Chapter 17

"Such a troublesome business."

Mary had only two contacts inside the Secret Service, and she had just had to sacrifice one of them to implicate her decoy properly. Her remaining long-standing contact within Whitehall was a closet anarchist. Martin was a disillusioned agent who had seen too much of the manipulations of the great game. Relishing their activities with a zealot's fervor, he had drunk toasts to each of their victories. He was the idealist, the philosophical part of her enterprise. Mary was pragmatic, in it for the commerce, and a little fun.

Last night, after considering her move from all angles, Mary sent Martin to contact Mr. Simons, another agent contact, with news that his activities were being uncovered. Mr. Simons had been like her. He had needed the money to keep up a lifestyle that his government post didn't afford. As a mid-level intelligence clerk, he had brought her the names and locations of agents serving on foreign soil easily. What he couldn't get for her, Martin had by snooping about.

"You have to be moved to a safe place," Martin had told him when he met him late that night. "Queen Mary is offering to move you and your wife to a different country under a new name. All you must do is write up a fake suicide notice implicating a person of the Queen needs getting rid of. Once we fake your demise on the Thames, we will leave."

Mr. Simons had done as bidden readily. He had written the note in his own hand as had been ordered. Then he stood over the finished work to put on his coat and tell his wife her part. With his back to his partner, he had never known what hit him.

His wife, Martin's paramour, had provided her lover with the dueling pistol he had used for the purpose. She had been ordered away, supposedly to grieve while visiting relatives. Her body was buried deep in the woods after her final tryst.

The fake courier in the letter had never existed. The Secret Service could change couriers all they wanted. That wasn't how she worked. Mary had already been put in contact with a new source to replace Mr. Simons. This weasel of a secretary had long since been corrupted. He willingly accepted pay from anyone of a mind to hire him. He was also higher placed than Mr. Simons.

Queen Mary looked at her dog lying on the trailing edge of her skirt. "So, Dudley, all my clients are set. The embassy ball is just a week away. Our decoy will soon be dead with the planted evidence on her person, and I will continue… with a better source to boot."

She sighed heavily. "I've never liked when things get so complicated. I can't have the Secret Service sniffing me out because my decoy has ceased to be useful. Had the girl just stayed away and married herself off at home, things wouldn't be so difficult. I had made plans for that, but this–with so many on our heels. It might be wise to take a long trip after this. Return home when all the fuss is over. Would you like to take a trip, Dudley?"

Dudley looked up for a moment and then put his head down again, chin on his paws.

"You're no fun, little home body. You'd be perfectly happy to let the cook take care of you while I'm away. So be it then. I will go to Italy, and you can stay home."

Katharine had gone into town for her final dress fitting, with Mr. Robertson in attendance. He was pretending to snooze in the corner where the hats were displayed. Rebecca had arrived and was now picking out some gloves. The shop owner was in the back of the shop getting a wide ribbon ready to sash the lace dress.

Katharine was standing on a pedestal, waiting for him to return, admiring the look of the dress in the surrounding mirrors. It was as beautiful as she had imagined.

How will Andrew like it? He had commented on her turn of style while talking about town. At home, she wore simple wool dresses over cotton blouses or traditional plaid skirts more often than not. Katharine didn't need to wear the hated hoops with those garments. Outside her aunt's scrutiny, she was a happy frump. But maybe, maybe I should dress more fashionably at home.

The time she and Andrew had spent together these last few weeks had been true enchantment. Katharine had rediscovered the man. She had always found Andrew handsome, intelligent, and witty, but for the first time, her eyes were open to the fact that he was a man and not just the boy she had grown up with. It made her both uncomfortable and intrigued all at the same time.

Andrew had been so romantic. He even took a poetic turn when he wanted. He says such provocative things out of nowhere, and he does it deliberately, just to watch me blush.

All this frightful intrigue–I could do without that.

After things had been explained, Katharine had been so relieved she had nearly fainted. She had forgiven Mr. Robertson his deception gladly and had commended him on confiding in Phileas. "I would have been too nervous, looking over my shoulder looking for you and James, had I known."

