Dorchester Terrace

by Anne Perry

  She must make her own inquiries. The day after tomorrow Duke Alois Habsburg would land in Dover. There was no time to spare for subtlety. It was not a thought she wished to face, but she knew who she must ask for this possibly dangerous piece of knowledge. She had reached the point where the price of evasion would be greater than that of asking.

  VESPASIA ALIGHTED IN CAVENDISH Square the next morning at a quarter to ten. It had been a long time—over two decades—since she had last seen Bishop Magnus Collier. He was a little older than she, and had retired several years earlier.

  The footman who answered the door had no idea who she was. She offered her card, telling him that she was an old acquaintance and the matter was of extreme urgency.

  He looked doubtful.

  “His lordship would not be amused should you leave me standing on the step in the street,” she said coldly.

  He invited her in and, in a manner no more than civil, showed her to a morning room where the fire was not yet lit. It was fifteen very cool minutes before he returned, pink-faced, and conducted her into the bishop’s study. There, the fire was burning well, and the warmth in the air wrapped around her comfortingly.

  She accepted the offer of tea, and occupied herself looking at the rows of bookshelves. Many of the titles she was familiar with from long ago, though they were works she had never read herself. She found the writings of most of the very early Church fathers more than a trifle pompous.

  She heard the door open and close and turned to find Bishop Collier standing just inside, a curious smile on his lean face. He was very thin, and far grayer than when they had last met, but the warmth in his eyes had not changed.

  “All my life it has been a pleasure to see you,” he said quietly. “But I am concerned that you say it is a matter of such urgency. It must be, to bring you here, after our last parting. What can I do to help?”

  “I’m sorry,” she said softly, and she meant it. The impossible feelings they had once had for each other were no longer there, but it had still been wise for them to decide not to meet again. They had to consider the perceptions of the outside world.

  He gestured toward the chairs near the fire and they both sat. She arranged her skirts with a practiced hand, in a single, graceful movement.

  “Perhaps you read that Serafina Montserrat died recently?” she began.

  “Time is catching up with us rather more rapidly than I expected,” he said ruefully. “But perhaps that is its nature, and ours is to be taken by surprise by what was utterly predictable. But I’m sure you did not come to discuss the nature of time and its peculiar elastic qualities. I hope her passing was easy. She was a remarkable woman. She would have faced death with courage. I would be surprised if it had the temerity to inconvenience her overmuch.”

  Vespasia smiled in spite of herself. She was reminded sharply of what it was in him that she had liked so much, and why they had decided to stay apart.

  “I think it was simply a matter of going to sleep and not waking again,” she replied. “The part of it that brings me here is that the sleep was the result of having been given a massive overdose of laudanum.”

  All the light vanished from his face. He leaned forward a little. “Are you saying that it was given to her without her knowledge, or that she took it herself, intending to die? I find the latter very difficult to believe.”

  “No, that isn’t what I am saying. She rambled in her mind, sometimes forgot what year it was, or to whom she was speaking, which caused her profound anxiety. She was worried she would accidentally let slip a confidence that could do much damage.” She recalled the terror on Serafina’s face with acute pain. “She did make such slips, and she was murdered because of it.”

  He shook his head. “Are you certain beyond doubt?”

  “Yes. But that is not why I have come. My concern is with one of the secrets she let slip, and the damage it could cause now.”

  “What can I do to help?” He looked puzzled.

  “The secret concerns an affair she had very many years ago, with the late Lord Tregarron.” She stopped, seeing the change in his face, the sudden darkness. It would be impossible now for him to deny that he was bitterly aware of what it was she was going to ask.

  “I cannot repeat to you things that were told to me in confidence,” he said. “Surely you know better than to ask?”

  “There is a very slight deviousness in you, Magnus,” she said with a curve of her lips that was almost a smile. “Anything Tregarron might have told you may be confidential, although the man has been dead for years. What Serafina told you, though, I doubt was in the nature of confession. Is keeping confidence about an old affair really so very important that we can allow it to cost a man his life now? And, if the worst comes to pass, it may be more than one life at stake.”

  “Surely you are exaggerating?” he demurred, but there was no conviction in his eyes.

  This time she did smile. “You are not built for deceit, Magnus.”

  “What is it that you imagine I am hiding, Vespasia?” he asked.

  “A truth that is a great deal uglier than a mere indiscretion,” she replied.

  “He was married,” he pointed out reasonably. “It was a betrayal of his vows to his wife.”

  “Would you excommunicate him for it?” She raised her silver eyebrows curiously.

  “Of course not! And I daresay he repented. I do not have the right to assume that he did not.”

  “Of course you don’t,” she agreed. “So we may dispense with the fiction that it had anything to do with that.”

  “But it did, I assure you,” he said immediately.

  “A sophistry, Magnus. I gather it sprang from that. By having an affair with Serafina he laid himself open to blackmail. He may have wished profoundly at the time to keep the matter secret. He was in a senior diplomatic position in Vienna. It would have made his discretion severely suspect.”

  His gaze wavered for an instant. “I cannot tell you, Vespasia.”

