Dorchester Terrace tp-27

by Anne Perry

  Was he becoming soft, no longer able to judge an act impartially? Yes, he did love Charlotte. It was time to admit that to himself. In fact, after Ireland, it would be absurd to deny it. He had always despised self-delusion in others, and he had come very close to practicing it himself. That she would never care for him as more than a friend was something he had to accept. If he did so with grace, then he could keep her friendship at least.

  Had that devastating vulnerability changed him?

  Yes, perhaps it had. For one thing, it had given him a tenderness toward Vespasia he had not felt before: a greater understanding of her as a woman, not merely her formidable courage and intelligence. She too could be hurt in ways she would never have allowed him to see, had he not also newly experienced personal pain, surprise, and self-doubt.

  It was a frightening change, but not entirely a loss.

  He was determined to learn a great deal more than the very general picture he had of Austro-Hungarian affairs, particularly in reference to the dictatorial emperor Franz Josef, whose only son, Crown Prince Rudolf, had died so tragically at Mayerling.

  The old man’s heir was now his nephew, Archduke Franz Ferdinand, a man of whom Franz Josef did not approve. For one thing, Ferdinand had chosen to love a woman inappropriate to become the wife of the heir to the empire. The poor creature was merely some countess or the other. That made Ferdinand, in the old man’s opinion, of unsound judgment, and lacking in the dedication to duty necessary to succeed him. But he had no choice. The laws of heredity could not be argued with, or the legitimacy of the entire monarchy would be destroyed.

  Should Narraway tell Vespasia the little he had learned? Perhaps so. It would be a courtesy to Serafina. Then she would know that at least one person believed her. Next time he saw Vespasia he would do so. It would be a good reason to see her again.

  And should he speak to Pitt?

  Not unless anything he learned about present-day Austrian affairs indicated that there could be an assassination attempt on some visiting royalty. Pitt had more than enough to do without chasing the current danger of that, if any existed, as well as all the usual Special Branch fears of anarchist bombings, and the constant rebellions in Ireland. There were Russian dissidents in London, fleeing from the ever-increasing oppression and grinding poverty at home. Additionally, there were British-grown socialists who believed that the only way to improve life for the poor was to commit outrages against the Establishment.

  Pitt did not need to hear rumors about a betrayal that happened thirty years ago and a thousand miles away. Narraway had done the job himself long enough to know the importance of leaving alone what did not matter. Telling Vespasia would be sufficient.

  5

  It was the last day of February, bright, gusty, and cold. Stoker came into Pitt’s office looking grim.

  Pitt waited for him to speak.

  “More bits of information keep coming in that look like they’re about this assassination attempt.” He was ill at ease, his shoulders stiff. “We’re fairly certain as to the identity of the man asking about train signals near Dover, and we have at least a possible identification of one of the men asking about how points are changed.”

  “Who are they?” Pitt asked.

  “The man who asked about the signals was Bilinsk, we think. The French are pretty sure about it. They’ve been following him for a while, in connection with an assassination in Paris. He was seen at least once with Lansing-”

  “Our Lansing?” Pitt asked sharply.

  Stoker’s face tightened. “Yes, sir. That’s the worrying part. We thought Lansing was in prison in France, but they let him go.”

  Pitt felt a sudden chill. Lansing was English, a cold, clever man with allegiance to no one, and-as far as they could tell-to no cause. Why the French had released him was irrelevant now, but Pitt would find out later. It could have been some technicality of the law. A good lawyer could often find one, and Lansing would be both willing and able to employ such a man. Or, worse, someone else might have paid for his lawyer, just to get him loose.

  Pitt looked up at Stoker. “And Lansing was the one who asked about the points and the freight trains?”

  “Yes, sir,” Stoker answered. “Word is that he’s an expert on transport, especially trains: signals, altering the switches on lines, diverting trains, blowing the couplings, that sort of thing. Exactly what Mr. Blantyre said.”

  “Any others?”

