by Anne Perry
“Thank you,” she accepted, going into the warmth of the hallway. It was windy outside. Already the light was fading from the sky, and dusk was in the air. “That would be very pleasant. Perhaps I may leave a message for Mrs. Radley?”
“Certainly, ma’am. I shall bring you a pen and paper, unless you would prefer to use Mrs. Radley’s desk in the morning room?”
“That would be a very good idea. Thank you.”
“I’ll have your tea served here when you return. Would you care for hot crumpets and butter as well?”
She smiled at him, liking his thoughtfulness. “Yes, please.”
She found the paper in Emily’s desk and wrote:
Dear Emily,
I came by on the spur of the moment, because I quite suddenly realized how little I wish to quarrel with you. There is nothing of such importance that I should allow it to make me unreasonable or ill-tempered.
She hesitated. Maybe she was taking rather too much of the blame for what had been, at the very least, quite as much Emily’s fault? No, better to continue in this vein. She could always be a trifle sharper if Emily took advantage. And it was true: none of the differences mattered, in the end.
All that is good outweighs everything else, and small differences must not be allowed to matter.
Affectionately,
Charlotte
She folded the note and put it in her reticule, then put the top back on the ink and laid the pen down.
She returned to the morning room, and hot tea and crumpets were served to her a few moments later. She gave her note to the footman, thanked him, and sat down to enjoy her treat, before going back outside into the cold to look for a hansom to take her home again.
BREAKFAST ON KEPPEL STREET on March the fifth was as busy as usual. Daniel and Jemima had to get off to school, homework packed in satchels, boots on, coats buttoned, and with scarves and gloves that matched each other. No matter how much care was taken the evening before, there always seemed to be something to hunt for. It was a sharp, icy morning with a knife-edge to the wind. Scarves were tied tightly. A button was found hanging loose. Charlotte hastily fetched a needle, thread, thimble, and scissors to attach it more securely before she bundled them both out the front door. At least there was now a tentative peace between them and they went down the pavement side by side.
Pitt had been debating with himself whether to seek Charlotte’s opinion about the next step he planned to take in the case of Duke Alois, or not to trouble her with it. If he was mistaken, either way, he would jeopardize his position, and therefore the future of them all. Even Minnie Maude, standing at the sink washing dishes, would be without a job, or a home.
Did he want to tell Charlotte because she might actually help, or simply because it would be less lonely for him?
Charlotte took a small piece of cheese out of the cupboard near the door. “Have we got any more of this in the back pantry?” she asked Minnie Maude.
Minnie Maude took her hands out of the water. “I’ll go an’ look, ma’am,” she said quickly.
“No, it’s all right. You’re busy. I’ll see myself,” Charlotte replied, turning to do so.
“No!” Minnie Maude dripped water on the floor in her haste, then wiped her hands on her apron. “I’ll go. I’m not sure where I put it.” She went almost at a run, her heels clattering on the floor. Archie and Angus, the two cats curled up together in the wood basket by the stove, opened their eyes. Archie spat with irritation.
Charlotte shook her head, glancing at Pitt. “I don’t know what it is with that girl,” she said with a sigh and a smile. “I’d think she was keeping a lover in that pantry, if I didn’t know better.”
Pitt was startled. He put his empty cup down and stared at her in alarm.
“Oh, don’t be ridiculous!” she said with a laugh. “There’s nobody there, Thomas! It’s just her own little bit of space. I think she goes out there just to sit and think sometimes. Coming here is a big change for her. She’s very aware of trying to fill Gracie’s shoes, you know.” As she passed him, moving to the cupboard over the sink, she touched him gently, just brushing her hand over his hair. “You should understand that.”
So she had seen his apprehension about trying to fill Narraway’s place, perhaps more keenly than he had wanted her to. But why should he have doubted it? She had known him longer and better than anyone else in his life. Hers was not a blind love, nor one that chose to believe only what was comfortable. It was open-eyed, which perhaps was the only type of love that was safe in the end, and therefore infinitely precious.
“She’s good, though, isn’t she?” he asked.
