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Chapter Five
“She’s a fiery one,” Cal said after he sank onto his bed, watching the others stow their belongings. He had no belongings to stow and dearly wished he had a pair of his own clothes, so he did not have to remain in the uncomfortable evening wear.
But evening wear aside, he couldn’t complain. The D Building was pleasant enough, much better than many of the places he’d lived. It had two rooms. The front room, where he’d entered, had a large hearth, several worn chairs and couches, and a couple of round tables. Paintings, mostly farm scenes, hung on the walls. A door at the back opened to a bedchamber, equipped with another hearth and four beds. Beside each bed was a small table and at each foot a chest. Drapes could be pulled on either side of the bed for privacy. The mattress was soft, and the blankets looked warm. All in all, Cal knew he could have done worse.
A lot worse.
Galloway, who was assigned to the bed beside his, had his trunk open and was busy arranging his clothing into neat piles. “I thought she seemed a decent enough sort.”
“You antagonized her,” Duncan Slorach said. He was in the bed across from Cal, and he’d stowed his valise under the bed but hadn’t bothered to unpack.
“Just having a bit of fun so I was.”
“You should save your energy,” Arundel said. Like Galloway, he’d already stowed all of his items in his trunk. “You’re with me at evasive maneuvers.”
Cal shrugged. “Sure and I can stay awake for a lecture on how not to get caught.”
“Then you didn’t see the obstacle course we passed on the drive?”
“The what?”
“Put on your coat, Mr. Kelly,” Arundel said. “You’ll need it.”
***
ARUNDEL HAD NOT BEEN jesting. The first afternoon had been cold, wet, and miserable.
The majority of the training had been cold, wet, and miserable. Cal found himself wondering what had possessed him to think coming here a better alternative to taking his chances in London. At least in London, no one made him crawl through mud, dodge explosives, or stare at gibberish for hours on end. Galloway had finally taken pity on him and lent Cal an extra set of clothing. Later in the week another had appeared without explanation. Cal had asked Arundel and Slorach about it, but both pretended ignorance. Cal might be a thief, but he didn’t like to accept charity. But it was that or tramp through the cold woods in the wet, muddy clothing Galloway had loaned him. So he sent that to be laundered and wore the charity.
And then finally, on the eighth day, he’d had enough. He was at target practice with one or two others in the driving rain. None of the agents on the train had been required to come. They were all reasonably good with firearms, whereas Cal had never fired one until the week before. He was a bad shot on the best day, but he was a dismal failure in the pouring rain.
“What good is this?” he shouted at the instructor—a Mr. Pistol or some ridiculous name. “Me powder is wet. How can I possibly shoot in these conditions?”
The instructor, a man about his own height, walked over, took the rifle from his hands, made some adjustment or other, and fired at the target, hitting it dead center. “Any more questions, Mr. Kelly?”
Cal was just cold enough to fight back. “How much longer do I have to stand out here in the drip?”
“Do you think you get to choose the weather when you’re on assignment, Paddy? Do you think your enemies care if your powder is wet? They’ll shoot you dead before you can say ‘top o’ the morning’.”
Cal had been cold before, but now ice ran through his veins. He’d been treated well at The Farm, and he’d almost forgotten he was Irish, seen as lesser than. Now that fact was made quite clear. He should have walked away. That would have been the dignified thing to do, the thing a man like Galloway would have done.
Instead, he pulled his fist back and slammed it into Pistol’s—or whatever the hell the man’s name was—face.
The man went down, and Cal trudged through the mud and back to Building D.
That night at supper, which was well after sundown, Cal sat as close to the fire in the communal dining hall as was possible. Normally he took a keen interest in the other men dining with them. The men had chosen to sit at tables according to the building in which they were housed. Four buildings meant sixteen men dined in the hall as well as the instructors. Baron and Miss Murray either did not dine in the hall or did not dine there when he did.
“May we sit here?”
Cal looked up to see Miss Galloway and Miss Vaughn holding trays and standing at their table. He didn’t know why they asked. The ladies dined with them almost every night. “Of course,” Will Galloway replied, jumping up and moving his chair then fetching two others. The other men stood, scooting their chairs closer together to make room for the ladies.
“Thank you,” Miss Galloway said, while Miss Vaughn merely sat and ate her soup without looking up. “How was training today?” She looked at her brother, but Cal had the feeling she meant to include all of them. Leave it to a woman to expect him to talk after a day like today.
“It was rather cold and tedious,” her brother said. He’d been back in surveillance, where Cal had heard Galloway was exceptional.
“Explosives was lovely, was it not, Mr. Slorach?”
“I don’t know if lovely is the word I would have chosen. You almost blew the room up.” Again, he mouthed.
