - slow and rustling as it had been for the past few minutes - quietened even more and finally stopped. Sir Henry and Major North remained there in silence for long minutes, unable to believe that their friend and comrade was gone, until they were awoken from their grief-filled reverie by a commotion at the door as the doctor, finally, arrived.

To tell a seven year old boy that his father, the hero of his young life, has died is an unenviable task for anyone. For a man such as Sir Henry, who was so estranged from his own children that he could barely remember what it was to be a father, let alone a father to a seven year old boy, it was almost impossible. Somehow he stumbled through it and held the child as the first rough sobs shook his tiny frame, until Carter's highly capable Scottish housekeeper, Mrs McGregor, appeared at the nursery door, face white and shocked to hear the young master crying.

One look at Sir Henry's tired, helpless expression was enough to inform her of what had happened and she hurried forward, soothing murmurs of sympathy already escaping her lips, to take Wesley into her own arms. Sir Henry made his escape and went downstairs to the drawing room, to consider what was to be done next. He would write to his butler, Hill, at Middlethorpe, of course. Arrangements would have to be made to transfer young Wesley there at the earliest possible opportunity. There were, of course, educational establishments which would be willing to take a boy of Wesley's age and means, but seven really was no age to be sent away from home, especially not when the child in question was an orphan. Besides, Carter had employed a very intelligent, young, energetic tutor for the boy after Mrs Carter's death, and had always spoken very highly of him.

There was a knock at the door and said tutor walked in. He, too, looked exhausted and grieved. Captain Carter had been a fair and kind employer, as well as a loyal friend and excellent officer. He would be sadly missed by all. "Sir Henry?" the young man asked. "I'm Charles Hamley, Wesley's tutor."

"Good afternoon, Mr Hamley."

"Good afternoon, sir. I want to speak to you about what will happen to Wesley, now that Captain Carter is dead." Harry nodded, satisfied. He liked Mr Hamley, with his frankness and open manner, already. They would get along perfectly well, he felt.

"I am Wesley's godfather, Mr Hamley, and Captain Carter charged me with his welfare," he explained.

Hamley frowned and it seemed to Sir Henry that he squared his shoulders as he did so. "Do you intend for Wesley to go away to school? I suppose you won't want such a burden at your own house, sir."

Sir Henry sat down and gestured for Hamley to do the same. The tutor remained standing. "He's distraught," Hamley continued. "He's upstairs now with Mrs McGregor, crying himself to sleep." He paused and ran a hand through his already slightly messy brown hair. "I don't say this for fear of my own employment, sir. But that boy needs stability and security, not to be… uprooted… hundreds of miles away, away from all familiar faces!"

Harry waited for Hamley to finish his rant and then raised one elegant eyebrow. "Are you quite finished, Mr Hamley?"

The young man gave a short nod. Harry smiled tightly. "Good. I am in perfect agreement with you. Are you at liberty to escort Wesley to Middlethorpe, my home in Yorkshire, and continue tutoring him?"

Now Hamley did sit, overwhelmed with relief on the behalf of his young charge. "Yes. Yes, of course! Sir Henry - "

Harry raised a hand, cutting off any apology. "Don't trouble yourself, Mr Hamley. I believe that Captain Carter would have been proud to know Wesley has such an assiduous guardian."

Hamley flushed slightly and ducked his head. Harry continued. "I'll make arrangements at Middlethorpe." He rose and extended his hand for Mr Hamley to shake. "I hope to see you again very soon. Good day to you, Mr Hamley."

Sir Henry had hoped that the worst of the day was over. He was wrong. On returning to the War Office, he found Major North awaiting him. "No word on the men who shot Captain Carter, sir. They were cloaked and masked, as Carter said - little way of tracing them."

Harry nodded heavily. "Hired for their purpose, no doubt. I worry, Lucas. First myself, now Carter."

"You?"

He grimaced. "Just before Christmas. I was on my way to Middlethorpe. I was distracted and was trailed. He shot me and got away before I saw him properly. Luckily… a local woman was passing by and helped."

Lucas brushed a frustrated hand through his hair. "You should have informed someone, sir! If they felt they could shoot a Colonel - and a baronet to boot! - with impunity, what would have prevented them from murdering a Captain?"

Harry turned away. "You're right, of course. I want you to take a few corporals home with you, Lucas." When Major North opened his mouth to protest, Harry raised his eyebrows. "For Rosalind's sake, if not for your own. You say they have no scruples - what makes you believe they would not stoop to harming your wife? Or any woman who got in their way?" He thought briefly of Miss Evershed, and then shook himself slightly. Miss Evershed had no connection any longer to anyone involved in this case.

Lucas's mouth tightened. At last, he nodded shortly. "Very well. If you promise to do the same."

