Newbury frowned, concerned.
“You need to stay away from them, Newbury,” Bainbridge continued. “The Bastion Society, that is. They mean business. I should have realised after that attack on Miss Hobbes. Whatever you were planning to do to bait them, stop now. As soon as I’m able, I’m going to send the Yard in. Graves is going to have some very serious questions to answer.”
“It’s a little late for that, Charles. I’ve just come from Packworth House, where I spent the best part of a day incarcerated and awaiting execution. Things have escalated beyond all measure of sanity. They’re the ones behind the attack on the Queen, the intruder you told me about.” Newbury spoke with an urgency that Bainbridge had rarely heard in him. “You’re right about how serious they are. More serious than you could ever imagine. They’re-” He seemed to hesitate for a moment before going on. “-they’re planning to mount a full-blown assault on the palace.”
“Good God!” Bainbridge exclaimed. “Good God, Newbury. So they’re the ones behind it!” He sat forward, trying to ignore the pain.
Newbury nodded. “They’ve been secretly building an arsenal in the catacombs beneath Packworth House.”
Bainbridge could barely believe it. The gall of them… of that upstart Enoch Graves. Still, at least the Queen was ready for them. They’d be no match for the Queen’s Guard and the Royal Engineers Corps. “The Queen is preparing the palace as we speak, Newbury. Somehow, she seems to know it’s coming. She’s had the Royal Engineers fortify the grounds with all manner of artillery weapons, and she’s tripled the guard. I’ve posted a security detail from the Yard.”
Newbury nodded thoughtfully. “So the Queen knew about this?”
Bainbridge shrugged, and the gesture set off explosions of pain in his neck and shoulders. “She knew something was afoot. When I got to the palace yesterday, she’d already begun to make preparations. She claimed it was an obvious security measure, given the intruder, but I thought at the time that it was a little overzealous. She must have been warned, somehow. Or threatened. I’m certain she didn’t know who was behind it, however.” He rubbed a hand through his hair. He was so tired. “Now that we know, we can mount a preemptive attack. Get to them before they get to us, so to speak.”
Newbury shook his head. “It’s too late for that, Charles. They’re moving as we speak. We have a couple of hours at most.”
Bainbridge frowned. “A couple of hours? Then what are you doing here! Have you warned the Queen?”
Newbury gave him a curious look. “I’ve done my duty, Charles. But I’m no use to her there. There are others far more qualified to be at her side at a time like this. I’m an academic and a criminologist, not a military strategist.”
Bainbridge nodded. He swung his legs over the side of the bed. “I’d better get over there right away.”
Newbury caught his arm. “You’ll do no such thing!”
“I-,” Bainbridge started, but Newbury held him firm.
“Charles, listen to me. I’ve sent word to the Queen. If she needs us, she’ll send for us. You need to stay in bed. There’s nothing more either of us can do. You’ll only wind up getting yourself killed.”
Bainbridge gave a frustrated sigh. Newbury was right. He’d be no use to anyone in his current condition. He might even be more of a liability. He relaxed, and Newbury released his grip.
It occurred to Bainbridge that Newbury had come alone. “Where’s Miss Hobbes?”
Newbury glanced absently out of the window. He seemed distracted. Perhaps the whole situation with the Bastion Society was playing more on his mind than he was letting on. “I left her at Chelsea. She has some things to take care of. She’s been through a lot in the last few days, Charles. Her sister is terribly unwell.”
Bainbridge tried to look sympathetic. “She’s at the Grayling Institute now, isn’t she? Fabian will take care of her. I know it.”
“Quite,” replied Newbury. “He’ll most definitely do that.”
Bainbridge wasn’t clear what Newbury was getting at, but his head was starting to swim. He used his good arm to steady himself against the side of the bed. His eyes wanted to close. He’d been fighting to stay awake, waiting for Newbury to come, waiting to warn him about the Bastion Society. Now that he had, all the fight had drained out of him. Newbury was right. The palace was protected, and neither of them would make a blind bit of difference.
“Look, Charles, I want you to get some rest. Miss Hobbes and I will take care of everything else. You need to recuperate.” Newbury leaned closer, lowering his voice to a whisper. “Have you thought about the Fixer, Charles? I could make the necessary arrangements.”
Bainbridge shook his head. “No need,” he said. A trip to see the Fixer, the agent’s go-to man in case of medical emergencies, would be unnecessary. His wounds weren’t that severe. “I’m alright, Newbury. Just tired and a bit bruised around the edges.”
Newbury smiled warmly. “So be it.” He glanced over his shoulder at the door. “I’d better get back to Miss Hobbes, make sure she and Scarbright aren’t rearranging the furniture.”
Bainbridge chuckled. “I wouldn’t be surprised,” he said. He reached over and grabbed Newbury by the arm. He was overcome suddenly with concern: for his old friend, for the Queen, for everything he held dear. “It will be alright, Newbury. Tell me it’ll be alright.”
Newbury nodded. “It’ll be alright, Charles.”
“Good man.”
Bainbridge allowed Newbury to help lower him back down onto the pillows. His eyelids felt extraordinarily heavy.
“I’ll call tomorrow with news, Charles.”
“See that you do,” he managed to mumble, but unconsciousness was already beginning to steal over him. He listened to the sound of Newbury’s footsteps as his friend quit the ward, and then allowed himself to fall into a deep, welcome slumber.
CHAPTER
25
Veronica crouched low behind a large rhododendron bush and peered out at the immense grey edifice of the Grayling Institute. Everything was eerily still. The sky was studded with brooding grey clouds, bearing the promise of rain. To Veronica they seemed like an omen, a threat of the storm still to come. It wasn’t just her, either: the birds in the branches overhead weren’t chirping, and the servants inside the house had appeared at the windows a number of times, looking out at the sky as if waiting impatiently for the coming rain.
Veronica realised she was holding her breath in anticipation, and reminded herself to exhale. She’d been in the same position for over half an hour and her toes were beginning to feel numb. The air was cold and damp. Close by, Newbury was kneeling in the flower bed, watching the driveway with an intense, unwavering gaze. She glanced at him and felt a surge of affection for the man.
After fleeing Packworth House they had abandoned the exoskeleton in an alleyway and hailed a steam-powered cab to take them swiftly to Chelsea. Once there, Newbury held a fleeting conference with Scarbright before changing his suit and rushing out to visit Charles. Veronica had feared he would also take measures to inform the palace about the Bastion Society. She’d been scared that he’d choose duty over any obligation he felt towards her, and scared of what that might mean for Amelia. She’d worried she might never be able to face him again if he made the wrong choice.
When he returned a short while later, he’d been pensive. He’d informed her that Bainbridge was alive and recovering in a police infirmary and that they would leave for the Grayling Institute in fifteen minutes’ time. He’d told her she should gather anything she thought might prove useful, and pointed her at the hidden rack of weapons he kept in his study.
At that, Veronica breathed a sigh of relief. Newbury had clearly made his decision. There had been no discussion, no debate. At no point did he offer her any insight into his thoughts. But he had chosen her over the Queen, and that told her everything she needed to know. More than that, though, it meant he believed her about the Queen’s duplicity. It confirmed her fear that there was something terribly amiss at the palace, because if there were not, Newbury would never have allowed the attack on the Grayling Institute to go ahead.