Treason at Lisson Grove

by Anne Perry

  “If you had been here you might have prevented Victor from having been removed from office,” she concluded. “On the other hand, you might have been implicated in the same thing, and removed also …” She stopped.

  He shrugged. “Or killed.” He said what he knew she was thinking. “Sending me to France was better, much less obvious. Also, it seems they wanted me here now, to take the blame for this failure that is about to descend on us. I’ve been trying to think what cases we were most concerned with, what we may have learned had we had time.”

  “We will consider it in my carriage on the way to our appointment,” she said, finishing her tea. “Minnie Maude will have your case packed any moment, and we should be on our way.”

  He rose and went to say good night and—for the very immediate future—good-bye to his children. He gave Minnie Maude last instructions, and a little more money to ascertain that she had sufficient provisions. Then he collected his case and went outside to Vespasia’s carriage where it was waiting in the street. Within seconds they were moving briskly.

  “I’ve already looked over everything that happened shortly before I left, and in Austwick’s notes since,” he began. “And in the reports from other people. I did it with Stoker. We saw something that I don’t yet understand, but it is very alarming.”

  “What is it?” she asked quickly.

  He told her about the violent men who had been seen in several different parts of England, and watched her face grow pale and very grave as he told her how old enemies had been seen together, as if they had a common cause.

  “This is very serious,” she agreed. “There is something I also have heard whispers of while you have been away. I dismissed it at first as being the usual idealistic talk that has always been around among dreamers, always totally impractical. For example, certain social reformers seem to be creating plans as if they could get them through the House of Commons without difficulty. Some of the reforms were radical, and yet I admit there is a certain justice to them. I assumed they were simply naïve, but perhaps there is some major element that I have missed.”

  They rode in silence for the length of Woburn Place toward Euston Road, then turned right with the stream of traffic and continued north until it became the Pentonville Road.

  “I fear I know what element you have missed,” Pitt said at last.

  “Violence?” she asked. “I cannot think of any one man, or even group of men, who would pass some of the legislation they are proposing. It would be pointless anyway. It would be sent back by the House of Lords, and then they would have to begin again. By that time the opposition would have collected its wits, and its arguments. They must know that.”

  “Of course they do,” he agreed. “But if there were no House of Lords …”

  The street lamps outside seemed harsh, the rattle of the carriage wheels unnaturally loud. “Another gunpowder plot?” she asked. “The country would be outraged. We hung, drew, and quartered Guy Fawkes and his conspirators. We might not be quite so barbaric this time, but I wouldn’t risk all I valued on it.” Her face was momentarily in the shadows as a higher, longer carriage passed between them and the nearest street lamps.

  Nearly an hour later they arrived at the hostelry Narraway had chosen, tired, chilly, and uncomfortable. They greeted one another briefly, with intense emotion, then allowed the landlord to show them to the rooms they would occupy for the night. Then they were offered a private lounge where they might have whatever refreshments they wished, and be otherwise uninterrupted.

  Pitt was filled with emotion to see Charlotte; joy just at the sight of her face, anxiety that she looked so tired. He was relieved that she was safe when she so easily might not have been; frustrated that he had no opportunity to be alone with her, even for a moment; and angry that she had been in such danger. She had acted recklessly and with no reference to his opinion or feelings. He felt painfully excluded. Narraway had been there and he had not. His reaction was childish; he was ashamed of it, but that did nothing to lessen its sharpness.

  Then he looked at Narraway, and despite himself his anger melted. The man was exhausted. The lines in his face seemed more deeply cut than they had been just a week or two before; his dark eyes were bruised around the sockets, and he brushed his hair back impatiently with his thin, strong hands as if it were in his way.

  They glanced at each other, no one knowing who was in command. Narraway had led Special Branch for years, but it was Pitt’s job now. And yet neither of them would preempt Vespasia’s seniority.

