Moment of Truth by Michael Pryor Page B

grateful, but chided George nonetheless. ‘Steady on, Doyle. This isn’t a party.’
    Aubrey held out his slip of orange paper. ‘Captain Foster. Fitzwilliam, Aubrey, reporting, sir.’ Then he smiled at Caroline, who was sitting next to George.
    Except she turned and wasn’t Caroline at all.

Ten

    Gaping’s a good way to draw attention to yourself, Fitzwilliam,’ Captain Foster said, ‘so stop it and sit down.’
    Aubrey was so stunned, the captain’s voice seemed to come from far away. A veteran planner, Aubrey was experiencing the sensation that things on top of rugs feel when the rug decides to exit horizontally, with speed. His plans, his expectations, his neat order of events that he’d taken for granted had all been thrown into the air.
    No Caroline? That was impossible, unwarranted, unnatural! They belonged together. Caroline, George and he had been through dangerous adventures and acquitted themselves with honour. Craddock and Tallis knew this. Even Prince Albert, the heir to the throne himself, knew it. Whatever was the Directorate thinking?
    He seized on this. Perhaps it was just a mistake. This sort of thing happened – in the hurly-burly of war, communications went astray, documents were lost, identities confused. Surely that was it. All he had to do was point this out, speak to a few people and all would be well. His plans would be back on track, his mission set in motion again.
    It was all he could do to stop himself groaning aloud. This sort of thinking was the Old Aubrey, the Aubrey who manipulated people to satisfy his own needs – without asking theirs. Caroline wouldn’t want his interfering in her life, not like this.
    Slowly, he began to realise that the others in the room were staring at him.
    â€˜Are you quite done?’ Captain Foster stood behind the desk, leaning forward and propping himself with both arms. His glasses were rimless. His hair was sparse but it was well arranged on his dome of a head.
    â€˜Yes, sir,’ Aubrey managed. His thoughts still whirling, he fumbled his way into a chair next to George, who was between him and the strange girl.
    In the brief glimpse he’d had, it was no wonder George had sat next to her. She was striking – golden hair, and with extraordinary pale blue eyes, the colour of summer sky just above the horizon. Her whole face had been enlivened by the twitch of her lips she gave him. Not quite a smile, but an indication of humour, nonetheless.
    She looked nothing like Caroline. It had simply been his expectation, assuming that he’d be reunited with her, that had made him see her in that chair.
    â€˜You obviously know Doyle,’ Captain Foster said. ‘This is Elspeth Mattingly.’
    The smile that Elspeth offered him this time was unhesitating, bordering on a grin. ‘Fitzwilliam. I’ve heard a great deal about you, but most of it led me to believe that you were rather more self-possessed than this.’
    Aubrey only prevented a grimace with great effort. ‘Don’t believe what you read in the newspapers.’
    â€˜Newspapers? I never read them.’ She glanced at George when he gasped, but immediately redirected her disconcertingly even gaze back at Aubrey. ‘I have friends at St Alban’s. They’re impressed with your magical ability.’
    â€˜Really?’ Aubrey was pleasantly surprised and he felt himself warming to her. Most people knew of him through his father or through various references in the press. He’d learned to bear the burden, but it didn’t mean that he enjoyed it. To have it otherwise was refreshing.
    â€˜Truly,’ she said solemnly. Then she grinned again. ‘But don’t let it go to your head. My friends are easily impressed.’
    â€˜I hate to interrupt,’ Captain Foster said. He picked up a clipboard. ‘And I’m glad you’ve got off to such a cosy start, but we have work to