Dorchester Terrace (19 page)

“We followed all the leads you gave us, and we are almost certain of the identities of the men asking questions about the timetables, signals, and points. There are various pieces of further information, observations of new and unlikely alliances formed by people we know as troublemakers and sympathizers with anarchy or violent change. Such evidence as we have indicates that the intended target is Duke Alois Habsburg, as you said.”

Blantyre nodded. “What is the weight of the evidence now, in your judgment?”

“Too serious to ignore,” Pitt said without hesitation. “It may be an
extraordinary collection of coincidences, but surely that happens once in a hundred times, or less.”

“From my own experience of Austro-Hungarian affairs, which is considerable, I still think it’s extremely unlikely. But ‘unlikely’ isn’t good enough; we must be sure it’s impossible. I need more details, and I haven’t time to get them now, or to give this appropriate thought.” Blantyre frowned and stood up. “Can you come to dinner at my home this evening? You and your wife would be most welcome. We can allow the ladies to retire to the withdrawing room, and we can talk at length, and you can tell me all the details you are free to discuss, bearing in mind that I also serve the government, and Her Majesty. I know how to keep a secret. Between us we should be able to judge the gravity of the threat, so you may react appropriately.”

Pitt rose to his feet feeling as if a great weight had been taken from him. He had found an ally: perhaps the one man in England able to help him assess the value of his information.

“Thank you, sir,” he said with profound feeling. “We would be delighted.”

Blantyre held out his hand. “No need to be particularly formal, but we’ll make a pleasure of it all the same. Eight o’clock is a trifle early, but we will need the time. This matter may, after all, be very grave.”

Pitt took his leave and walked down the corridor rapidly, smiling. It had been more than a professional success. A man of substance and high office had treated him with the same dignity as he would have treated Narraway. There had been no condescension in his manner. For the first time in a while, Pitt was happy as he went down the stairs and out into the bitter wind knifing along the street.

W
HILE PITT WAS SPEAKING
with Evan Blantyre, Charlotte had decided that she should telephone Emily, no matter how awkward she felt. Though the quarrel had been primarily Emily’s fault, one of them had to make the first move toward reconciliation, before the rift became too deep. Since Emily apparently was not going to do it, then she must. She was the elder anyway; perhaps it was her responsibility.

When she picked up the receiver to put the call through, she half hoped Emily would be out making calls. Then she could satisfy herself with the virtue of having made the attempt, without actually having to negotiate some kind of peace.

But the footman at the other end brought Emily to the telephone within moments of Charlotte being connected.

“How are you?” Emily asked guardedly.

“Very well, thank you,” Charlotte replied. They could have been strangers speaking to each other. The planned conversation disappeared from her head. “And you?” she asked, to fill the silence.

“Excellent,” Emily answered. “We are going to the theater this evening. It is a new play, supposed to be very interesting.”

“I hope you enjoy it. Have you heard from Mama and Joshua lately?” Joshua Fielding, their mother’s second husband, was an actor. It seemed a reasonable thing to ask. At least it stopped the silence from returning.

“Not for a couple of weeks,” Emily replied. “They are in Stratford. Had you forgotten?”

Charlotte had, but she did not wish to admit it. There was a touch of condescension in Emily’s tone. “No,” she lied. “I imagine they have telephones, even there.”

“Not in theatrical boardinghouses,” Emily replied. “I thought you would know that.”

“You have the advantage of me,” Charlotte said instantly. “I have never had occasion to inquire about one.”

“Since your mother frequents them, and you seem to be concerned for her welfare, perhaps you should have,” Emily returned.

“For heaven’s sake, Emily! It was a simple question—something to say.”

“I’ve never known you to be at a loss for something to say.” Emily’s tone was still critical.

“There is a great deal you have never known,” Charlotte snapped. “I was hoping for an agreeable conversation. Clearly that isn’t going to happen.”

“You were hoping I was going to say something to Jack about helping Thomas in his present predicament,” Emily corrected her.