  Vespasia smiled. “For heaven’s sake, Thomas, don’t sit there like a schoolboy waiting for permission to speak. You are the commander of Special Branch. What is your judgment of the situation? We will add to it, should we have something to offer.”

  Pitt cleared his throat. He felt as if he were usurping Narraway’s place. Yet he was also aware that Narraway was weary and beaten, betrayed in ways that he had not foreseen, and accused of crimes where he could not prove his innocence. The situation was harsh; a little gentleness was needed in the few places where it was possible.

  Carefully he repeated for Narraway what had happened from the time he and Gower had seen West murdered until he and Stoker had put together as many of the pieces as they could. He was aware that he was speaking of professional secrets in front of both Vespasia and Charlotte. It was something he had not done before, but the gravity of the situation allowed no luxury of exclusion. If they failed to restore justice, it would all become desperately public in a very short time anyway. How short a time he could only guess.

  When he had finished he looked at Narraway.

  “The House of Lords would be the obvious and most relevant target,” Narraway said slowly. “It would be the beginning of a revolution in our lives, a very dramatic one. God only knows what might follow. The French throne is already gone. The Austro-Hungarian is shaking, especially after that wretched business at Mayerling.” He glanced at Charlotte and saw the puzzlement in her face. “Six years ago, in ’89,” he explained, “Crown Prince Rudolf and his mistress shot themselves in a hunting lodge. All very messy and never really understood.” He leaned forward a little, his face resuming its gravity. “The other thrones of Europe are less secure than they used to be, and Russia is careering toward chaos if they don’t institute some sweeping reforms, very soon. Which is almost as likely as daffodils in November. They’re all hanging on with their fingers.”

  “Not us,” Pitt argued. “The queen went through a shaky spell a few years ago, but her popularity’s returning.”

  “Which is why if they struck here, at our hereditary privilege, the rest of Europe would have nothing with which to fight back,” Narraway responded. “Think about it, Pitt. If you were a passionate socialist and you wanted to sweep away the rights of a privileged class to rule over the rest of us, where would you strike? France has no ruling nobility. Spain isn’t going to affect the rest of us anymore. They used to be related to half Europe in Hapsburg times, but not now. Austria? They’re crumbling anyway. Germany? Bismarck is the real power. All the great royal houses of Europe are related to Victoria, one way or the other. If Victoria gets rid of her House of Lords, then it will be the beginning of the end for privilege by birth.”

  “One cannot inherit honor or morality, Victor,” Vespasia said softly. “But one can learn from the cradle a sense of the past, and gratitude for its gifts. One can learn a responsibility toward the future, to guard and perhaps improve on what one has been given, and leave it whole for those who follow.”

  His face pinched as he looked at her. “I am speaking their words, not my own, Lady Vespasia.” He bit his lip. “If we are to defeat them, we must know what they believe, and what they intend to do. If they can gain the power they will sweep away the good with the bad, because they don’t understand what it is to answer only to your conscience rather than to the voice of the people, which comes regardless whether or not they have the faintest idea what they are talking about.”


  “I’m sorry,” she said very quietly. “I think perhaps I am frightened. Hysteria appals me.”

  “It should,” he assured her. “The day there is no one left to fear it we are all lost.” He turned to Pitt. “Have you any idea as to what specific plans anyone has?”

  “Very little,” Pitt admitted. “But I know who the enemy is.” He relayed to Narraway what he had told Vespasia about the different violent men who loathed one another, and yet appeared to have found a common cause.

  “Where is Her Majesty now?” Narraway asked.

  “Osborne,” Pitt replied. He felt his heart beating faster, harder. Other notes he had seen from various people came to mind: movements of men that were small and discreet, but those men’s names should have given pause to whoever was reading the reports. Narraway would have seen it. “I believe that’s where they’ll strike. It’s the most vulnerable and most immediate place.”

  Narraway paled even further. “The queen?” He gave no exclamation, no word of anger or surprise; his emotion was too consuming. The thought of attacking Victoria herself was so shocking that all words were inadequate.

