by Anne Perry
The mayor of Dover stepped forward and the welcome began. It was a long, highly formal affair.
Pitt watched the small crowd of people gathered to observe the event, or who were simply here to meet their own friends and family. He tried to appear as if he was looking for some family member himself. He saw Stoker and his other men come a little closer as Duke Alois moved away with the mayor and his officials.
“Looks as if he has no idea of danger,” Stoker said quietly as they walked side by side from the dock along the street toward the railway station. “I suppose somebody did tell him?”
Pitt did not reply; Salisbury had said he had informed the duke—so perhaps the duke’s nonchalance was an act? He wasn’t sure.
Stoker grunted, and increased his pace.
Pitt was tense as Duke Alois and his men stepped up into a carriage and the horses moved off at a walk. The general traffic had been held back to allow them passage. Pitt looked down and across the street, but he saw no dust carts, no sweepers. Where was Staum?
He and Stoker followed after the carriage on foot, watching every movement, occasionally glancing up at higher windows above shops and offices. The wind was gusty, with a light spatter of rain, and as far as he could see, none of the stores were open. Still, he was nervous.
He glanced at Stoker, and saw the same anxiety in his face, in the stiff, tight-muscled way he walked.
If there was no attack in Dover, did that mean it was going to be on the train after all? A diversion? A crash?
The station was in sight. Two hundred yards to go.
A dust cart trundled by, wheels bouncing on uneven stones. Pitt and Stoker stared at the man wheeling it, but he was very old and wizened, and was steering the cart in the opposite direction.
Fifty yards, and then they were there. Duke Alois and his men alighted. The mayor of Dover conducted them inside. Pitt and Stoker gave a last look around, saw nothing suspicious, and followed them in.
The railway station was large and busy. A porter pushed a trolley weighed down with trunks and cases, its wheels rumbling over the platform. A few yards away a family was arguing excitedly, children jumping up and down. A small boy wailed with frustration. A man waved his arms and shouted a greeting. Half a dozen carriage doors slammed in the nearest train, and ahead of them the engine blew out great clouds of steam and smut. Pitt brushed it off his face, unintentionally smearing the dirt across his cheek, to Stoker’s amusement. For an instant the tension was broken.
Pitt wiped away the smut and they pushed their way past other passengers. They reached the train, where the mayor was bidding Duke Alois good-bye. His escort seemed far more attentive now, standing on the platform looking first one direction, then the other, eyes searching.
As Pitt drew closer, he saw that one of them had a hand out of sight under his coat. Pitt knew it rested on the grip of his revolver. Pitt stopped and looked straight at the man’s face.
“Commander Pitt, Special Branch,” he introduced himself. “If you will allow me, I shall show you my identification.”
Before the man could reply, Alois turned from the mayor and stepped toward Pitt, smiling. He had a pleasant face: ascetic and filled with a kind of lopsided amusement.
He held out a hand. “How good of you to come,” he said cheerfully. “Quite unnecessary, I’m sure, but a damned decent gesture.” He spoke English with no trace of an accent.
Pitt offered a hand and met a firm, surprisingly strong grasp.
“How do you do, sir?” he replied. “It probably is unnecessary, but it might still be a good idea to get into the carriage anyway, if you don’t mind.”
“Certainly. Cold out here. Always damned cold, railway platforms, don’t you think?” With alacrity, Duke Alois gave the mayor a small salute, and disappeared into the very handsomely decorated first-class carriage, Pitt a step behind him.
Duke Alois looked around approvingly. “Oh, very comfortable,” he said with satisfaction. “Plenty of room.” He looked at his own escort, standing to attention, waiting for his orders. “You chaps can busy yourselves doing whatever you do, looking out of carriage windows, or watching doors, or whatever. The commander here will have a cup of tea.” He looked at Pitt. “Won’t you?” It was a question, but the look in his light blue eyes was level and unflinching. In its own discreet way it was an order.
“I’d prefer to make sure of the rest of the carriage, sir, if you don’t mind,” Pitt answered.