  “You do not need to, my dear. I can deduce it for myself. Now that I know where to look, I can inform the appropriate people.”

  “I believe Victor Narraway is no longer in office,” he observed, this time meeting her gaze squarely.

  “That is true. His place has been taken by Thomas Pitt, who is married to my grandniece. I have known Thomas for years. His brother-in-law is Jack Radley, who is assistant to the present Lord Tregarron.”

  “Vespasia! Please …” he began, then stopped.

  “I assume it was treason of which his father was guilty?” she said so quietly it was almost a whisper.

  “I cannot say,” he answered, but his face showed that she was right.

  She stood up slowly. “I’m sorry. You deserved better from me than this. Were it not now a matter of treason, and more murder yet to come, I would not have asked.”

  He rose also. “You always had the better of me, in the end.”

  “It was not a battle, Magnus. I understood you more than you did me, because your beliefs were never hidden. It is a good way to be. I am glad you have not changed. That is your victory; don’t regard it as anything else.”

  He smiled, but his eyes were still grave. “Be careful, Vespasia. Although I suppose that is a foolish thing to say. You haven’t changed either.”

  VESPASIA HAD NO DOUBT now what she must do. She would have liked to have seen Jack at his rooms in the Foreign Office, but she could not go there without Tregarron being aware of it. Instead she would have to speak to Emily, and hope to impress on her the desperate urgency of what she had to say.

  As it transpired, Emily was not at home. Vespasia had to either wait for her or leave and return again in the late afternoon. She went home and used her telephone—an instrument of which she was becoming increasingly fond. However, on this most urgent occasion it did not help her. She failed to contact Victor Narraway, or Charlotte, and she did not dare spark curiosity or alarm by trying to reach Jack.

  So, in the end, she r
eturned to Emily’s home at five o’clock. She had only half an hour to wait before Emily herself arrived.

  “Aunt Vespasia!” She was instantly concerned. “The butler tells me you called this morning as well. Is everything all right? What has happened? It … it isn’t Jack, is it?” Now she was afraid.

  “No, not at all. As far as I know Jack is perfectly well, at least so far,” Vespasia replied. “But there is a situation of which he is unaware, which may endanger him very badly, unless he acts now. It will not be easy, but I am afraid circumstances may not allow him the luxury of waiting.”

  “What?” Emily demanded. “What is it?”

  “When do you expect him home?”

  Emily glanced at the ormolu clock on the mantel. “In half an hour, maybe a little more. Can you not tell me what it is?”

  “Not yet. Perhaps you would care for a cup of tea while we wait?” Vespasia suggested.

  Emily apologized for her oversight in hospitality and rang the bell for the maid. When she had requested the tea, she paced the floor, unable to relax. Vespasia thought of asking her to desist, and then changed her mind.

  When Jack got home, the butler informed him of the situation. He stopped only to hand his overcoat to the footman before he went to the withdrawing room.

  He saw Emily at the window. She swung around to face him as soon as she heard the door. Vespasia was sitting on the sofa before the fire. The remnants of cookies and tea were on the tray, Emily’s un-drunk.

  “Is it something serious?” Jack said, as soon as he had greeted them both.

  “I am afraid it is,” Vespasia replied. “If Emily is to remain, then she will have to give her word that she will repeat no part of this to anyone at all, not even Charlotte or Thomas. And in my opinion it would be better if she left.”

  “I’m staying,” Emily said firmly.

  “You are not,” Jack responded. “If I think it is wise, I shall tell you afterward. Thank you for keeping Aunt Vespasia company until I arrived.”

  Emily drew in her breath to argue. Then she looked again at his face, and obediently left the room. On the way out, she instructed the footman to see that no one intruded into the withdrawing room for any reason.

  Briefly, and with as few explanations as she could manage, Vespasia told Jack what she had learned.

  He stood by the fire, his mind racing, his whole body feeling battered. He wanted to cry out that it was impossible: only a collection of circumstances that did not fit together and, in the end, meant nothing at all.

  But even as the words formed in his mouth, he knew that it was not so. There were other things that Vespasia did not know, but that fit into place like the last pieces of a jigsaw: the way Tregarron had dismissed Pitt, the contradictions in the reports that Jack had tried not to see. The small items of information that had turned up with people who should not have known them.

  “I’m sorry,” Vespasia said quietly. “I know you believed that Tregarron was a good man, and that it was a considerable promotion for you to assist him as closely as you do. But he will be brought down, Jack, sooner or later. You must see to it that you do not go down with him. Treason is not a forgivable offense.”

  But Jack’s mind was already elsewhere. Tomorrow Alois Habsburg was due to arrive in Dover. Pitt would go there tonight to be on the train with him when he came up to London. Tregarron had left the office at midday. There was no decision to be made. Of course Tregarron had denied that there was going to be an attempt on Alois’s life—he was the one who was going to make it!

  “I’m going to warn Thomas,” he said, his voice shaking. “I must go immediately. We’ll leave for Dover tonight. Please tell Emily.” He turned and strode toward the door.

  “Jack!” Vespasia called after him.

  “I have no time to stay. I’m sorry!”