They shook on it. Harry tapped his fingers impatiently on his desk. "Someone is attempting to warn us away from this investigation, Lucas."

"Mace?"

Harry shrugged. "Perhaps. I - "

There was a knock at the door and the men broke off. "Come in!" called Harry, and the door opened to reveal a sandy haired young man in the uniform of a sergeant. "Excuse me, Sir Henry, Major North - I've some papers for you to sign, sir." He held up the sheaf in his hands and Lucas made a brief noise of irritation. "Alright, Edwards. Sir Henry, my secretary, Sergeant Edwards."

Harry nodded, but he was distracted by something in the man's appearance and mannerisms. Had they met before? He felt sure that they had… Shaking himself mentally, he began to arrange the paperwork on his own desk. North's words had struck a chord with him; he was right. Had Harry reported his own misfortune to the War Office at the time, perhaps security would have been tightened. Perhaps Carter would not have - He pursed his lips together. That was, perhaps, a cross that he would simply have to bear. One of many.

He was relieved to arrive home that evening. Hill met him in the hall to remove his coat and hat, and looked about to say something. Sir Henry was in no mood for conversation, however, and merely walked past him into the library. There would be a warm fire, and whiskey, and books to comfort him in his grief there. But when he shut the door behind him and turned, that was not all that he found.

A tall, slim, decidedly feminine figure stood by one of the shelves, examining the books. A half-drunk glass of ruby wine lay abandoned on the reading desk. The woman turned as he entered and cast him a smile which once upon a time he had found bewitching, enchanting, the promise of all pleasures. Now, his face twisted in disgust. "How the hell did you get in here?"

Lady Shaw's smile widened and she walked smoothly towards him. "Now, now, Harry - language," she chided mockingly. "Hill has a long memory - and an even longer tooth! He must be seventy if he's a day." Ignoring this assault on his butler's person, Sir Henry marched over to his drinks cabinet and poured himself a whiskey. "What are you doing here?" It was not, of course, the first time that he and Juliet had stood in this library and shared drinks. Perhaps it was partly the remembrance of all those other occasions that was unsettling him now. Her skirts rustled behind him again and he could feel her standing very close behind him. She leaned over his shoulder and her fragrant perfume met his nostrils. He had once found this attractive, too. His mouth tightened and he felt his shoulders tense; Juliet chuckled lightly and moved away. "I thought I would come and offer some sympathy to an old friend. Two tragedies in one month. Poor, unlucky Captain Carter, dead on the streets… and poor, foolish Miss Evershed, gone to be a governess to the Harrises. Could not the noble and good Sir Henry Pearce save her from her fate?"

"Be quiet!" he snapped. He could bear most things, but not this! Not to hear Juliet gloating over Miss Evershed's fall through the ranks of society. Juliet raised an eyebrow and took a sip of her wine, leaning back against his desk in such a way that her dress tightened seductively around her figure. Dispassionately, he observed that it was still good, if a little too thin for his current tastes.

"Dear, dear, have I touched a nerve?" she asked silkily. "Whatever happened? Which of you woke from love's not-so-young dream? Not Miss Evershed, surely. When you introduced us, she reminded me rather of a spaniel, trotting demurely at your heels. So amusing."

His silence provided her answer. Juliet let out a peal of gleeful laughter and set down her glass once more. "Oh, Lord! She threw you over! What a wonderful joke!" She paused and a sly look slipped into her eyes. "Did you make the mistake of telling her about Jane?" she needled softly. "Dear, sweet, loving Jane - but then, as they say, the quiet ones are always the ones to watch."

Harry slammed his hand down on the top of the drinks cabinet. Juliet flinched, her calmly mocking mask slipping momentarily. "Enough!" he snapped and marched over to the door, wrenching it open. "Hill!"

The aged butler appeared, wearing an anxious expression, and cast a look between his employer and Lady Shaw.

"Show this creature out, and ensure that she is never again admitted into this house!" Sir Henry snapped.

Hill bowed his head. "Yes, sir. Forgive me, sir."

Lady Shaw glided forwards, the same self-satisfied smirk still in place on her face. As she reached the door, she turned and rested a hand on his arm. He shook it off immediately. "Let me give you a piece of advice, Harry. I saw Oliver Mace this morning. He sends his compliments, and advises you to call off your terriers. That is, if you don't want to be pulling out your mourning clothes again rather sooner than anticipated." She swept past him and out of the door. Glancing back over her shoulder, she smiled once more.

"Goodbye, Harry."

AN: Thanks for all the lovely reviews for the past couple of chapters. Sorry to all Carter fans - but I assure you that his killers will eventually get their come-uppance! Back with Ruth again next time, I think...