Duke Alois laughed. “For heaven’s sake, man, have your fellow here do it.” He gestured toward Stoker. “I’m sure he’s excellent. If you brought only him, you can’t really imagine that there’s anything to worry about.”
“There are others,” Pitt told him.
“Very good. Then we shall have a cup of tea, and leave them to it. Come.” He opened the compartment door, and Pitt was obliged to accept.
The duke closed the door, sat down in one of the very comfortable seats, and crossed his legs, indicating the seat opposite for Pitt. Pitt sat down awkwardly; Narraway might have been versed in the art of conversation to entertain an Austrian duke, but Pitt was very definitely not. They could not have had less in common.
Pitt had no interest whatsoever in philosophy, or the more abstract sciences he had been told Duke Alois devoted his time to.
“Very good,” Duke Alois repeated with a smile, stretching out his long legs. “Now we can talk.”
Pitt swallowed. This was the one nightmare he had not foreseen, and he had no idea how to deal with it. What possible excuse could he make to escape?
“I was hoping you would come,” Alois continued. “Rather overplayed the bit about Staum,” he went on. “Nasty little swine, but actually he’s one of ours. Reibnitz too. Have to use them, now and then. I expect you have such men yourself.”
“I beg your p-pardon, sir?” Pitt stammered.
Duke Alois looked amused. His face radiated a pleasure that made him look more relaxed, less studious, and far more like a man on vacation. Was it possible he was even in some way enjoying this? Had he no conception of danger?
Pitt drew in his breath and tried to speak levelly, courteously. For all Duke Alois’s divorce from reality—and, heaven knew, the Habsburgs had bred more than their fair share of imbeciles—he was still a royal duke.
“Sir, we cannot afford to take any threats lightly,” he began.
“I don’t,” Alois assured him. “I am quite aware that it is serious, which is why we should have our conversation immediately, just in case we should be disturbed.”
“Sir—” Pitt began.
Duke Alois held up a hand. “Please don’t interrupt,” he requested. “It is the whole purpose of my journey.” He saw Pitt’s bewilderment. A brief, wry smile lit his face for a moment, then disappeared. “You find that absurd? Good. That means, at least so far, I am succeeding.”
Pitt gritted his teeth.
The duke leaned forward. Now his face was totally earnest. “You have a traitor in your government, Commander Pitt. In your Foreign Office, to be precise. I am happy to give you all the details I have, which are considerable.”
Pitt swallowed. He was out of his depth, but he did not wish Alois to know it.
“And why would you do this, sir?” he asked with what he hoped was an expression of polite interest.
“Because I wish to establish a good working relationship with British Special Branch,” Alois replied. “I believe we may turn this particular gentleman into a double agent, to both our advantages.”
A wild idea occurred to Pitt. He looked at Alois’s face, at his level, intense stare. It was suddenly very apparent that the man had a depth of political intelligence he chose to mask. Pitt took a deep breath and plunged in. “You are speaking of Lord Tregarron, I presume?” His heart pounded so hard it almost choked him.
Slowly Alois smiled, ruefully, like a child whose game has been spoiled. He let out a sigh. “Damn! I thought I had something worth trading. Have I tipped my hand for nothing?”
More wild ideas chased across Pitt’s imagination. “Not necessarily,” he replied. “I have only just realized Tregarron’s treason. I assume it has to do with his father, and Serafina Montserrat, at least to begin with?”
“Indeed. Rather before my time. Even before my predecessor’s,” Alois replied.
“Your predecessor?” Pitt questioned.
“As Victor Narraway was yours,” Alois answered. “The difference between your position and mine is only that I prefer to allow everyone to presume that my only interests are science and philosophy, intellectual hobbies that are of no practical use. It allows me a much greater freedom. Everyone of importance to your position knows exactly who you are. That also must have its advantages, but then, our systems are different. We, alas, are an empire very much in decline. And our emperor is less checked by any parliament than your queen is—or perhaps I should say empress, since she is empress of India, I believe.”
