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“It’s possible for an operation to move too fast. We don’t know anything about this man. He could be planning to abduct her.”
“Or he could be planning to give her dinner, which is the far more likely scenario. Mrs. Parkem is an intelligent woman, and I can promise you that she hasn’t made it through the last decade on her own without developing the ability to sense when a man is a danger to her.”
Gillie was right. He should step back and assess the situation with the emotional detachment a handler should have regarding any case, but this was Lavinia. Despite everything that had happened between them, he hadn’t lost his old worry for her. He’d carried it with him every day at sea. That and love had driven him straight back into her arms at the end of every voyage. Now, knowing that he was placing her deliberately in the path of a potentially dangerous man, that old worry had reared up again with even more urgency.
“Wark is clearly smitten with her. That makes him all the more likely to say something stupid to impress her. If you pull her out of this dinner, we have no backup plan. No way to get at him that doesn’t require months of subterfuge. We don’t have months,” Gillie pressed.
Another point for Gillie. He pinched the bridge of his nose, willing the stress away. “How long do you think we have? Be realistic.”
Gillie twisted her lips in thought and then nodded once. “I think we should assume that if Wark is the danger Home believes him to be, he and his compatriots wish to make a statement on the largest platform they have. I have the schedule for the royal visit around here somewhere . . .”
She swiftly unbuttoned her coat and flung it onto an empty chair before diving into a pile of papers sitting on the desk in the corner she’d claimed as her own.
“Here we are,” she said, and began reading off the page. “That Wednesday afternoon is the arrival and the royal procession to Holyrood Palace. Thursday the prince tours the Fountain Brewery, views the site of a foundry soon to be built, and attends a concert where he’ll listen to works by Chopin and Tchaikovsky.”
“I don’t care about the concert pieces,” he muttered.
“Just being thorough,” said Gillie. “There is a luncheon on Friday with members of the committee who organized the visit, and then in the evening the ball.”
“That damned ball. It’s all anyone talks about,” he said, remembering the way Lavinia had rattled off all of her responsibilities before the event. He couldn’t help feeling guilty that he was pulling her away from that work, but this operation was too important to ignore.
“You’re annoyed by it and you’ve been in town less than a week. Imagine how the rest of us feel,” she said before handing him the paper. “The rest of the visit is far less grand. A few more tours and openings. A day shooting at an estate nearby. It looks as though there are also several private meetings, but no word on when those will be.”
He scanned the paper and then nodded. “If something is going to happen, it’ll be in those first three days. My guess would be the procession.”
“What about the royal ball you claim to hate?”
He considered it but discarded the idea. “It’s possible, but doesn’t have the benefit of anonymity. Everyone’s eyes will be on the prince, and there will be guards everywhere.”
“The procession does raise the most opportunities, especially when the royal carriage makes its way down Princes Street or the Canongate. The Canongate is narrower, which poses a problem,” said Gillie.
“Or creates a greater chance for destruction. We don’t know enough to understand what kind of weapon they’ll use—gun, knife, or bomb—and we don’t even know who the target will be. It could be the crowds.”
“But the crowds make it more difficult for an attacker to escape,” Gillie argued.
They both fell silent, neither wanting to speculate further about that possibility.
“This is why she needs to attend that dinner,” said Gillie.
He grunted.
“Nothing will happen to her. You can stop worrying like a maiden aunt,” she said.
“A what?”
“And while you’re at it, you can also stop being angry at her. This is not the time to punish Mrs. Parkem for what happened between the two of you.”
“I’m not angry.” His anger had long ago fossilized and become something entirely different. Colder, blacker, harder.
“Then why are you looking at that paper as though you wish you could burn holes in it with your stare?” she asked.
“Do you know why I prefer to work alone?” he asked, pushing away from his desk.
“Why?”
“Because then pesky women who don’t know how to mind their own business don’t pepper me with questions.” He put a hand up before she could say anything. “And rest assured that I would find your presence irritating no matter your sex,” he said.
A grin broke through Gillie’s sternness, and the brown feathers of the tall hat perched on top of her head bounced joyfully. “Well, that’s something.”
