A Kiss Across Time

by Louise Allen

  ‘You’ll have to sing it for me again,’ he began, then stepped back as someone came into the room. ‘Ah. Miss Lawrence, may I present Mr Smith?’

  It was Garrick, but not as I knew him. His evening suit was almost as elegant as Lucian’s, a gold watch chain looped across his crimson brocade waistcoat, his hair was different in some subtle way I couldn’t quite define, and his entire body language had changed from tough, competent but slightly deferential, to relaxed yet assertive. I wouldn’t say he was elegant – his face still looked too tough and faintly battered for that – but he looked, unmistakeably, a gentleman.

  It took all my willpower not to blurt out a demand to know exactly who and what Garrick really was. ‘Mr Smith.’ I curtsied, then asked, ‘And who exactly is Mr Smith?’

  ‘An acquaintance from Suffolk,’ Lucian said. ‘I buy horses from him and when he is in Town I always have him to dinner, take him around.’

  As you do.

  ‘You have a stud, Mr Smith?’ Play the game.

  ‘No, but I breed horses for myself and sell to friends on occasion.’ Even Garrick’s voice had changed. He was always well-spoken, now he sounded like Luc and James.

  ‘Cunning,’ I said. ‘Respectable, with a good excuse for being with Luc and yet nothing that might cause anyone to look you up, as a claim of owning a stud might.’ I gave them both my best police I know you’re up to something, Sir, but I haven’t any cause not to be exceedingly polite to you right now look. They smiled blandly back.

  I had wondered whether Garrick might be a relative of the Franklins on the wrong side of the blanket, but I couldn’t see the slightest resemblance between them. If it was something they could share then they’d tell me in their own good time, I supposed, remembering I was meant to be behaving like a lady. Ladies do not demand, And exactly who the hell are you?

  ‘What about dinner?’ I asked, as James came in looking decidedly gorgeous in dark blue with a pale blue waistcoat. ‘None of us can cook dressed like this.’

  ‘Peggy’s mother is in the kitchen now, preparing dinner,’ Garrick said. ‘We’ll serve ourselves.’

  Peggy, the little maid of all work, brought the food in. She was scrubbed as thoroughly as she scrubbed the floors, her ears pink under tightly braided hair, and I reminded myself to talk to Luc about her. She had potential to do better for herself, I was sure, and I was encouraged by the way both he and Garrick spoke to her.

  As though by unspoken consent we didn’t discuss the investigation over the meal. This would be like any dinner party would be, I realised. Smaller than most and without the footmen serving, but, even so, far more formal than any meal I’d participated in so far. Garrick must have done a lot of preparation first, I was sure, or perhaps had sent out for some dishes. Somehow I couldn’t imagine Peggy’s mum rustling up cold cucumber soup, stuffed sole, veal in cream and mushroom sauce and three different desserts single-handed.

  I kept an eye on what the men were doing and negotiated the cutlery and wine glasses safely while keeping up my end of the conversation with the occasional comment. They were fairly occasional, it is true, although they worked hard at finding topics that I might be able to relate to.

  ‘Where will we be going this evening?’ I asked, wondering if my stays would allow me a second helping of vanilla cream.

  ‘The King’s Theatre, Haymarket,’ Lucian said. ‘The largest theatre in England.’

  There were two theatres in Haymarket that I knew of, the Theatre Royal, halfway up, and Her Majesty’s. ‘Is that the one near Pall Mall?’ They nodded. ‘That’s the one we call Her Majesty’s Theatre,’ I told them. ‘But I think it’s been rebuilt since now.’

  ‘Theatres are always burning down,’ James said. ‘Terrible fire risk.’

  Of course – the lighting wouldn’t even be gas at this time. I pushed the voice of my health and safety and emergency planning colleagues to the back of my mind and told myself that the largest theatre in the country was not going to burn to the ground while I was in it. Probably.

  ‘And what is the opera?’

  ‘No idea,’ James confessed. ‘Luc?’

  He shook his head. ‘We’ll find out when we get there. It really doesn’t matter – I just thought Cassie would enjoy the spectacle. Or do you go to the opera a lot in your time? I should have asked.’