“Yes, she’s excellent,” Charlotte answered. “But she’s not Gracie, and I have to keep remembering that. By the way, Gracie came by the other day. She looks so happy I couldn’t but be happy for her too.”
“You didn’t mention it!” he said quickly.
“You were rather occupied with Jack and Lord Tregarron.”
“Oh. Well, I intend to see the prime minister today, so that will probably make it even worse. I’m sorry.”
She bit her lip. “Don’t be. Emily’ll get over it. She’s desperate for Jack to succeed. I hope he doesn’t know how much. I hope he has no idea how afraid she is that he might not. I can’t imagine living with that.”
“I don’t think she needs to worry—” he began.
“Thomas! I’m not talking about her!” she protested. “I mean him! He would know she doubted him.”
He drew in a deep breath. “Aren’t you afraid for me … at least sometimes?” He instantly wished he had not asked, but it was too late.
“You’ve already succeeded at enough things that I can live with a failure or two,” she said perfectly steadily. “Nobody wins all the time, unless what they’re aiming at is pretty easy.”
For a moment emotion robbed him of any words at all. His chest was so tight that he gulped in a breath. He grasped her hand and pulled her toward him and held her until he heard Minnie Maude’s footsteps in the corridor.
She came in holding a large wedge of cheese and Charlotte took it from her with a wide smile.
Pitt said good-bye, and went into the hall for his coat.
PITT SENT HIS REQUEST through the right channels, but he refused to explain himself to footmen or secretaries.
“I am Commander of Special Branch, and I need to advise the prime minister of an incident that, if we do not prevent it, could be disastrous to Great Britain.” He gave no more detail than that, except that the matter was urgent.
It was a little after midday when he was received at Downing Street, residence of the prime minister, the Marquess of Salisbury.
“Good afternoon, Commander,” Salisbury said grimly. He held out his hand, since it was the first time they had met in this present capacity. “I trust this is as grave as you imply?” There was warning in his tone that, if he had been misled, the consequences for Pitt would be unpleasant.
“If it takes place, yes, sir,” Pitt replied, sitting in the chair Salisbury indicated. “I am hoping we can prevent it.”
“Then you had better tell me what it is, and quickly. I have a meeting with the chancellor of the Exchequer in forty minutes.” Salisbury sat opposite him, but was clearly not at ease.
Pitt had already decided, while walking here through the rising wind, trying to keep his hat on, that he would say nothing about the likelihood of the threat to European stability, unless he was asked. His answer should be clear: no prevaricating or defending himself in advance.
“The assassination of Duke Alois Habsburg, grandnephew of Emperor Franz Josef of Austria, sir. He is due to visit one of our own queen’s great-nephews, here in London, in eleven days’ time. It appears as if the murder itself may be committed by causing a major rail crash between Dover and London.” He forced himself to add no more. Salisbury’s expression of dismay told him that the Foreign Secretary had not relayed the earlier warning Pitt had given him.
“A rail
crash? Good God!” Salisbury’s long, pale face went a shade paler. “I suppose you are perfectly sure of what you’re saying?” He squinted at Pitt, as if it was his eyesight he disbelieved rather than his hearing.
Pitt chose his words carefully. The prime minister’s reaction today, and his future confidence in Pitt’s judgment, depended on them.
“I am sure that such an attempt is being planned, sir. However, I do not know by whom, nor where it will take place. So far I am certain only that the duke’s route from Vienna all the way to London is being checked by people we know as anarchists, men with backgrounds of violence. We cannot afford to take the threat lightly.”
“Lightly? What sane man would?” Salisbury was irritated; he had been caught on the wrong foot because no one had prepared him.
Pitt tried to think what Narraway would do. Pitt could not treat the Marquess of Salisbury as an equal, as Narraway might have, but he needed to remain in control of the situation.
“Only someone who disbelieved it, sir,” he said quietly. “And on the face of it, there seems to be no reason to harm Duke Alois, so the attempt makes little sense.”
Salisbury nodded.