  “Not yet, but we’re still working.”

  “Anything else about Alois Habsburg?”

  “Nothing. I can’t see any reason at all anyone should want to assassinate him,” Stoker admitted.

  “Except to embarrass Britain, and Special Branch in particular,” Pitt replied. “Which it most certainly would.”

  Stoker nodded. “That’s what it looks like. The queen thinks well enough of us after the business at Osborne House, but there are plenty who don’t. And most people don’t even know about Osborne House, and never will.”

  “I know.” Pitt pushed his hands deeper into his pockets, his shoulders tense. “There are quite a few who think our power is a threat to their freedom, and to their privacy. A few decades ago, people thought the same of the police.”

  “Idiots,” Stoker said under his breath. “They send for the police fast enough if there’s a burglary, a riot, or even a kidnapping. We’re like the army: Nothing’s too good for us if there’s a war, and then when it’s over they want us to become invisible-until the next time.” The contempt in his face carried an uncharacteristic bitterness.

  Pitt could not help but agree with him, even if he chose not to voice it.

  “We need more information,” he replied. “Who is Duke Alois Habsburg, exactly? What sort of entourage is he bringing with him? I don’t care if that’s a breach of his privacy or not!”

  Stoker pulled a sour face. “Difficult to find out anything much about him, except the usual, superficial things: where he was born, his parents, where he is in reference to the succession-which is nowhere. He’s not really a politician, more of a philosopher, and a dabbler in science. Very clever fellow, by all accounts, but a dreamer. He might invent something brilliant one day. Or maybe write a couple of books about existence, or identity, or something. At least that’s what his own people say. So far, he’s never done anything that makes any difference.”

  “And he’s related to our queen?” Pitt pursued.

  “By marriage, yes. Distantly-so is half of Europe.” Stoker’s face still reflected his exasperation. “Alois may be a favorite of hers. I’ll find out, but he doesn’t sound the sort. He’s nice enough, but she doesn’t go in for a lot of heavy thinking.” He stopped abruptly, a faint pinkness in his cheeks, aware that he had expressed his opinion rather too freely.

  “He could just be looking to impress her, and perhaps he also feels like a trip to London,” Pitt replied with a faint smile. “But he may just be pretending to be an academic dreamer, when he’s really a brave man doing an important job.”

  “I suppose that’s true,” Stoker conceded with obvious reluctance. “I hadn’t thought of that.”

  “Who’s coming with him?” Pitt asked. “How many of the entourage are actually guards of one sort or another?”

  Stoker sighed. “From what we’re told, they’re mainly domestic servants: valets and butlers-that sort of thing. Probably couldn’t tell a stiletto from a fire iron.” He blinked. “Doesn’t the palace supply servants for guests?”

  Pitt found himself smiling. “Butlers, of course; valets are different. Each gentleman wants to have his own, who knows his likes and dislikes, probably carries all the remedies he might need, and is fully aware of his weaknesses.”

  “It’s another life, isn’t it?” Stoker observed, smiling thinly.

  “As are ours, to many of the people we meet,” Pitt noted.

  Stoker shook his head but he was still smiling. “We’ve got to protect this man, sir, whoever he is. If he’s killed anywhere in our territ
ory, it’s going to get very ugly indeed. Some bastard’s going to come out of the woodwork and blame us.” He winced. “Not to mention however many of our own people get killed or crippled at the same time.”

  “I know,” Pitt agreed, thinking of Blantyre’s warning. “That could even be the purpose of the whole thing. Poor Duke Alois might simply be the means.”

  Stoker’s face paled. He said something under his breath, but would not repeat it aloud when Pitt looked up at him.

  Pitt returned to the Foreign Office that afternoon, knowing he had no possible alternative. As before, the first person he was directed to was Jack Radley. They stood facing each other in the luxurious but impersonal waiting room with its formal portraits of past ministers on the walls.

  “I hope this is about something different,” Jack said. He shifted his weight very slightly from one foot to the other.