  ‘Opera? Never. Theatre and concerts, of course.’ I didn’t explain what kind of concerts. ‘I’m looking forward to it.’ And I was, although what I knew about opera could be written on the back of a credit card with room left over.

  We had a driver and two grooms with the carriage. I’d never seen them before, but from the few words they exchanged with Garrick they must have been part of his web of acquaintances and ‘cousins’ who seemed to appear as and when needed and then fade into the background again.

  I didn’t miss the way that the men put me in the middle of the forward-facing seat with Lucian and James either side, although there would have been more room if one of them had sat with Garrick opposite. Nor did I miss their failure to light the interior lamp, or the way they scanned the streets as we passed or the close huddle of large male bodies around me as we climbed the steps into the theatre.

  It didn’t do a great deal for my nerves, but I forgot to be twitchy when we got inside and I found myself in the middle of more gold mouldings, crimson walls, ornate furniture and blazing lanterns than I had ever seen. ‘Did Prince George have anything to do with designing this?’ I asked.

  Luc snorted, but swept me on up the grand staircase, nodding and greeting passing acquaintances, but stopping for no-one. We went along a wide corridor lined with upholstered banquettes and sofas on one side and numbered doors on the other. Almost at the end he gestured to a flunkey who came hurrying forward to take the token Luc held out.

  ‘My lord. Your box is ready. There are bottles of champagne on ice, refreshments will be brought at the intervals. Is there anything else, my lord?’ He unlocked the door and held it as Luc ushered me in.

  The noise hit me first, then the light and the colour and then the smell of hot wax and inadequately washed, un-deodorised, humanity. I’d been knocked back by it at Almack’s but it was even worse here. I waved my fan and told myself I’d stop noticing after a while.

  We took our seats at the front of the box and I stared round at the vast space. There were five tiers of boxes, stretching right back along both sides, a huge, empty stage and then the stalls, a seething mass of people jostling and waving and calling to each other. Ladies were balancing on the benches working their way along to where they had an allocated seat and men were shouting across the rows to each other.

  I stopped gazing down and making myself dizzy and looked around. We were on the third tier just at the point where the stage ended, which gave us an excellent view of both the stage itself and the boxes opposite. Red curtains were looped back on either side of each box but they were all open and the occupants of the boxes were scanning the scene – and their neighbours – with lorgnettes and eye glasses on sticks. I’d expected to see opera glasses, but couldn’t. Apparently they hadn’t been invented yet.

  Luc reached into his breast pocket and passed me a slim leather case that proved to contain an elegant lorgnette. I plied it, feeling as though I was taking part in a costume drama, which was strange because this was the first time I’d felt that way. Perhaps it was the effect of being on display like this, as though I was on a stage of my own.

  I felt myself relax. This was the glamour of the Georgian era that I had read about, dreamed about. This was a marvellous break from the mystery, from danger, from nagging worry. Really, I should have known better by then…

  Chapter Twenty One

  A party of four was being ushered into a box opposite on the same level as us, but two places further back from the stage. I focused through the wavering lenses and ducked sideways into the shadow of the curtains. Luc and Garrick were discussing something in the programme and James was pouring wine at the b
ack of the box. No-one noticed me.

  The new arrivals settled. Sir Thomas Reece was talking to his wife. Annabelle sat next to her mother looking pale and discontented and nearest us Elliott Reece lifted an eyeglass and began to scan the boxes. The moment he saw Luc he froze. Through my own lens I saw his expression change from mild interest to absolute loathing. If looks could kill, then Luc would be a smouldering heap on the floor of the box.

  Then his uncle said something to him and he turned, his profile still visible, his expression perfectly pleasant. Lady Reece was looking round too. She said something to her husband and he bowed in the direction of our box. Garrick nudged Luc, he looked across and bowed in return, then acknowledged people in other boxes as well.

  ‘Why are you lurking in the shadows?’ he asked.

