Corbyn leaned forward in his seat. “What is this radical group called?”
“I am not entirely sure, but the informant managed to overhear that members of the group meet at Floyd’s Coffeehouse on Baker Street.”
“We have gone on much less,” Corbyn said with a bob of his head. “I will assign this case to another agent at once.”
“With all due respect, I am more than capable of completing this assignment.”
“That you are, but it is time for you to retire.”
Baldwin reared back slightly. “May I ask why?”
Corbyn gave him an understanding look. “We need you to take up your seat in the House of Lords and assume your place in Society.”
“Why is that?”
“These are troubling times, and we need an advocate in the House of Lords.”
“For anything in particular?”
Reaching for the newspaper on the corner of his desk, Corbyn held it up. “Lord Desmond has just introduced a bill to establish an agency within the Home Office that will be responsible for the overseeing of the workhouses.”
“Did he state why?”
“The Home Office is responsible for safeguarding the rights and liberties of all the people, and he feels the parishes are not doing a good enough job with the overseeing of the poor,” Corbyn explained. “He believes the Home Office has adequate funds to establish this new agency, and he is rallying the people in defense of the bill. If his bill succeeds, then we will lose some of our funding.”
“Who does Lord Desmond think is keeping England safe from domestic and foreign threats?”
“That isn’t his concern at the moment,” Corbyn replied. “He wants to run for Prime Minister and use the workhouses as his platform.”
“That is just asinine.”
Corbyn took a sip of his drink. “People in the rookeries are dying at an alarming rate, and the reformers are tired of the Tories being in charge of Parliament. The people have been rioting for years.”
“Regardless, the Alien Office wards off potential threats and keeps the people safe. We have agents all over the world protecting England’s interests.”
“As far as the Alien Office is concerned, we don’t exist,” Corbyn stated flatly. “Which is why we are not bound to the same rules as the other agencies in the Home Office.”
“What does Addington say as the under-secretary of the Home Office?” Baldwin asked. “Surely he is fighting this bill?”
“He is,” Corbyn confirmed, “as is the Home Secretary, but Lord Desmond is relentless, and he is getting the votes. That is why we need you in your seat at the House of Lords.”
Baldwin rose from his chair and walked over to the window overlooking a small brick courtyard. He heaved a heavy sigh. “I can’t just walk away from being an agent of the Crown,” he insisted. “Frankly, I am too invested in this agency.”
“You are a marquess, and you knew this day would eventually come.”
“But I could be no less ready for it.”
Corbyn’s lips twitched. “You need not fret. We do have other competent agents, including Oliver.”
“I have no doubt that my brother is more than competent, but I want this assignment,” Baldwin retorted.
Corbyn grew silent for a long moment, studying him thoughtfully. Finally, he spoke. “All right, but you must also resume your seat in the House of Lords.”
“Thank you, Corbyn.”
“But after this assignment, you are finished working as an agent,” Corbyn said, leveling his stern gaze at him. “Do we have a deal?”
“I suppose I have no other option.”
Corbyn rose from behind his desk. “Go home, Falcon,” he encouraged. “You have been gone for far too long.”
Stepping away from the window, Baldwin admitted, “I suppose it is time.”
“I can’t help but notice that you seem reluctant.”
Baldwin nodded. “I am. I’m not sure if I’m ready to go back.”
Corbyn came around his desk and said, “Take all the time you need. I have to leave to interrogate a suspect.”
“Do you require any assistance?” Baldwin asked hopefully.
“Thank you for the offer, but I can handle this suspect on my own,” Corbyn replied as he walked over to the door. He placed his hand on the handle and stopped. “I believe it is time for you to face your past so you can embrace the future.”
Baldwin lifted his brow. “Since when did you get so sentimental?”
“A lot has changed since you have been gone,” Corbyn said. “I do find it odd that you can go undercover in France for three years, but you are too scared to return to your own townhouse. A rather remarkable townhouse, I might add.”
“I have my reasons.”
“And no doubt they are foolhardy,” Corbyn quipped.
Baldwin winced. “You are right.”
“Of course I am right,” Corbyn said. “I wasn’t offered this position because of my good looks.”
With a shake of his head, Baldwin remarked, “You are entirely too full of yourself.”
“With good reason, like the fact that I’m not afraid to go home,” Corbyn joked.
“I will go, but only because I tire of this conversation,” Baldwin said, closing the distance between them.
“That is a good enough reason for me.”
Baldwin sat in the filthy hackney as it made its way towards Hawthorne House. He was dreading going home. It wasn’t long after his father had died that he had accepted the assignment to join a group of royalists in France. But a month-long mission turned into three years.
The hackney lurched to a stop in front of a high black iron gate. A guard approached the driver and asked, “What business do you have with us?”
The driver shouted down, “This fellow paid me to take him to Hawthorne House.”
“It is too late for callers,” the guard declared, taking a step back. “Be gone with you.”
Baldwin put his hand through the open window and pushed down the handle. As he stepped onto the pavement, he said, “I would like admittance to my own home, if you don’t mind.”
The guard’s eyes grew wide. “Lord Hawthorne,” he responded, clearly stunned. “Yes, of course. Give me a moment.”
The guard