  “It is about new coincidences,” Pitt replied, also unable to relax. Neither his professional responsibility nor their personal relationship allowed him any ease. He knew how deeply it would affect Charlotte if this new situation divided her from Emily. All the past experiences they had shared, the family memories and the adventures, would be shadowed by the present tearing of loyalties.

  Jack’s face had tightened, turning the corners of his mouth down.

  “I have much more information regarding the probability of an assassination attempt against Duke Alois Habsburg,” Pitt began. “The duke may be only a minor relation of the queen, but you don’t have to be in the Foreign Office to imagine what it would do to Britain’s reputation in Europe, and everywhere else, if the man was shot while he was here, visiting Her Majesty-do you?”

  He was a little more sarcastic than he had intended, his own fear lending an edge to his voice.

  “I imagine Lord Tregarron would not be indifferent to such an event, or to his own position in the matter if it should occur,” he added.

  Jack stared at him in silence, but his face was distinctly paler. For several seconds he weighed the new situation.

  “You’re sure you are not being unnecessarily alarmed?” he asked.

  “The job is about thinking ahead, Jack. If you mean am I jumping at shadows-no. I think there’s enough evidence now to take the threat seriously. Am I certain I’m not being distracted by a deliberately manufactured plot, in order to draw my attention away from something else, something more important? No, of course I’m not. Bluff? Double bluff? I don’t know. Is Tregarron prepared to take the chance that a member of the Austrian royal family will get killed in a train crash, along with a few score of Britons? If he is, then we should replace him with somebody who is a little less free with human life, and our reputation. Someone who can see the scandal, the outrage, the reparations likely to be demanded if such an assassination were to happen. Not to mention someone prepared to explain it to Her Majesty, with full inclusion of the fact that Special Branch told you details of the possibility, and you decided it was not worth your trouble to listen.”

  Jack took a deep breath, then clearly changed his mind.

  Pitt smiled bleakly.

  “I’ll tell Lord Tregarron what you have said,” Jack answered. “If you would wait here, I shall come back as quickly as I can.”

  It proved to be a full quarter of an hour before Jack returned. The minute Pitt saw his face, he knew Tregarron would see him, but under a degree of protest.

  Pitt followed Jack out of the waiting room and along the corridor to the arched door. At the word of answer, Jack opened it.

  “Commander Pitt, my lord,” he announced, and stepped back for Pitt to go inside. This time he left them alone.

  Tregarron was standing behind his desk, silhouetted against the late winter sunlight in the window beyond. He turned to face Pitt. His face was shadowed and therefore difficult to read.

  “Radley tells me that you have continued to pursue this idea of a potential assassination attempt on Duke Alois. That you seem to be sure there may be something in it.” He said it almost expressionlessly. “He advised me that we should take it seriously, at least insofar as, if there was even a shred of reality behind it, then it could be disastrous in its effect on our reputation, as well as costing a great many British lives. Is this your view?”

  “Yes, sir,” Pitt replied, grateful that Jack had put the core of the matter forward so succinctly. “It is a threat we cannot afford to ignore. Even if the attempt is completely abortive, we would look incompetent if we did not act. And worse, the Austrian government might assume that we were indifferent to the situation, or even complicit.”

  He was pleased to see the immediate concern in Tregarron’s face, even though it was accompanied by considerable irritation.

  “That seems to be rather more decisive than when you first mentioned it to Radley a few days ago,” he observed critically. “Why on earth should any dissident faction in Austria wish to cause such a disaster in order to assassinate a relatively harmless and, may I point out, powerless young minor aristocrat, of no political interest at all? It makes no sense, Pitt. Have you consulted Narraway on this extraordinary idea of yours?”

  Pitt felt as if the blood was burning in his face. He hoped Tregarron would not see it. He made a supreme effort to keep his voice calm and level.