  ‘Watching Elliott Reece. He saw you, gave you a look that would have broken glass – but he said nothing to his uncle. In fact he changed his expression to look positively amiable. There was no nudge in the ribs and There’s the enemy. We know Elliott hates us, but I don’t think Sir Thomas knows just how much and I don’t think he’s part of it. Not actively, anyway. Look, change places with me. Take these and watch Elliott and see his face when he looks at me.’

  We swapped over and I sat in the centre of the box, leaning forward with my elbows on the padded velvet edge. Then Annabelle turned in our direction. I raised one hand in greeting and she gave a small wave. Elliott turned to see who she was looking at and saw me.

  From the shadows I heard a sharp intake of breath and Luc swore softly under his breath. ‘I’d kill the bastard if he looked at you like that where I could reach him.’ Elliott looked away. ‘You are right. He is behaving with his uncle as though nothing is wrong.’

  ‘Did I hear you say something is wrong?’ James asked as he came back and handed us glasses.

  Luc explained, moving out of the shadows into the light.

  I was beginning to have doubts now. ‘Perhaps he doesn’t want his aunt and cousin to think anything is wrong. He has no reason to love us and the way James escaped last night will have just about put the lid on it.’

  ‘True.’ James was watching now, half-hidden behind Garrick’s broad back. ‘But there’s more to it than that. He’s behaving to Sir Thomas as though he’s a boy who is on his best behaviour, as though he is wary of his uncle. If those two are plotting together then I’m the Duke of Cumberland.’

  He drew a sharp breath as Elliott looked in our direction again. ‘Oh yes, he hates us. It is way out of proportion for someone as pleased with himself as he is.’

  ‘We know he tried to trap James, now I am convinced that is the man who tried to kill us,’ Garrick said. He leaned back in his chair and took a sip of wine. ‘I wonder if he has worked out who I am yet.’

  ‘I doubt it,’ Luc said. ‘People see what they expect to see – and that’s a young man who’d be hard-pressed to describe his own valet, let alone someone else’s, I’d wager.’

  The orchestra, who had been adding to the racket by tuning up, finally began to play real music. I recognised Mozart, which made me feel smug and was a distraction from Elliott’s poisonous glances. No-one else seemed to pay much attention and the talk went on over the orchestra.

  ‘Why is no-one listening? They’ve paid good money to be here.’

  ‘They come to see and be seen. Why do you think we’re dressed like this?’ Luc’s smile was mocking as he gestured around him. ‘It will calm down a little when the singers appear.’ He glanced at the programme. ‘Idomeneo. Mozart.’

  I’d never heard of it and I somehow doubted I was going to get a very clear idea of the plot either, not judging by the expression on Luc’s face. ‘What?’ I poked him with my fan.

  ‘I think I am beginning to get a glimmering of what is going on,’ he said.

  We turned to him as the singers stopped onto the stage, but frankly they could have been a Queen tribute band for all I noticed. ‘The devil you have,’ Garrick said.

  ‘Come and sit here.’ Luc pulled his own chair back from the front of the box. ‘This is as good a place as any to talk – no-one can hear us. Don’t look too earnest, keep the wine going.’

  We moved together into a rough circle, James topped up glasses, we all smiled.

  ‘You’ve solved it?’ I asked.

  ‘Some,’ Luc said. ‘But I think I understand the blackmail. ‘My guess is that Elliott Reece is mixing with some bad company – radicals and worse. He is being flattered into believing that he is the sort of brilliant young man held back by the British system who would be given his opportunity to shine under an enlightened revolutionary government. I doubt he could plot his way out of a chicken coop, but the men who are pulling his strings don’t care about that – he’s in a government office and that’s all that matters to them. He’s probably spilling small secrets like handfuls of sand. Nothing major, but the little crumbs that a good intelligence officer can build into solid facts.’

  ‘And George found out?’ James asked. I saw his fingers tighten on the arm of his chair.

  ‘No. I believe Elliott’s uncle did and he has probably detached the stupid creature from his new associates by now, or thinks he has. But Sir Thomas picked something up that made him suspect that a British intelligence officer was sniffing around Elliott – at least, that’s my guess. He’d know it wasn’t one of his own men, but he’d reason that his rival in the office downstairs probably has his own agents he is keeping very quiet about. And we know that one of them is the Count. Sir Thomas needs to find out what is going on. He can’t use his own men because of compromising his nephew and Salmond’s men are loyal to him.’