Pitt continued, “I need to find out if in fact someone else is the intended target, or alternatively, if Duke Alois is far more important than he seems. All I can learn so far is that he is a quiet, rather academically inclined young man who spends his time studying philosophy and science, but at no one else’s expense. He is quite well liked, has plenty of money of his own, is unmarried so far, and has no political affiliations that we can trace. In other words, he is perfectly harmless.”
Salisbury’s face was grim. “Whose wife or daughter is he sleeping with?” he asked.
Pitt grimaced. “That I don’t know. But if that were the case, it seems an extreme way of dealing with it—plotting such a violent assassination, and in a foreign country.”
“You are right,” Salisbury agreed. “Quite likely he has political convictions we don’t know about—and that’s not impossible; Crown Prince Rudolf certainly had. He was a walking disaster waiting to occur, according to my information, after the fact, of course.”
Pitt made no comment. That was a diplomatic issue, not Special Branch’s.
“It could be that either Duke Alois is very much cleverer than he pretends to be,” Salisbury went on, “or the target is someone in his retinue. Alternatively, the whole thing has another purpose, such as to embarrass Britain and put us at a serious disadvantage in some future negotiation. You must prevent it. Whatever help you need, get it. What is it you want from me?” He frowned. “Why aren’t you in the Foreign Secretary’s Office?”
“Lord Tregarron does not believe the threat is real, sir,” Pitt replied. “But Mr. Evan Blantyre does.”
Salisbury sat without moving for several moments. “I see,” he said finally. “Well, we’ll go with your judgment, Pitt. Take whatever steps you need to make absolutely certain that when Duke Alois comes to England, he has a safe and happy visit, and leaves in peace. If he is killed, let it be in France, or Austria, not here. And, please God, not by an Englishman.” He bit his lip and stared at Pitt, his voice suddenly husky. “You don’t suppose that this rail crash is a diversion, and it is actually the queen these lunatics are after, do you?”
That was a thought that had not even crossed Pitt’s mind. “No, sir, I don’t,” he said, hoping to God he was right, but far from sure. “Although it might be advisable for Her Majesty not to visit this young man in Kensington Palace. We have more than enough guards present to take care of her in Buckingham Palace.” He allowed himself the barest smile. “I am sufficiently acquainted with Her Majesty to know that advice for her safety will be received well.”
Salisbury grunted. “True. And I have not forgotten your accomplishments at Osborne. That is principally why you are in the position you are, and why I listen to you.”
Pitt felt the heat burn up his face. He had not referred to that incident in order to remind the prime minister of his own success, and now he felt extraordinarily clumsy to have mentioned it at all.
Salisbury smiled. “You are not in an enviable position, Commander. But it is my belief that you are the best man for the job. I would be deeply obliged if you would prove me right.”
Pitt stood up, his legs a little stiff. “Yes, sir. Thank you.”
WHEN PITT RETURNED TO Lisson Grove he found a message from Blantyre waiting for him, asking Pitt to contact him as soon as possible. Pitt telephoned, and they met at Blantyre’s club for a late luncheon.
Pitt had never been in such a place before, except as a policeman investigating a case and thus coming to speak to one of the members. Now, he was conducted by a uniformed steward who treated him with the respect he’d show any other guest. They walked through the oak-paneled corridors, hung with hunting scenes and Stubbs’s paintings of horses. The men’s feet were soundless on the carpet. Blantyre was waiting for Pitt at the entrance to the dining room, and together they went to the table and took their seats, watched by life-sized portraits of the Duke of Wellington, the Duke of Marlborough, and a rather fanciful portrait of Henry V at Agincourt.
“All a bit military, isn’t it?” Blantyre said with an apologetic smile. “But the food’s excellent, and they’ll leave us alone as long as we wish, which is rather what I need at the moment. I recommend the roast beef—it’s really very good—with a decent Burgundy. A trifle heavy, I know, but well worth it.”
“Thank you,” Pitt accepted. His mind was too occupied with why Blantyre had called this meeting to be concerned with what he might eat.
The steward came and Blantyre ordered for both of them, including the wine. As soon as they were alone, he started to speak.