  “I know you don’t,” she replied. “My carriage is at the door. Take it.”

  “Thank you,” he said over his shoulder. He ran out onto the footpath and looked for the carriage. It was only a few yards away. He called out to the coachman and gave Pitt’s home address. Then he stopped. Should he go to Lisson Grove?

  “Sir?” The coachman waited for his confirmation.

  “No—right! Keppel Street.” Jack scrambled into the carriage and it pulled away from the curb. He sat white-knuckled while they raced through the streets. It was not far, but it seemed as if they must’ve crossed half of London.

  They skated to a stop. He flung the door open and strode over the pavement. He knocked on the door, which was opened by Minnie Maude.

  “Yes, sir?”

  “Is Commander Pitt at home?”

  “No, sir. I’m afraid yer just missed ’im.”

  “Has he gone to Lisson Grove?”

  “No, sir. ’E’s gone ter the railway station.”

  “How long ago? Quickly!”

  “Quarter of an hour, sir. Mrs. Pitt’s at ’ome, if you’d like to see her.”

  “No … thank you.” He swung around and went back to the carriage. He was too late. There was nothing he could do now but go home and get money, and perhaps a swordstick from the library, and go down to Dover himself.

  PITT WOKE UP IN the morning with a jolt, taking a moment to adjust to his strange surroundings and remember where he was. It should not have been difficult. He had spent enough of the night lying awake staring at the unfamiliar streetlamp patterns on the ceiling of his hotel room in Dover.

  This was the day Alois Habsburg was to land and take the London train. From the moment he set foot on English soil he was Pitt’s responsibility.

  He had gone over the plans in his mind, trying to think of anything more he could do to foresee the attack, exactly where it would come, and how, if it would even come at all. But doubt nagged him: Had they been carefully misdirected here, to Dover and Duke Alois, when in reality the crime waiting to be committed was something entirely different? In the small hours of the night he thought of the Bank of England, the Tower of London, and the crown jewels, even the Houses of Parliament.

  Pitt had fallen asleep without any answers.

  Now he rose quickly, washed, shaved, and dressed. There was time for a quick breakfast, and it would be stupid not to eat. The best decisions were seldom made on an empty stomach.

  He found Stoker in the dining room but they sat separately, to draw less attention to themselves. They left a few moments apart too. It was probably completely unnecessary, but better than being careless.

  They were close to the docks anyway. It took them only ten minutes to be at the pier, where the cross-Channel ferry was already approaching. Pitt stood with his hands in his pockets watching the outlines of the boat as it came closer across the choppy gray water. He hunched his shoulders and turned his collar up against the chill of the wind. He liked the smell of salt, even the tar and oil and fish odors, but somehow sea wind was colder. It crept through every crevice in clothing, no matter how carefully one dressed.

  He knew where Stoker was, and the other three men he had brought, but never once did he look at them. He had not asked assistance from the Dover police. They were there as a courtesy, knowing from the Austrian Embassy of Duke Alois’s visit, but he had weighed the issues and decided it was better not to let them think there was any particular danger.

  He was standing in the wind, part of the crowd, when he felt a nudge next to him and half-turned. Jack was standing beside him, pale-faced, cold, his coat collar turned up.

  “You were right,” Jack said before Pitt could speak. “It’s Tregarron. I’m sorry. Serafina seduced his father into an affair, then because of it, he was blackmailed into committing treason. It was all a long time ago, and obviously he’s dead now, but the present Lord Tregarron was desperate to conceal it, for his own protection, and his mother’s too, I imagine. It … it explains a few other things he was doing. I should have seen it earlier. I didn’t want to.”

  Pitt looked at him with surprise and a sudden warmth of affection. “You came d
own here to tell me?”

  “Of course.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Be careful …” Jack warned urgently.

  Pitt smiled. “I will. You should get back home, before you’re missed.”

  “Can’t I help?”

  “You just did. We may need you back home yet, if Tregarron’s at the party this evening.”

  Jack smiled and moved off into the crowd.

  The ferry was nosing in gently; in a few minutes the gangway would be lowered. The Port Authority had told Pitt that Duke Alois would be disembarking first. It would have been better had he come amid the other passengers, less conspicuous, but it would have been contrary to protocol, and thereby would have signaled that Special Branch felt unable to protect him under normal circumstances. It was a debate Pitt had had with himself, and he was still not sure if he had come to the right answer.

  He watched as the docking procedure took place. It seemed infinitely slow, and yet when the slender, elegant figure appeared at the top of the gangway, dark hair blowing in the wind, Pitt felt a leap of alarm. His mind raced to think of anything he might have missed, failed to do, or not thought of, and what Reibnitz, if he was really here, would have prepared for.

  Alois came down the steps, slowly, giving a slight salute and smiling at the dignitaries waiting at the bottom to welcome him. He was followed by four casually dressed, very fashionable men around his own age. None of them was in uniform. Pitt was seized with a sudden conviction that they didn’t have the faintest idea that there would be any danger. They were on a foreign vacation to a country where they had no enemies, no rivals, and no one who could be anything but delighted to see them.