The Blood Royal

by Barbara Cleverly

  ‘And friends. It says here that Anna was frequently with him, telling him stories, carrying him about, making him laugh. How does Bacchus know all this?’

  ‘None of your business, Wentworth. I can just say that the Branch and MI1b and c have done intensive research into the expatriate Russian community … compiled dossiers, listened intelligently to people only too happy to tell their tale.’ He smiled. ‘Articulate lot, Russian émigrés and they all have a blood-curdling story to tell.’

  ‘May I speak from personal experience, sir?’

  ‘One of the reasons you’re sitting here with me now, Wentworth. Fire at will.’

  ‘I know what it is to get fond of a … disadvantaged … younger boy. It can be a strong feeling. One combining the best impulses of sister, mother, nurse and friend. I think it’s a girl’s natural urge to care for something or someone smaller and weaker. A doll or a pet animal often has to substitute. Combine that love with an overriding belief in the divine right of the Romanovs to rule … It’s something a girl would sacrifice her life for.’

  ‘Would she sacrifice someone else’s life?’

  ‘To take vengeance of some sort? Yes. Possibly. Oh, someone ordinary like me would rage and fume and curse and plan all sorts of retribution but wouldn’t necessarily arm herself and put it into practice, but …’

  ‘But you feel you could do it? If you were pushed?’

  Lily swallowed and hesitated. ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘I could. Women do. It’s not unknown. But it would take a frightful force to push me over the edge.’

  ‘We’ll press on and find the origin of this impulse to slaughter, shall we? I don’t think we’ve got there yet.’

  ‘And here it comes, in all its disturbing detail,’ Joe said some time later, turning the page they had just read. ‘I should tell you that no woman has been allowed a sight of these documents. Bacchus gave clear warning that the contents are not fit for a girl’s eyes.’

  A different hand had written notes in the margins of the typed text. Watching Lily, Joe was aware that her breathing was increasing in speed as she read. He listened to her sighs and the small noise of pity that caught in her throat.

  ‘Are we beginning to see it, Wentworth – the motive for the wholesale slaughter of a section of the British Establishment?’

  ‘Oh, yes.’ Lily scanned quickly through the text again. ‘Am I to gather that her whole family was killed off? Anna is the last remaining?’

  Keeping his voice level, Joe replied briefly. ‘It seems so. Apparently the family behaved with great courage. Father, mother, the girl Anna and two younger brothers followed the Romanovs into detention in Tobolsk in Siberia. Many – about fifty – of their devoted courtiers made the move with them. They tried to follow when the royal family were suddenly entrained and sent off south and east to Ekaterinburg. Fearing the worst, Anna’s father made a fuss and the local soviet, with the loss of temper and discipline that characterizes these people, had the whole family arrested – with others – and taken off by their guards. Seems to have been a favourite trick of the Bolsheviks – throwing families down mine shafts … alive …’

  ‘And dropping grenades on top of them? Until the screaming stopped?’ Lily’s voice was tight with horror.

  ‘The investigators report that some managed to crawl away down side shafts where they lived on for hours, perhaps even days, before succumbing to their wounds. Or starvation. When the bodies were recovered by a contingent of the White Army that swept through the region, Anna’s was missing.’

  ‘And all this happened in the dead of night. I can’t begin to imagine …’

  ‘That’s the way they do things. In the confusion and struggling … the father had armed himself and defended his family with some spirit … no one noticed that Anna was being bundled offstage by one of the guards. A young and impressionable lad.’ Joe sighed. ‘Had he fallen for Anna, are we to suppose? Some of the Bolshevik guards were anything but the sadistic fiends they have been portrayed as … One of the Romanov guards, in Ekaterinburg, with starvation stalking the streets, got hold of the wherewithal to bake a birthday cake for the archduchess Maria’s nineteenth birthday. She was a bonny lass, Maria, flirtatious and friendly. The guard was discovered being given a kiss of thanks and the poor lad was sent off to the front. To certain death.’

  ‘Our Anna may well now wish she had gone to certain death with her family in the pit,’ was Lily’s comment as she turned the page and read on. ‘I don’t much like the sequel to this tale.’