  “No, I have not. Lord Narraway is no longer privy to the information gathered by Special Branch, and it would be a breach of my oath of discretion to discuss with him such matters as he does not need to know. And as far as political knowledge and judgment of affairs in the Austro-Hungarian Empire are concerned, I am advised that you are the expert, and therefore the appropriate person for me to consult with, sir.”

  Tregarron’s mouth tightened. The irritation in his expression was clear as he turned slightly and walked over to the fireplace. He sat down in the large, comfortable chair facing the door, still with his back to the light, and waved for Pitt to sit opposite him.

  “Then I suppose you had better tell me the precise evidence that led you to this extraordinary conclusion,” he said, reaching to poke the fire. “Duke Alois is a man of negligible importance in Austrian affairs, let alone European. He is coming here solely because he has a certain charm and Her Majesty apparently likes him-or, to be more precise, likes his mother, who is no longer able to travel. Who on earth would possibly benefit from assassinating him? And I would point out that if anyone did wish to, they have had ample opportunity to do so in his own home, without taking a trainload of innocent people with him.” He stared at Pitt, his heavy eyebrows raised, disbelief written in every line of his face.

  Pitt swallowed. The thought came to his mind that Tregarron would not have spoken to Narraway in this tone, but he dismissed it, not as untrue, but as hampering his own ability to deal with Tregarron with confidence. He must not allow comparisons to cripple him. He had weaknesses Narraway did not, but he had strengths too.

  He sat a little more comfortably in his chair and crossed his legs.

  “If I had the answer to that question, sir, I would not need to ask you for anything more than confirmation of the fact, possibly merely as a courtesy. Duke Alois appears to be a pleasant young man with nothing to commend him except his royal connections. That doesn’t mean he is of no importance at all. Sometimes such men are the perfect pawns for others.”

  A shadow crossed Tregarron’s face, but he did not interrupt.

  “However, I think it seems likely that he would be a target, not for who he is, but simply because he is available,” Pitt continued. “If he were to be killed while here in England it would be extremely embarrassing to Her Majesty’s government, and there are always those who would find that to their advantage-”

  “In Austria?” Tregarron said with open disbelief.

  “There is nothing to prove that the plan is specifically Austrian,” Pitt pointed out, seeing the surprise in Tregarron’s eyes with sharp satisfaction. Clearly that thought had not occurred to him. “It could be German, French, Italian, even Russian,” he added.
“Our power makes it inevitable that we have many enemies.”

  Tregarron leaned a little forward, the whole attitude of his body altering. “Details, Pitt. I am perfectly aware of our position in Europe, and in the world. Most of what you say has always been true. Why now? Why this particular young man? You had better tell me the precise facts and observations that have come to your notice, and leave the interpretation of them to me.”

  Pitt remained silent. His mind was racing. The man’s arrogance was breathtaking. He was treating Pitt like some junior policeman reporting a burglary but incapable of seeing it in the context of a larger plan. Narraway would have had a response to wither Tregarron so that he never presumed to override him again in such a way.

  But the words, the confidence, even the composure to do so eluded Pitt, and he felt like the gamekeeper’s son he used to be, called up before the master of the house. Except that Sir Arthur Desmond had never treated him with such contempt.

  If Pitt refused to offer the details now, it would imply that he did not have them. It was on the tip of his tongue to offer sarcastically that all Special Branch junior staff would report, in writing, to Tregarron, but he dared not. He could not function if he made an open enemy of this man.

  With the difficulty of it almost choking him, he replied, “How much detail would you like, sir? There are regular sources up and down the country who give us information, and we have connections in France, Germany, and Austria with relation to this particular event. We have our own people, and we also have relations with the equivalent to Special Branch that most European countries have, in one form or another.” He watched Tregarron’s face and saw a flash of anxiety. Perhaps it was a sudden realization that Pitt was better informed than he had supposed.

  “Most of what we hear is merely observation of people we know altering their habits or movements,” he continued. “People they talk to, places they frequent. Such changes can be indicative of planning …”