Katharine was surprised and impressed with Phileas Fogg anew. The way the conversation had been progressing; she had thought he had taken her out to propose an affair. That would have been in direct disrespect to Eleanor, who had allowed the meeting, not to mention to her own person. When Phileas had left the table, she had had visions of all manners or awful things coming out of their meeting. His confession of her testing and request for forgiveness had soothed those fears away.

The shop's mouser took that moment to tear Katharine from her thoughts and demand attention. The little tom called to her imperially, having jumped up on the dressmaker's worktable beside her. She had taken to playing with it in between fittings. The tailor chased it away while they were working, but it jumped back up when he was gone.

A few miles away in one of the old venerable gentleman's clubs of London, Phileas Fogg and Lord McCollum had been having a long and loud discussion on what would transpire at the embassy ball. He had nearly called Fogg out for his accusations and had to be held in his chair by James when Phileas explained the investigation the service had done on Mary Kate and their combined family background.

Phileas watched the younger man's antics, mostly with amusement. He was hotheaded and ridiculously jealous, but was deeply in love with the accused. Smitten pup indeed.

They finally came to an understanding. Phileas had dispelled the impression that he had been courting Katharine. That done; Andrew had ceased considering him a rival and listened. He agreed to what the Secret Service had planned as long as he, Sir James and Mr. Robertson were kept close by. Andrew did not quite trust that Katharine would be kept out of harm. "What if this Queen Mary decides Katharine is expendable?"

Fogg had no answer to that. "If Simon's death confession is a rouse," and Fogg and Chatsworth were of a mind that it had been, "that has already occurred, and our villain is trying to distract our attention by sending us after the wrong women. The only assurance I can give is that all precautions are being taken. She will never be left alone. When and if she is acted against, Rebecca and I and other agents will be there to protect her."

"I accept your word," Andrew said. "But I will take a few precautions of my own."

With negotiations completed, the three men headed for the dress shop to escort Katharine home to a dinner Lady Eleanor had invited them to.

They had just reached the door and had walked in when the two men in front were arrested by a vision a dark hair in a black and gold lace dress. The garment's gold trimmed neckline was low and shoulders were bare. The arms below the gold trim were covered with loose lace sleeves that did more to reveal than conceal. A tiny, sculpted waist showed between, which was emphasized by a fashionable wide bell skirt, presently unsupported by hoops so the dressmaker could get close enough to make adjustments. Above the trim was a tasteful display of cleavage and shoulders that glowed in the soft light of the shop windows in contrast to the darkness of the gown. The line of the neck above the shoulders was as graceful as a swan.

The vision was standing on a pedestal in front of mirrors. The men could not see the lady's face and every other view without their own presence disturbing her. She was playing with a cat on top of a tall pedestal table.

The cat was happily getting its neck scratched. Leaning into the attention, it was purring so loud its pleasure could be heard at the door. The tom leaned farther and farther into the lady's hand until it off balanced itself, falling on its side. It then rolled over halfway on its back and continued to purr in ecstasy as the woman lavished its belly with attention. Either man would have traded places with the creature in a heartbeat.

As they stood there gazing at the vision, Phileas heard a sweet voice whisper in his ear. "Do you want your neck scratched, too?"

The spell was broken for him. Fogg turned his head to the amused eyes of Rebecca. With great effort, he sobered himself, caught with no means of covering it over. She is going to laugh and tease me about this for days.

The spell had not ended for Andrew. It was just the beginning. He knew who the vision before him was and knew he would be in that cat's place one day soon. Andrew walked up to the vision and called her name gently.

"Mary Kate."

She turned from her little playmate and started. "Oh, Andrew–you are early. I was keeping this dress a surprise for you."

"It is a very pleasant surprise," he stammered. "You are so… beautiful." He walked closer to her pedestal. For the moment, she was ten inches taller than he was. She looked to be floating in thin air. Mary Kate was about to step down, but Andrew raised his hand to stop her. "No, stay just where you are. It's perfect," he said.

She did not realize what he was saying at first, but then picked up on the metaphor she presented and smiled back at him. Quietly, so no one else would hear, she said, "don't not put me up so high you cannot reach me. I intend to be obtainable when the time comes."

"When the time comes," he repeated, "nothing will keep me from you."