“For what purpose might Tregarron be turned to both our advantages?” Pitt managed to ask, stunned by this revelation.
Alois gave a slight shrug. “I am head of my country’s ‘Special Branch,’ as you are of yours. I do what I think is in our best interest. It is not always exactly what my government would do. But then, I have knowledge that it does not, and perhaps I can see a little further ahead than it can. I am sure you will find yourself in the same position occasionally. It would be to my advantage if Tregarron’s information came directly to me.”
“Doesn’t it anyway?” Pitt asked drily.
“Unfortunately not. It is dictated by Mr. Blantyre, the only one who is aware of Tregarron’s late father’s treason, and his adultery with Mrs. Montserrat. The present Lord Tregarron is particularly concerned that his mother, who is still very much alive, should not learn of it.”
“I think she was probably perfectly aware of it at the time,” Pitt observed.
“Of the affair, probably,” Alois conceded. “The treason is an entirely different matter. How did you know of it, by the way?”
“I deduced it,” Pitt replied, wanting to keep Jack’s name out of the matter.
Duke Alois waited, his clear blue eyes steady, searching Pitt’s face.
“It was the only answer that fit with certain other information I had,” Pitt told him. Then he smiled to indicate that that was all he was going to say on the subject.
“I see. A pity that I had no opportunity to tell you sooner. It is not something I would like known any more widely. It would destroy its possible usefulness.” Alois made a slight gesture of regret, but he did not evade Pitt’s gaze, leaving the question open.
Pitt wanted to weigh every possibility and discuss them with Narraway, but knew that was impossible. He tried to think of any comparable arrangement in the past, and could remember none. If it had ever happened, it was not recorded. But then if he accepted Duke Alois’s offer now, he would make no written record of it, at least not for general Special Branch availability. He must decide within the next few minutes. Was he giving Alois a weapon to use against him? Making an agreement perhaps useful to both of them? Earning a favor that might be reclaimed at some future time? Were such favors repaid?
Duke Alois was waiting.
“Fine,” he said. “Tregarron is a man in an extremely awkward position, but he is not a fool.”
Duke Alois smiled with wry regret, and perhaps a touch of pity. “I know what you mean, and of course you are right. Excellent. We shall both prosper from it, if we are careful.”
Pitt was far less certain, but he did not want Alois to know that; it would make him appear indecisive. He tried to keep the doubt from his face. “And how will you know if the information I give to Tregarron is true or false in the first place?” he asked.
“A gentleman’s agreement,” Duke Alois said dryly, meeting Pitt’s eyes.
“You are a gentleman,” Pitt responded. “I’m not.”
“You are a gamekeeper’s son,” Alois said. “Which means you have a good servant’s sense of honor. I am a prince, which means I have very little sense of honor at all, only such as I choose.”
Pitt was startled that Alois knew so much about him, then realized that he should have expected it. He also appreciated that Alois’s comments were at least half ironic.
“I imagine that after the affair at Buckingham Palace, you are little inclined to trust princes,” Alois went on. “Whereas I am much inclined to trust a man raised by a good gamekeeper. Gamekeepers are men who nurture the earth and the creatures on it. Nature forgives no mistakes.”
“Nor does Special Branch, yours or mine,” Pitt told him.
“Precisely. One might say the same of the tides of history.” Alois was very serious now. There was no amusement in his eyes, only intense emotion. Pitt could not look away from him. “Social change is coming in all of Europe, whether the House of Habsburg wants it or not,” Alois went on. “If we release our grip voluntarily, it may come without bloodshed. If we try to prevent change using oppression, then the end will be bloody, and the hate will remain.”
“Emperor Franz Josef does not agree with you,” Pitt said grimly.
“I know.” A flash of bitter humor crossed Alois’s face. “There is little I can do about that. But what I can do, I will, which is why I would find it very useful to be more aware of Tregarron’s information, and perhaps have a few more …” He hesitated. “… more managed details going in both directions.”
Pitt understood very well, even if he was not as certain of Alois’s motives as he would like to be.