  Pitt’s mind raced to the army, the police on the Isle of Wight, all the men he himself could call from other duties. Then another thought came to him: Was this what they were supposed to think? What if he responded by concentrating all his resources on Osborne House, and the actual attack came somewhere else?

  “Be careful,” Narraway said quietly. “If we cause public alarm it could do all the damage they need.”

  “I know.” Pitt was aware of Charlotte and Vespasia watching him as well. “I know that. I also know that they have probably a large space of time in which to strike. They could wait us out, then move as soon as we have relaxed.”

  “I doubt it.” Narraway shook his head. “They know I escaped and they know you are back from France. I think it’s urgent, even immediate. And the men you named here in England, together, won’t wait. You should go back to Lisson Grove and—”

  “I’m going to Osborne,” Pitt said, cutting across him. “I don’t have anyone else I can send, and if you’re right, we could already be late.”

  “You’re going to Lisson Grove,” Narraway repeated. “You are head of Special Branch, not a foot soldier to be going into battle. What happens to the operation if you are shot, captured, or simply where no one can reach you? Stop thinking like an adventurer and think like a leader. You need to find out exactly whom you can trust, and you need to do it by the end of tomorrow.” He glanced at the ormolu clock on the mantel. “Today,” he corrected. “I’ll go to Osborne. I can at least warn them, perhaps find a way of holding off whatever attack there is until you can send men to relieve us.”

  “You may not be let in,” Vespasia pointed out to him. “You have no standing now.”

  Narraway winced. Clearly he had forgotten that aspect of his loss of office.

  “I’ll come with you,” Vespasia said, not as an offer but as a statement. “I am known there. Unless I am very unfortunate, they will admit me, at least to the house. If I explain what has happened, and the danger, the butler will give me audience with the queen. I still have to decide what to tell her once I am in her company.”

  Pitt did not argue. The logic of it was only too clear. He rose to his feet. “Then we had better return and begin. Charlotte, you will come with me as far as Keppel Street. Narraway and Aunt Vespasia had better take the carriage and set out for the Isle of Wight.”

  Vespasia looked at Pitt, then at Narraway. “I think a couple of hours’ sleep would be wise,” she said firmly. “And then breakfast before we begin. We are going to make some very serious judgments, and perhaps fight some hard battles. We will not do it well if we are mentally or physically so much less than our best.”

  Pitt wanted to argue with her, but he was exhausted. If it was in any way acceptable he would like to lie down for an hour or two and allow his mind to let go of everything. He couldn’t remember when he had last relaxed totally, let alone had the inner peace of knowing that Charlotte was beside him, that she was safe.

  He looked at Narraway.

  Narraway gave a bleak smile. “It’s good advice. We’ll get up at four, and leave at five.” He glanced toward Vespasia to see that it met with her agreement.

  She nodded.

  “I’m coming with you,” Charlotte said. There was no question in her voice, just a simple statement. She turned to Pitt. “I’m sorry. It is not a question of not wanting to be left out, or of any idea that I am indispensable. But I can’t let Aunt Vespasia travel alone. It would be remarked on, for a start. Surely the servants at Osborne would consider it very odd?”

  Of course she was right. Pitt should have thought of it himself. It was a large omission on his part that he had not. “Of course,” he agreed. “Now let’s retire while we still have a couple of hours left.”

  When they were upstairs and the door closed Charlotte looked at him with gentleness and intense apology. “I’m sorry …,” she began.

  “Be quiet,” he answered. “Let’s just be together, while we can.”

  She walked into his arms and held him close. He was so tired that he was almost asleep on his feet. Moments later, when they lay down, he was dimly aware that she was still holding him.

  IN THE MORNING PITT left to return to Lisson Grove. Charlotte, Vespasia, and Narraway took the coach south along the main road to the nearest railway station to catch the next train to Southampton, and from there the ferry to the Isle of Wight.