  ‘It gets worse. Hardly a romance, is it? A lost year spent hiding in a village somewhere in Siberia in the family of this young ruffian. He claimed to have married her, but she denies this and says she was raped, kept as a slave, overworked and beaten by the members of the family. Finding herself with child, she chose to stay until the baby was born and then escaped and somehow made her way north to Murmansk on the coast. The consul secured her a passage aboard Captain Swinburne’s gunboat – we keep a snarling presence in those waters – and fetched up in London. Where she rejoined her compatriots, nursing her hatred to her bosom.’

  ‘Not her baby. Left behind? Perished?’

  He flipped through the notes again, checking. ‘We don’t know. And Anna’s not saying, apparently. This stage of her life seems to have been reconstructed from accounts of her friends who have chosen to follow a less secretive way of life in their adopted country. Two or more accounts, all telling the same tale.’

  ‘And after her harrowing time she learns that not only is her own family dead, but Alexei too and her friend Tatiana. But, perhaps most shocking of all for a Russian of her class, the Tsar – “the anointed of God”! He was more than a man, more than a king. By the grace of God, he personified the Russian people. All things considered, this was a crime of heinous proportions.’

  ‘Proportions big enough to unseat you from your moorings, would you say, Wentworth?’

  Lily nodded, her face glacial. ‘I’d go looking for my gun,’ she said quietly. ‘And a target for my rage.’

  They were both silent for a moment, Joe turning back instinctively to look once again at the photograph of the five lovely girls in their white silks and satins.

  ‘She must have asked what the British monarchy did to help their cousins,’ Lily said. ‘I’ve heard the question asked – were the forces of the British Empire not equal to the task of rescuing one small family? They had over a year to plan and effect their removal. They can send in gunboats to save nations – surely a horse and cart to fetch out seven people could have been managed?’

  Joe resented her implied criticism but replied mildly enough. ‘King George had his hands full at the time, you might remember, fighting the Germans to a standstill in the last stages of the war.’

  ‘I don’t think that would have weighed heavily with a Russian aristocrat. She would have focused her bitterness very precisely on the ones who had washed their hands of the Romanovs in their hour of need. Shall I speak their name? On the Windsors, I mean. Is this what’s staring us in the face? Vengeance? An eye for an eye. A prince for a prince? Her own prince was lying dead in an unmarked grave in a Russian forest. Ours is alive and well and being fêted wherever he goes. On a polo field, in a night club, down a coal mine – wherever he finds himself, the reaction is the same: unthinking adulation. He was engaged in a triumphal tour of India soon after she arrived here. Sporting and popular. Everyone’s blue-eyed boy. It must have rubbed salt in the wound. She was going to make him atone with his life.’

  ‘I fear you may be right, Wentworth. And will she stop at one? More royal figures may follow if we don’t lay hands on her. They’re safely up in Norfolk for the moment but they won’t stay there for ever. They work hard, they travel around the country. They have their seasonal movements, their social demands. And I’m quite sure they feel themselves inviolable. They’ll soon break out of my protective ring. It can only be a matter of time and patience on an assassin’s part.’

  ‘But I h
ave to ask because I don’t understand – why the admiral, sir? What’s the link? Is there a link?’

  ‘Where, indeed, does poor old Dedham feature in all this? An opportunistic coup? I don’t think so. I fear there may be a link to chill the blood, Wentworth. There had been a series of crimes by the IRA … Scotland Yard itself had survived an attempted bombing. It was expected in the press that national figures were in line for assassination. What better cover for our Anna than the admiral dying spectacularly on his own doorstep at the hands of a pair of Irishmen only too happy to confess their patriotic motives to the waiting press? We all had Dedham marked down as number four in a series of IRA attacks. Clearly, the next attempt was going to be politically motivated also. And the one after that. And everyone knew the Prince of Wales was an Irish target.’

  ‘She’s not intent on martyrdom, then, sir? She hasn’t shot and surrendered. Or topped herself.’

  ‘Which can only mean, if I read her desperate mental state aright, that she wants to stay at liberty long enough to slay others. Covering her killings with the blanket of Irish nationalism. My God! We can expect more of the same. She’s going for the whole family!’

