Chapter Text
Dear Bill,
I am sure you have seen the papers about the deaths of Sir Hubert and Lady Armstrong and their son. I must tell you that Fen and I were visiting Peakholme at the time, and we will be called upon to testify at the inquest on Tuesday. Sir M— and his staff have done a thorough job of explaining what to expect. Fen will be a marvel on the stand, of course.
It was quite the horrid house party even before then, I am sorry to say, though the Peakholme house itself is fascinating. It is incredibly modern, with electricity from its own hydroelectric plant, a telephone exchange, and even cameras. Several of the guests had their photographs taken, but in keeping with the mood of the party, none were worthy of showing to anyone else. Fen called it a disgrace.
We will be in London in a few weeks, so we can give you all the details then.
Fen sends her love, and please give our warmest regards to Jimmy.
Your sister,
Pat
Damn. Bill shook his head. What were Pat and Fen mixed up in? If Sir Maurice Vaizey as well as a Private Bureau team had been there, this Armstrong business must be a significant investigation. He hadn’t heard anything about it, but that wasn’t unusual: Vaizey liked to keep the teams insular as a security measure.
Odd that Pat had mentioned the details of the house, given that she hadn’t said a word about the grounds. Photographs no one liked… blackmail, perhaps? But house-party indiscretions were typically too minor a matter for the head of the Private Bureau himself to be involved.
A knock on his office door interrupted his thoughts. “Vaizey wants to see you, Merton.”
Speak of the devil.
In Sir Maurice’s sparsely decorated office Bill obeyed the terse wave toward the chairs in front of the desk. Sir Maurice preferred to wield power rather than display it, and Bill often thought that if the chairs were any guide, he didn't want people staying long, either. The man didn’t look pleased, but then again, the scowl was habitual.
“You’ve heard about the Armstrong fiasco?” Sir Maurice dove right in, each word clipped.
“I’ve seen the papers but don’t know the details. I should tell you, though, that the Miss Merton who is testifying today…she’s my sister, sir.”
Sir Maurice peered at him. “I know. We drew up dossiers on all the guests as soon as our agent notified us.” Bill flushed. Of course they had. “Remarkably sensible woman, Miss Merton. As a lady's companion, I assume she holds some influence over Miss Carruth."
Bill had no trouble confirming the assumptions with a nod.
“We are counting on them both to be discreet. They know that we had an agent there, and they know the basics—but only the basics—of the situation. Please keep a tight rein on them. There will be no idle chatter over the dinner table.”
“Of course, sir.” Bill laughed inwardly at the thought of keeping a rein of any kind on Pat and Fen. Pat was likely to shoot him for trying. Fen, too: she was becoming quite the shot.
“As for the case,” Vaizey went on, “the Armstrongs had an extensive blackmail operation that extended to espionage. There were copies of sensitive government papers, as well as photographs of government officials and high-ranking members of society in compromising positions.”
Bloody hell. That certainly explained the Bureau’s interest. He trusted the girls hadn’t been photographed, or that they’d disposed of the evidence. Christ, if his sister were caught up in that…
“I’m putting you on the case.”
“Sir?” Bill’s attention jolted back to Vaizey. “Blackmail and espionage aren’t my usual line.”
“No, they are not. However, I need someone new,” said Vaizey grimly, “because we have a leak here in the Bureau.” Bill felt his mouth gape and hastily closed it. “And then our agent cocked it up when he caused the Armstrongs’ deaths and Holt’s, too. How in the hell are we supposed to investigate treason when everyone is dead?” He slammed his hand on the desk with this, the thump reverberating through the floor. “Our only chance of picking up the thread is to follow the money. And you,” he pointed at Bill, “are the best we have at that.”
“Yes, sir,” was all Bill could say. He had never seen Vaizey this upset, though with leaks in the Foreign Office and among his own team, Bill wasn’t surprised. “When will I be briefed on the case?”
“Now. Da Silva is waiting outside your office.”