  “If nothing is happening yet we may have a little trouble in gaining an audience with the queen,” Narraway said when they were sitting in a private compartment in the train. The soothing rattle of the wheels over the rails rhythmically clattered at every joint. “But if the enemy are there already, we will have to think of a better way of getting inside.”

  “Can we purchase a black Gladstone bag in Southampton?” Charlotte suggested. “With a few bottles and powders from an apothecary, Victor could pose as a doctor. I shall be his nurse.” She glanced at Vespasia. “Or your lady’s maid. I have no skills in either, but am sufficiently plainly dressed to pass, at least briefly.”

  Vespasia considered for only a moment. “An excellent idea,” she agreed. “But we should get you a plainer gown, and an apron. A good white one, without ornament, should serve for either calling. I think Victor’s nurse would be better. The staff will be very familiar with lady’s maids; nurses they might know less. Do you agree, Victor?”

  There was a flash of amusement in his eyes. “Of course. We will arrange it all as soon as we arrive at the station.”

  “You think we are late already, don’t you?” Charlotte said to him.

  He made no pretense. “Yes. If I were they, I would have acted by now.”

  An hour and a half later they approached the spacious, comfortable house in which Queen Victoria had chosen to spend so many years of her life, particularly since the death of Prince Albert. Osborne seemed to offer her a comfort she found nowhere else in the more magnificent castles and palaces that were also hers.

  The house looked totally at peace in the fitful spring sun. Most of the trees were in leaf, in a clean, almost gleaming translucency. The grass was vivid green. There was blossom on the blackthorn, and the hawthorn was in heavy bud.

  Osborne was set in the gently rolling parkland that one would expect of any family mansion of the extremely wealthy. Much of the land was wooded, but there were also wide, well-kept sweeps of grass that gave it a feeling of great space and light. The house had been designed by Prince Albert himself, who had clearly much admired the opulent elegance of the Italian villas. It had two magnificent square towers, which were flat-topped and had tall windows on all sides. The main building copied the same squared lines, and the sunlight seemed to reflect on glass in every aspect. One could only imagine the beauty of the inside.

  Their carriage pulled up and they alighted, thanking the driver and paying him.

  “You�
�ll be wanting me to wait,” the cabbie said with a nod. “You can look, but that’s all. Her Majesty’s in residence. You don’t get no closer than this.”

  Vespasia paid him generously. “No thank you. You may leave us.”

  He shrugged and obeyed, turning his vehicle around and muttering to the horse about tourists with no sense.

  “There is nothing for us to wait for either,” Narraway said ruefully. “I can’t tell anything from the outside, can you? It all looks just as I imagine it should. There’s even a gardener at work over there.” He did not point but inclined his head.

  Charlotte glanced in the direction he indicated and saw a man bent over a hoe, his attention apparently on the ground. The scene looked rural and pleasantly domestic. Some of her anxiety eased. Perhaps they had been more frightened than necessary. They were in time. Now they must avoid looking foolish, not only for the sake of pride, but so that when they gave the warning the royal household staff would take them seriously. Anyway, it would not be long before Pitt would send reinforcements who were trained for just this sort of duty, and the danger would be past.

  Unless, of course, they were mistaken, and the blow would strike somewhere else. Was this yet another brilliant diversion? Narraway forced himself to smile in the sunlight. “I feel a trifle ridiculous carrying this case now.”

  “Hold on to it as if it were highly valuable to you,” Vespasia said very quietly. “You will need it. That man is no more a gardener than you are. He doesn’t know a weed from a flower. Don’t look at him, or he will become alarmed. Doctors called out to the queen are not concerned with men hoeing the heads off petunias.”

  Charlotte felt the sun burn in her eyes. The huge house in front of them seemed to blur and go fuzzy in her vision. Ahead of her, Vespasia’s back was ruler-straight. Her head with its fashionable hat was as high and level as if she were sailing into a garden party as an honored guest.