An Hour Unspent by Roseanna M. White

Author:Roseanna M. White
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Tags: Historical Fiction;FIC042030;FIC042040;FIC027200
ISBN: 9781493412440
Publisher: Baker Publishing Group
Published: 2018-06-14T16:00:00+00:00

Barclay stood before the door in Fulham, half expecting the seemingly omniscient V to open it before he could so much as ring. But all was quiet on this street—perhaps its residents were still blissfully oblivious to the clouds of terror that had descended on London this clear night. Not so much as a curtain twitched in the windows.

What if it wasn’t really V’s house? Or, worse, what if it was? Did he really want to call his employer to the door just because Cecil Manning wasn’t at home when he should have been?

Yes. He did. He must. Because the moment he saw that empty bench, he’d known something had gone terribly wrong. Barclay lifted his hand and pressed a finger to the bell, listening to it chime within.

If they were to alert the authorities, he knew well what they’d say—that a man who had been arguing with his wife all week, who’d just argued with his daughter, who had an offer from a friend to join him on a trip the next day, wasn’t missing. He was simply not at home, and obviously of his own will.

But it didn’t add up.

A dim light appeared beyond the glass flanking the door, growing a bit brighter with the passing of a few seconds. An oil lamp, he’d bet—a concession to the blackout.

Lot of good that had done.

A moment later, he heard a bolt sliding, and a chain, and then the door swung in and a scowling V filled the space. He wore a perfectly ordinary-looking—and hence shocking—set of pajamas with a light robe overtop, and gripped that oil lamp as if he might just swing it into Barclay’s head.

He edged back a step, just in case. “Forgive me for barging in, sir. But it’s Manning. He’s missing. And so is his work on the gear.”

“What?” Now V stepped back and motioned with his hand. “Come in off the street.”

Barclay obeyed, edging through the door with the distinct impression that it would bite him if he didn’t move quickly. And sure enough, it swung closed with only a breath of clearance. “Did you hear of the zeppelin attacks, sir?”

V set the lamp on a nearby table. The soft golden glow caught the swift jerk of his head. “Blinker rang after the first of them—I only just got back to sleep, thank you very much.” And was cranky when his slumber was disturbed, apparently.

Noted. “One of the bombs struck the Shoreditch Empire Music Hall.” He proceeded to tell him the rest of the tale, all the way through arriving at the Manning residence and finding the clockmaker—and the synchronization gear—gone.

V muttered a curse and rubbed a hand over his face.

Barclay sighed. “It wasn’t you, then. Or the RNAS. I had this vague hope . . .”

“I imagine you did. But no.” V leveled a narrowed gaze upon him. “How did you know where to find me at this hour?”

“Ah . . .” Clearing his throat, Barclay slid half a step away. Just in case the man decided to heft that lamp again.

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