“Yes,” he said, relaxing just slightly. “We might think of a few ideas that would be profitable to one or the other of us. Perhaps even to both.”
Duke Alois held out his hand. Without hesitation Pitt leaned forward and took it. Then he excused himself and went to check with Stoker.
Fifteen minutes later, he was in the hall outside the compartment, standing at the window watching the wooded countryside slip by. Suddenly the train slowed abruptly, as if the driver had jammed on the brakes.
Pitt stiffened, then turned and sprinted back the dozen yards to Duke Alois’s compartment. “Stoker!” he shouted above the screech of the wheels on the iron track.
The connecting door to the next carriage flew open and Stoker was there, immediately followed by one of the duke’s men.
The compartment door opened and Alois looked out. “What is it?” he asked, his voice steady but his face tight and pale.
“Farm cart on the rails,” Stoker answered. “Looks like its load of hay fell off and it got stuck.” He looked from Pitt to Duke Alois. “Sir. It’s probably nothing, but—”
“Get back in and keep your head down!” Pitt finished for him. He made it sharp, an order.
“Are you sure it was a farm cart?” Duke Alois questioned.
Stoker took a step toward him. “Maybe just an accident, sir, but maybe not.” He stopped close to Alois, as if to push him back inside the compartment.
The duke glanced at Pitt.
The train jerked to a halt.
One of Duke Alois’s men, tall, thin, and dark-haired, like the duke himself, came down the corridor.
“What the devil is—” he began.
A shot smashed the glass of the window. The man staggered backward and fell against the compartment wall, then slumped to the floor, a slow red stain spreading across his chest.
Stoker lunged toward Alois and forced him down onto the floor. One of the other men kneeled beside the fallen man, but Pitt knew without bothering to look again that he was beyond help. He turned and ran along the corridor toward the end of the carriage. Throwing open the door on the opposite side, he leaped down onto the track, his hand already on his gun. If he had gone onto the same side as the marksman, he would have been a perfect target, even an expected one. This gave him the cover of the train, but it also meant that he had the length of at least one carriage to run before he could get anywhere near the man.
Would the assassin wa
nt to take another shot? Or was he certain he had hit Duke Alois, and so would make his escape immediately? Who was it? Tregarron? Or one of the Austrian factions he had believed it was from the beginning? Tregarron would be alone. But if it was a political assassination attempt simply to draw attention, or any of the minor nations rebelling against Habsburg rule by shooting a member of the ruling family, then there could be half a dozen men. Was Stoker staying to guard Duke Alois? He hoped so. He was still a target.
He reached the end connection, and dropped to his hands and knees. He peered beneath and saw nothing but a narrow strip of woods on the other side. Was the marksman waiting just out of sight, ready to pick off anyone who appeared?
There had been no second shot. He probably knew he had hit someone, but he could not be certain it was Duke Alois. He would surely know that someone, either British, Austrian, or both, would come after him. Would the marksman retreat a little to a point from which he would see the train, but not be easily seen himself? Whoever he was, he had chosen a farm cart to stop the train, and a wooded area from which to attack. Perhaps he was a countryman; he was an excellent shot, possibly a hunter.
Pitt had grown up in the country as well. He had followed Sir Arthur Desmond on pheasant shoots, even deer hunts once or twice. He knew how to stalk, to keep low, to stay downwind, to move silently. He had only a handgun to the other man’s rifle, which perhaps even had a telescopic sight on it, judging from the shot that had killed Duke Alois’s man. Pitt must take very great care.
He went the length of the next carriage as well, then dropped to his hands and knees again and peered under. No one in sight. He scrambled through the gaps quickly and stayed low, rolling down the embankment into the underbrush and then up onto his feet again as soon as he was within the copse of trees.
Which way would the man go after making the shot? Probably to the high ground, where he would have a chance of still seeing the train, and also of seeing anyone who might come after him. A slight hollow would hide him better. It was instinctive.
But how long would he watch the train to make sure he had killed the right man?