“This young man, Duke Alois,” he said, looking at Pitt, his dark brows puckered. “Did you find out anything more about him?”
“I can find nothing that would make him worth anybody’s time or energy to assassinate,” Pitt replied. “If he is indeed the target, then I have to assume that there is a completely different reason for killing him.”
“My thoughts precisely,” Blantyre agreed. “I have called on friends in Austria, and in Germany too. All I can find is that he is a harmless young aristocrat who intends nothing more adventurous than to while away his life studying the subjects that interest him.”
“Are you certain?” Pitt pressed.
Blantyre indicated the food just served them. “Please eat. You will enjoy it. And yes, I am certain. My informants tell me he was offered a very agreeable post in diplomacy, and declined it. At least he was honest enough to say that he had no disposition to be restricted in such a way.”
Pitt was beginning to feel impatient with Duke Alois, but he did not show it.
“On the other hand,” Blantyre went on, beginning to eat his meal, “he also appears to listen with great attention to the music of Gustav Mahler, and even Schoenberg, this new young composer who creates such odd, dissonant sounds. Is he interested and looking for meaning, or merely for a new experience? I think the latter more likely.” There was a sadness in his voice and in his dark eyes. “A typical Austrian: one eye laughing, the other weeping. But I think it is better to do a small thing well than nothing at all. However, I am not a royal duke, thank God. Nothing is expected of me.”
Pitt looked at him with a new appreciation of his sympathy and imagination. He had raised, as if perfectly natural to him, issues that Pitt had not considered.
“It is peculiarly repugnant to kill someone so innocent of any harm, or use,” Blantyre said wryly. There was no malice in his tone, only a slight sadness. “Is it a good thing or a bad thing not to be worth anyone’s effort to kill you?” He said it with a gentle, droll humor, looking at Pitt very directly.
Pitt answered with hesitation. “At times, most comfortable, and unquestionably safer, but I think in the end I should regret it. It seems like an opportunity wasted, let slip through your fingers like dry sand.”
Blantyre
sighed. “I suppose you sleep better, for whatever that is worth? But I’d rather not spend my entire life emotionally asleep, however intellectually absorbing my pursuits.”
Pitt watched silently as the steward poured more of the dark Burgundy into their cut-crystal glasses; the light burned red through them.
“But this is not why I asked you to come,” Blantyre said, his face emptying of all pleasure. “Events seem to have taken a new turn. A man named Erich Staum has been seen in Dover, apparently working as a road sweeper.” He stopped, watching Pitt closely. “He is known to certain political authorities in Vienna as an assassin of unusual skill and imagination.”
To give himself time to think, Pitt sipped more wine. It was extremely good, a quality he was totally unused to. Perhaps it would have been familiar to Narraway.
“I suppose you are sure about this?” he asked with a smile, looking at the wine in his glass.
“There is doubt,” Blantyre admitted. “But very slight. He has a face that is not easy to forget, especially his eyes. The man in question was dressed in ill-fitting and dirty clothes, with a broom in his hands; but if one imagines him upright and shorn of the submissiveness, he is too like Staum to ignore the probability. He has used the guise of a railway porter before, and also a hansom cab driver, and a postman.”
“I see,” Pitt said quietly. Dustmen pushed carts with their equipment, and collected rubbish. No one gave them a second glance. It was the perfect disguise to carry explosives. People take no notice of a road sweeper, not to mention his cart. “Why Duke Alois?” he asked, looking up at Blantyre again. “We still have not answered that.”
“Staum is for hire.” Blantyre shook his head very slightly, barely a movement at all. “Anarchists don’t always select victims for any reason. But you know that better than I do.”
His hands clenched on his knife and fork. “Things are getting worse, Pitt, more dangerous every year. Violent socialism is rising, national borders are moving around like the tide. There seems to be unrest everywhere and wild ideas and philosophies multiplying like rabbits. I admit, I am afraid for the future.” There was no melodrama in his voice, just a foreboding and the darkness of real fear. It shadowed his face, making his features pinched, more ascetic.
