Page 11 of Beloved Beast

“Yes, since Mum and Dad moved to London, I have kept a staff on to keep the place in good order. Repairs, a coat of paint, that sort of thing. I proposed it be used as a safe house as soon as the war started and SIS agreed. They’ve paid for the upkeep on the tunnels. Even made a few modifications. Like electric lighting and a cache of supplies, including pistols and other provisions. We’ve upgraded the electrical lines as well. It’s ideal, Luke. Better than a grotty flat here in London.”

Fred had a point. The thought of visiting his past caused his stomach to lurch, but how else to banish the wretched memories once and for all? If it were even possible. Here lay an opportunity to do it. He had to try. “I concede Charlwood will serve, but why not transport her from the country right away?”

“We have to be absolutely sure and meticulous in our planning, and arranging transportation is becoming increasingly difficult the longer the war drags on. Now, let me continue on the Maddens. As you are aware, your father passed eleven years ago, and the present Earl of Whitestone, his oldest son and your half brother, is currently not at the Whitestone estate. His mother is not well and as a result, the entire family is here in London at the townhouse.”

Fred turned the page and continued. “William Madden, his wife, Edith, and their two sons, William Junior and Arthur, along with William’s younger brother, Marcus, are in residence in Mayfair. They will be watched closely and intercepted if they head toward Charlwood.”

Luke felt nothing in hearing of his immediate family, as he didn’t when Fred had told him of his father’s passing. Well, perhaps he cared a little. “How old are my half brothers?”

“Let’s see, William was born in nineteen ten, which makes him thirty-three. His sons are both under the age of seven. Marcus was born in nineteen nineteen, which makes him twenty-four.”

God, his father must have been elderly when Marcus was born. “My youngest brother did not join the war effort? Though I am not surprised, the Maddens were always a selfish lot. Seems they still are.”

Fred cleared his throat. “Actually, old chap, The Honorable Marcus Madden did sign up. Became a commando in the Royal Navy. Lost part of his leg at Dieppe last year.”

Luke groaned and slumped in his chair. Now he felt like a first-class heel. “Brave lad,” he murmured.

“By all accounts, he was following in your notorious footsteps, a decadent playboy who lived for his own pleasure. A lot of drunkenness, gambling, women, that sort of thing. But he straightened himself out and served his country with honor. I hear through channels he may receive the Order of Britain.” Fred flipped the paper and continued on. “As to your sister, Lydia, I am sorry to say she died three years ago and is buried alongside her husband in Scotland. By all accounts she had a contented life. Their children and grandchildren thrive. I’d go into details; however, time is of the essence.”

“Yes. Later perhaps,” Luke murmured. Surprisingly, sadness settled deep inside him at hearing his younger sister had died. They were never close, but Luke was gratified she had a happy life away from their miserable father.

Fred closed the folder. “Of course.”

“Your father’s experiment notes. They are still in your safe? Have you read them?” Luke asked.

“I glanced at them, nothing more. He wrote out two copies in longhand. The effort that must have taken,” Fred marveled.

“Give me one of the copies. It will provide something to read at night while in Charlwood.”

Fred arched an eyebrow. “Do you think that wise?”

Luke tapped the small piece of plastic covering the left side of his damaged skull. “Photographic memory. I’ll retain it all and I will burn the pages as I read them. We will still have the one copy here in your safe.”

“As you wish. Now to get Miss Browning out of London. Shall we say, ‘Operation Miss Marple?’ You’ll need to leave your motor keys.” Luke reached in his trouser pockets and slid them across the desk. Fred stood, opened the cabinet behind him and tossed Luke a different set of keys. “The black Ford Anglia in parking space six. It’s full of petrol and supplied with maps. Communication will be by telegraph boy.” Fred crouched down by his safe, spun the lock, reached in, and passed Luke a thick folder. “Let’s bring Miss Browning in here and I will fill you both in on the details.”

If nothing else, the next two weeks should prove to be interesting. Yet, a feeling of foreboding rolled through him. Luke exhaled. Charlwood. And all the memories and ghosts accompanying it.

The time had come to meet the past head on.

Chapter 5

Gillian never felt more ridiculous in her life. During her years as a spy, she never had to “dress-up” or disguise herself to this extent. Yet here she was, wearing a gray wig, padding, an old coat, and a battered hat with a black veil pulled down to conceal her face. Operation Miss Marple, indeed. She held on to the arm of Mr. Newman, who had changed into a black trench coat and hat. A Burberry wool scarf was wrapped around most of his face concealing his features. He still wore the dark glasses. In his other hand he carried a bag which contained the outfits they had arrived in.

“Slow down,” he murmured. “Walk more like an old woman. Remember Mrs. Green?”

Ah, yes. The old lady from the shelter last night. She slowed her walk to a lop-sided shuffle.

“Much better, lean on me more.” Lord, his voice. Enough to melt butter and if she were not careful, the frozen wall about her heart. How would she manage being stuck at this man’s side for the next couple of weeks? She gave him a quick side-glance. Covered up as he was merely added to the mysteriousness of him. He had to be well over six feet in height, and by the way he wore his suit, she would bet those shoulders sat on a magnificent body.

A brief thought of Otto flitted through her mind, and a wave of guilt surged. He also wore a suit well and had a splendid body with a face to match. How easily she’d fallen for him. He had been outwardly cool and distant, but deep inside she found a man of great passion. A particular weakness of hers. For some reason she was drawn to cold men as she was drawn to this one. Luke Newman felt cold, even through the material of their clothes.

As instructed she leaned on him more, and he was not affected by the extra weight on his arm. They had taken a secret underground tunnel from the cellar of fifty-four Broadway across the street to St. James Park Tube Station in order to emerge from the entrance like any other Londoners taking the train. “Our transportation waits across the street in the parking area.”

“Is it your car, Mr. Newman?” she asked.

“No. Company vehicle. And call me Luke, Gillian,” he answered. Hearing her name on his lips caused her heart to beat faster. Almost as if he knew it did, he pulled her closer. As they tottered along, she replayed the rest of the meeting in her head. After they collected the auto, Mr. Newman—Luke—would drive about the city to see if they were being followed.

While they did, agents disguised as moving company employees would completely strip her flat of any personal belongings and pack them up. Not that she had much—the place came furnished. What she owned could be stuffed in two suitcases: a few books, clothes, trinkets, nothing more. Her luggage and any food left in the flat would be delivered to a place on the outskirts of town to be picked up tomorrow. After changing vehicles, of course.