  ‘Sir? We’re thinking that this woman sacrificed Admiral Dedham as no more than a smokescreen for her further activities? A murder to conceal the motive for further murders? It’s insane …’ There was horror in Lily’s voice.

  ‘Quite.’ Joe hoped he could trust her to toe the line he was about to draw. ‘Listen, Wentworth – Cassandra must never find out. A hero’s widow should not be burdened with the knowledge that her husband’s death was no more than a distraction, a diversion from the main business … a cover for a thrust of mad, venomous spite directed at a completely different target.’

  ‘And those other poor dupes – the Irish lads?’ There was pity as well as a question in Lily’s voice. ‘Young Patrick told me he’d been used. He didn’t know the half of it!’

  He was being offered a bargain he was glad to accept. Joe replied at once: ‘They also should be left in ignorance. They think they are dying a patriot’s death. We can let them go to the gallows with that last comfort at least.’

  He closed the file. ‘We must dash if we’re not to be unpardonably late in Melton Square. I’ll fill you in on the Dedham scenario as we go. One last thing to do here. I won’t let this show go on a moment longer. I have the glimmerings of a scheme to neutralize this woman. I shall need your help. Tomorrow morning. Nine o’clock suit you? Here? Rather a lot to think about … Excuse me while I set this up.’

  He grabbed his phone and asked again for Bacchus. ‘James. That article in the Californian newspaper that caused you such amusement … San Francisco Advertiser, was it? Still got the cutting, have you? Bring it with you tomorrow. Here, at nine. Two more requests. Can you lay hands on the box of Romanov bits and bobs we have in stock somewhere? … No. Not the box that was delivered to the palace last year. That was just body parts and I’ve no wish to inspect those bogus offerings … charred jaw-bones … severed fingers and the like … I’m sure they’ve been sent out of the country anyway. Hasn’t the Pope taken delivery? No, I’m talking about the other one …You know very well … Shall we call it the Ekaterinburg hoard? … Oh, I make it my business to know these things. Never you mind! Just get hold of it! I don’t care how we came by it or how many arms you have to twist to get it … do what you have to do. And lastly, our forger-printer chap – roust him out again and tell him to start flexing his fingers. Oh, one more thing.’ He glanced speculatively at the painting. ‘A camera? Can you operate one? Bring it along, will you?’

  Chapter Thirty-One

  ‘On your feet, Wentworth.’ Joe handed Lily her hat. ‘We have something to announce to the admiral’s family. And it’s rather surprising. I’ve spent the morning on the telephone to the Home Secretary and the Commissioner, planning and scheming. And, to a certain extent, it is their perceptions that must guide our actions.’ He ignored her look of surprised objection and cantered on. ‘Now, as we go, I’ll put you in the picture. You will hear me making a few assertions and I don’t want to be let down by any ill-timed reactions from my own corner.’

  He began to deliver his briefing as they walked down to the taxi rank.

  ‘This Sebastian you’re about to meet – he’s Dedham’s nephew. His older sister’s boy, name of Marland. Amateur pilot before the war, he joined the Royal Flying Corps at the outbreak. Something of a wartime hero. Not many of those chaps survived. Sebastian was wounded early on. You’ll see he has a limp. He spent the subsequent years training others to go up and get themselves killed. And he proved to be that valuable resource – a survivor who could draw on his experience to devise devilish tactics for aerial combat. In fact, he was one of the hard-nosed brigade who turned the war in the air from the chivalrous gallop across the skies it was at the outset into a deadly three-dimensional pheasant shoot.’

  ‘And is he still a flyer, sir?’

  ‘No. In 1918 when the Corps became the Royal Air Force, there was no room for a now elderly – by their standards – chap with a game leg. Into his late twenties by then, he found himself surplus to requirements. After that he rather annoyed his family by getting his hands dirty. He threw himself – and his slender resources – into motor engineering. He set up a workshop and a test track on the family land in Sussex. Seems to be doing well. Decisive … abrasive even … he’s not to everyone’s taste. But …’ Joe gave her a long, speculative look. ‘Yes. I have to say, I think you’ll like him, Wentworth. In fact he may be just your cup of tea!’