  ‘So he has to put pressure on one of them to betray Salmond and work for him,’ Garrick interjected.

  ‘That’s my reasoning.’ Luc half-turned to the stage as a tenor began an aria and we pretended to listen too, just in case someone was watching us, then gradually came back to face into our circle.

  ‘Somehow he found out about Coates’s secret life and began to blackmail him. But Coates wasn’t a very good spy and he would have been in anguish over betraying Salmond and his men, I suspect. My guess is that Sir Thomas gave him money so he could move into the bigger rooms which were also easier for Sir Thomas to visit – no long flights of stairs where he might be seen and a room well removed from three bright and inquisitive young men upstairs. He’s the slender, dark man Dettmer saw one evening.’

  ‘And if things went wrong the fact that Coates suddenly had the money for better accommodation could be used against him,’ Garrick said. ‘So, what did go wrong?’

  ‘George would be no good at deception,’ James said, his face grim. ‘He would have failed to identify the intelligence officer in his section and he certainly wouldn’t have got anything out of the Count who is far too wily a bird. Reece probably loaded on the pressure until he cracked, saw himself as a traitor…’

  ‘And he probably believed that Reece would expose his lover if he failed to give him the information he was demanding,’ I added. ‘That’s why he killed himself instead of running, don’t you think?’

  ‘Only too probable,’ Luc said heavily. He put one hand on his brother’s shoulder as James fought for some sort of composure.

  ‘But why were we attacked?’ I asked in an attempt to distract James from his friend’s torment.

  ‘That was Elliott, as Garrick deduced,’ Luc said. ‘His uncle must have told him how he was pressuring Coates and warned him George had killed himself before he had any answers. The fact that we are investigating the suicide and Talbot’s murder would have put the fear of God into Elliott who has no idea if we’ll find out about his illicit activities.

  ‘His revolutionary friends might have provided him with that cosh and he took the opportunity of being in Albany to use it. It didn’t stop me and then I turn up at the garden party and side with the Count. By that time Elliott must have suspected he had a dual role. He’d know that you, James and Garrick were involved in t
he investigation and probably had as much information as I did. Just killing me wasn’t going to save him.’

  ‘He was getting desperate and hired some professional help to pick us off,’ Garrick concluded. ‘The other day he could have got me and Miss Lawrence, which might have been enough to distract you long enough for them to deal with you and James. And he tried for James last night.’

  We sat, surrounded by the beauty of Mozart’s soaring music, and contemplated treachery, stupidity and violence. It was depressing enough for me but for James, who had lost a good friend to this, and who was exposed to the danger of blackmail and worse every day, it must have been horrendous.

  ‘That all seems entirely logical. But who killed Talbot?’ I said. ‘Unless Elliott knew he and George were lovers and believed George would have told him everything, I don’t see how it fits in. And the attempts on us were at least semi-professional. Talbot’s murder seems… emotional. Personal.’

  ‘Perhaps we’re looking at it wrongly, like a pattern you can’t see in a puzzle-drawing because it is the wrong way up and a corner has been torn off as well,’ James said, his voice dreary. The music came to a crashing crescendo and stopped. ‘Hell, that’s the interval, I can’t cope with people coming to the box and expecting to chat and asking if I’ve been in a fight.’

  We got back to Albany subdued and strangely depressed, given that we’d solved half of the puzzle. It was a token of how we were all feeling that when I asked for hot chocolate the men had it too and we ended up huddled around the fire in the drawing room that Garrick – mysteriously back to being himself simply by taking off his coat and waistcoat and running one hand through his hair – lit.

  ‘We’re still in danger until we can get Elliott off our backs,’ James said, spooning sugar into his mug.

  ‘We could confront Sir Thomas,’ Luc said, clearly thinking aloud. ‘He can rein in his nephew.’

  ‘But then we’re letting him off the hook for the blackmail. If we go to him about this he’ll also cover up for both of them and we have no proof,’ I pointed out. ‘All your family will still be in danger.’