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Miss Galloway clapped her hands. “So we have an Irishman and a Scot.”
“My name is Scottish, but I was born in England,” Slorach said, his tone icy.
“I meant no offense, Mr. Slorach. My name is Scottish as well, and I too was born in England. And who are you?” she called over the seats.
Miss Murray cleared her throat, obviously disliking the way Miss Galloway had taken over. “Lastly, we have Miss Margaret Vaughn,” Miss Murray said before Miss Galloway could interrupt again.
Miss Vaughn lowered her book. She wore spectacles and had a face a good deal less striking than Miss Galloway’s. Under her hat, her hair seemed a riot of red corkscrew curls.
Cal hadn’t expected to find himself in the company of a woman, much less three. Were there more women at this agent training camp? There must be. If he hadn’t anticipated a woman, others wouldn’t either. That was a powerful advantage for anyone.
“Would you like to sit beside Miss Galloway?” Miss Murray asked. “I am happy to sit in the back with the gentlemen.”
“Thank you, but I am content here with my book.” And Miss Vaughn turned the page. Cal realized he should have sat beside her rather than the loquacious Miss Galloway. Was it too late to move?
With a sigh, Miss Murray sat across from him, and Cal realized she would have preferred to sit further from him. He gave her his best charming smile, and she sniffed and went back to studying her clipboard.
Cal looked about again. “I had no idea trains were so fancy.”
Miss Galloway nodded. “I love traveling by train, and this is a private car. It comes equipped with its own steward and dining car. Did you see the sleeping compartment?”
Cal stared at her. “No.”
“It’s just that way.” She pointed toward a car further forward. “There are four beds, two on each side, with a curtain for privacy.”
Cal had never traveled in such luxury before. He’d never even traveled, except when he’d been a boy of six and his mother had taken him from Ireland to London. That journey had been by boat, and Cal remembered their tiny cabin buried in the bottom of the ship, where it was airless and smelled of livestock and unwashed bodies.
“This is certainly exciting, isn’t it, Mr. Kelly?” Miss Galloway asked him. She didn’t wait for a response. “Not the train ride itself, but the departure under cover of darkness and the private car. Did you know there is no one in the other private cars? The only other passengers are seated in third class, and they will depart in Leeds or thereabout.”
“How do you know that, Miss Galloway?” Cal asked, slanting a look at Miss Murray, who continued to study her clipboard.
Her eyes widened in surprise. “I make it my business to know such things. Don’t you?”
“Lucy,” her brother said in a warning tone.
Cal shrugged. “Sure and I make it me business to know a variety of information.” And one piece of information that Miss Galloway had given him, perhaps without even meaning to, was that she was an agent for the government—the Home or Foreign Office, he didn’t know which. Most likely the Home Office as he didn’t think a young woman would be able to travel abroad without a chaperone. But that might be where her brother came in...
Cal gave the others a sideways glance. Were they all government agents? Was he the only one not a trained operative? He couldn’t be certain about Miss Vaughn, but the two nobs across from him were most likely also in the government’s employ. Younger sons who had to find a profession or nobs so affected with ennui they had nothing better to do than risk life and limb. They didn’t need the money or the escape. This little jaunt north wouldn’t save their lives.
“Were you at the theater, Mr. Kelly?” Miss Galloway asked.
Cal gave her a puzzled look before he remembered his clothing. It didn’t take an operative out of Whitehall to look at his evening wear and make a deduction.
“Was it a play or the opera?” she asked.
Cal had no intention of putting himself anywhere near Mrs. Benton. “A play,” he said. “I couldn’t tell you much about it as I left early.”
“To come to the station?” She was definitely an operative. She asked far too many questions, questions that would have been impertinent in most social settings.
He nodded.
“But not early enough to return the clothing?”
Cal raised a brow.
“Those can’t be yours. They’re far too ill-fitting.”
And a rather good operative. She didn’t miss a single detail.
