A Royal Affair by Allison Montclair

Author:Allison Montclair
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: St. Martin's Publishing Group

* * *

It took over an hour for the cab to get from Mayfair to the head of Brunswick Street. The cabbie took one look at the wreckage littering the street and pulled over.

“This is as close as I get,” he said. “Can’t risk damaging the tyres. Are you sure this is where you want to go?”

“It is,” said Gwen, paying him. “Thank you for your time.”

“How are you getting back?” he asked. “Should I wait?”

“We may be a while. We’ll find our way.”

They got out and stood at the intersection, looking down towards the Thames. There were graving docks and warehouses still in working order off to their left, but the view directly in front of them was a war zone, untouched by repairs. Ruined warehouses lined the road, caved-in roofs surrounded by scorched walls. The road itself was lined with twisted rails, their jagged ends bent up towards the heavens in a final rictus of agonised steel. At the end of the street, a large crater marked where one of the heavy bombs had hit, bricks and cobblestones strewn carelessly about its edges.

“Cheerful sight,” said Iris. “I don’t suppose there will be tea available.”

“We’re early,” said Gwen. “Do you think he’s here yet?”

“I think he’s here and watching us already,” said Iris.

“Do you think he knows it’s us?”

“Unless there have been other pairs of similarly dressed ladies wandering about, I should think we’re obviously us. Let’s go. And mind your footing.”

“I never wear the right shoes for our more criminal endeavours,” complained Gwen, looking at the broken surface dubiously.

They walked carefully down the street, stepping around the shards of broken glass and metal littering their path.

“I’m glad it’s the last warehouse,” said Iris. “It would be difficult to tell which of these ruins to count otherwise. You brought your torch, I hope?”

“Yes. A Girl Guide is always at the ready when things are at their darkest.”

Iris scanned the ruins on both sides of the street.

“I don’t see him,” she said. “But there are more than a dozen places he could be hiding.”

“There isn’t a watchman on guard,” Gwen noted.

“No need. There’s nothing to steal except scrap metal. It’s a smart choice of location.”

“I’ll remember that the next time I do this,” said Gwen. “I’m frightened, I admit it.”

“Now you’re frightened,” said Iris. “Where was this sensible reaction when we needed it? Shall we turn back?”

“No,” said Gwen. “We’ve come this far. We have to see it through.”

The last warehouse was mostly intact. A metal awning projected over the water, but the roof was heavily damaged. The brickwork, despite the utilitarian nature of the building, had bits of ornamental design riddling the surface, many of the bricks gouged and chipped from the debris of the blasts. An old sign dangled vertically from one rusting iron hook, the words “Midland Rai—” still legible under the soot.

They advanced towards the front door. Gwen consulted her wristwatch.

“Five of four,” she said. “Do we care about making an entrance at the exact hour?”

“I’d rather not be standing about,” said Iris.

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