  He was pleased with the startled look he’d provoked. He enjoyed startling the constable.

  ‘Joe! At last. We’d almost given up on you. And you bring us your colleague. Boys! Come and meet the young lady I’ve been telling you about, the one who’s helping Joe with our problems.’

  Sandilands walked into the sitting room, tugging Lily along with him. He released her in order to go and have his hands squeezed by Cassandra Dedham, who rustled over in pearl grey silk, clinking jet and a waft of Mitsouko to kiss him on each cheek in the continental fashion. An anxious appraisal told him that the widow was looking surprisingly bobbish.

  The two boys looked on for a moment, tender and amused. Then, the older one in the lead, they advanced on Lily.

  ‘We’ll introduce ourselves, miss,’ he said. ‘Once Mama gets Commander Sandilands in her sights she loses track of mere mortals like us! We shall have to entertain ourselves. I’m John and may I present my brother William, though we call him Billy.’

  ‘No, we jolly well don’t! Not now I’m fourteen!’ came the mock rebuke.

  Joe listened until he heard Lily making sociable noises and beginning to chatter with the boys and he decided it was safe to come off watch. His assistant had been struck by a fit of unaccustomed shyness as they entered the room and had nearly bolted. But, now, smiling with these two, she appeared calm again. And she was in safe hands. They had impeccable manners, the pair of them. And, in their different ways, they were thoroughly nice chaps. A credit to Cassandra’s upbringing. The admiral seemed never to have quite managed to ruin their lives, thanks largely to his prolonged absences at sea, Joe reckoned. Out of the corner of his eye, he was pleased to see them reacting in a coltish way to the easy laugh and big eyes of a pretty girl.

  And why not? With her yellow frock and shock of yellow hair, Lily looked like a sunflower in the gloomy room, he thought. She raised the spirits. John, serious and competent at seventeen, was a good head taller than Lily, Billy on eye level. Joe checked covertly for signs of distress in the sons and saw none. In fact Billy, he would have said, was a little over-excited for a Sunday teatime, and so soon after his father’s death. He was talking loudly, even laughing with Lily.

  Cassandra caught his concern. ‘Goodness. The little ones will be asking permission to play with their marbles on the carpet next,’ she said indulgently. ‘I’ve just sent Sebastian to organize a pot of fresh tea. On Sundays we mostly
do our own fetching and carrying. There’s only Eva left scurrying around. Darjeeling suit?’ Cassandra broke off to perform her duties. ‘There are still lots of sandwiches left and we haven’t set about the cake yet. I sent out for your favourite, Joe – a Fuller’s walnut. Ah, here’s the tea.’

  The door was opened by a flustered Eva who stepped aside to make way for a gentleman dressed in mourning and carrying a heavy tray.

  ‘Company,’ the stranger said cheerily. ‘Thank you, Eva. Now do stand clear and don’t fuss me. That’ll be all, my dear. We’ll wait on ourselves now – you and Cook can put your feet up,’ he said.

  Eva smiled, cast him a shy glance and bobbed her way out.

  Joe froze as Sebastian Marland ran an assessing eye over the distance to the nearest table, made his calculation, and set off across the Afghan rug. Always a tricky decision: whether to dash forward and snatch the tray from his hands or studiously ignore the disability. Taking his cue from Cassandra, who was nonchalantly busying herself clearing a space, Joe stayed put.

  Sebastian Marland touched down safely and turned to greet Sandilands. ‘Commander. Good to see you again. Though I could wish it were in different circumstances.’

  Joe nodded and smiled with equal pleasure. ‘Captain. Gloomy time for you all … May I—’

  ‘No need for all that. Commiserations taken as understood.’

  Sandilands began to relax into the familiar exchange of military brevity. You knew where you were with Marland.

  Open and brisk, the young host came straight to the point. ‘And thank you for all you’ve done, Commander. Cassandra’s a lucky woman to have you in her corner – and I’ve said as much. But I see you bring an accomplice?’ An enquiring eye sought out Lily.