Dante waved his hand. “The man has a household full of help. Plus, his wife, who spends all her time hanging over her child’s bed making sure he continues to breathe. One would think she’d moved past that by now.”
He took a swallow of coffee. “What about Keniel? I thought we planned to have him work extra hours. He’s always ready to help out.”
“He asked for a few days off since he’s close to buying a townhouse.”
Dante shrugged. “I’ll send a note and tell him he needs to be available now and take time here and there to settle himself. He knew his hours would be flexible.”
“Good morning, Dante,” Amelia said with a slight grin.
“Oh, sorry.” He offered her his famous slow smile that had the ladies ready to drop their undergarments. Unfortunately, or perhaps for Driscoll’s sake it was fortunate, Dante had no effect on Amelia. He dipped his head. “Good morning, sister.”
She looked at Driscoll. “I can continue with dealing at my old table as well as help with the books. That would free up Dexter to assist with the management.”
Driscoll shook his head. “No. You are seven months pregnant. I’m not even happy with you coming here to do the books.”
“Oh for goodness sake, Driscoll. I dealt for months before we married. It never bothered you before.”
“Incorrect, wife. It bothered me a great deal, but I had no control over it. Now I do.”
Dante laughed. Shite, the man was stepping right into it.
Amelia sat back and viewed her husband with steely eyes. “Excuse me?” she said, her eyes boring into her husband. “Are you suggesting you have control over me?”
Dante shook his head as he shoveled the food into his mouth. Another reason to not get involved with a wife. They never stayed where you put them, never did what you told them, and when things didn’t go their way, they cried. Or threw things at your head.
“Now, sweeting, you know that’s not what I meant.”
Amelia crossed her arms over her chest. Dante swore he could hear her foot tapping under the table. “What exactly was it you meant, then, sweeting?”
Taking the last gulp of coffee, Dante stood. “I shall leave you two lovers to work out this little issue. I have a few things to finish this afternoon before I meet with Sir Phillip DuBois-Gifford.”
Although that was the name their contact used, the brothers were quite certain it was not his real one. Furthermor
e, their meetings with the man took place in a small, somewhat shabby townhouse in a lower-class neighborhood. Dante was certain that nowhere in the Home Office records was there a Sir Phillip DuBois-Gifford.
He returned to the office they all shared and pulled out the few files in which he had matters to finish. He scribbled off a quick note to Hunt, advising him of the new assignment and that he needed to spend a bit more time at the club. Who knew, maybe by now his oldest brother was ready for more than nanny-sitting.
He pulled out the information on Mr. Keniel Singh. The man had appeared at the club one day asking for a job. Despite his young age, he had an impressive background, having managed a large plantation in Jamaica for several years. Counting back, that meant he’d taken over the plantation when he was only nineteen.
What resolved the question of hiring him was the fact that the plantation he’d managed had belonged to the brothers’ father at one time but had been sold a few years before, upon his death.
He closed the file with Keniel’s information and left it on Driscoll’s desk. It took him about an hour to finish up and then he was off to meet with Sir Phillip. He made his way to the gaming floor and gave the two missives he wrote to one of the security men and asked that they be dispatched immediately. Neither Driscoll nor Amelia were in sight—most likely in the bedroom upstairs making up for their argument—so Dante left the club, not knowing when he would return.
Sir Phillip was always vague about how long assignments would take.
Thinking it would be best to not yet pack for whatever it was the man had in mind, Dante took the club’s carriage to Sir Phillip’s townhouse.
He bounded up the steps and dropped the knocker only once before the middle-aged housekeeper opened the door. “Good afternoon, Mr. Rose. Sir Phillip is in his study.”
“Thank you.” Dante made his way up the stairs and down the corridor to the overcrowded office that symbolized Sir Phillip.
“Come in, come in, Dante. So nice to see you. It’s been a while since I had something that’s perfect for you.”
Dante took the seat across from Sir Phillip. “What is it this time? You’re correct it has been a while.”
Never one for small talk, Sir Phillip leaned forward and delved right into the matter. “There is spying going on at the German Embassy. While that generally happens in a small way, this is more serious because whoever is passing the information along is privy to things the Home Office is deeply concerned about. Needless to say, we are not happy about that, and we want to confirm first of all that this is true and if the person we believe is involved in this is who we suspect. We will then make arrangements to stop it.”
Dante had no desire to know how they intended to stop the person passing secrets, but that was not part of his job.