Charlotte heard the defensiveness in Emily’s voice, and hesitated for a moment. Then temper and loyalty to Pitt got the better of her.

“You overestimate my opinion of Jack’s abilities,” she said coldly. “Thomas will get himself out of any difficulties there may be. I am sorry I disturbed you. This is obviously a conversation better held at another time, perhaps some distance in the future when you are less defensive.”

She heard Emily’s voice calling her name sharply, but she had already moved the receiver away from her ear. This was only going to hurt more the longer she continued talking. She replaced the instrument in its cradle and walked away with a tightness in her throat. It would be better to find something useful to do.

C
HARLOTTE WAS DELIGHTED WHEN
Pitt came home and told her of the invitation to dine with Blantyre and his wife. It was a social occasion that promised to be most enjoyable. However, of much more importance to her was the relief she saw in Pitt over the fact that someone had finally listened to his concerns.

For years he had shared with her much of what he had done. She had been of help to him in many cases, especially those concerning people of the class into which she had been born, and he had not. To begin with, he had considered it meddling, and had been afraid for her safety. Gradually he had come to value her judgment, especially her observation of people, and her strength of character, even if he still feared for her safety in some of her wilder interventions.

Emily too had involved herself, demonstrating both courage and intelligence. But that was in a past that now seemed distant; they were much further apart than they used to be. She did not blame Emily for feeling a greater loyalty to Jack than to her sister. She herself gave her first passionate and instinctive allegiance to her husband. But the knowledge still carried a sense of loss, a longing for the laughter and the trust, the ability to talk openly about all kinds of things, trivial or important, which had always been part of her life and her relationship with Emily. There was no one else she would trust in the same way.

But she forced it from her mind and smiled at Pitt. “That will be excellent. It will be lovely, and a decent excuse to wear a new gown I have bought for myself, rather than one borrowed from Emily or Aunt Vespasia. I have a very fashionable one, in a curious shade of blue. It will be more than equal to the occasion.”

She saw Pitt’s amusement.

“Adriana Blantyre is very beautiful, Thomas. I shall have to do my best to not be constantly overshadowed!”

“Is she brave and clever as well?” he asked with sudden gentleness. “Or funny and kind?” He did not add the rest of what he implied. She knew it, and felt the blush of self-consciousness creep up her cheeks, but she did not lower her eyes from his.

“I don’t know. I liked her. I look forward to knowing her a little better.” Then suddenly she was serious again. “Thomas, does Blantyre matter to you? Is he going to help you?”

“I hope so,” he replied. “Jack arranged it.”

A hurt inside her slipped away. “Good. Good. I’m glad.”

She wished he were free to tell her what troubled him, apart from the burden of taking on Narraway’s job. She wanted to assure him that he was equal to it, but such assurances would be meaningless, because she had very little idea what it was that bothered him in the first place. She did not know whether his skills matched Narraway’s, or even if they ever could. They were very different from each other. Until their experience in Ireland, she had thought of Narraway as intellectual, and happy to be alone. Whether that was natural to him or he had learned it, it had become his habit. Only when he lost his position in Special Branch had she seen any vulnerability in him, any need at all for the emotional warmth of others. How blind she had been. It was something she thought of now with a dull ache of guilt. She preferred to put it from her mind. That would be easier for Narraway too. He would not wish to think she remembered every emotion in his face, perhaps regretted now. Some things should remain guessed at, but unspoken.

Regardless of such moments, there was a professional ruthlessness in Narraway that she believed would never be natural to Pitt. Indeed, she hoped it would not.

That was part of the difficulty. Two of the things she loved most in Pitt were his empathy and his love of justice, which would make leadership and its terrible decisions more difficult for him.

She had not yet found any way in which she could help him. Blind support was all she could offer, and it had a very limited value. It was, in some ways, like the love of a child; in the dangerous and painful decisions, he was essentially alone.

She looked at him now, standing in the middle of the kitchen as Daniel came in with his homework, and she saw the deliberate change of expression as he turned to his son. She knew the effort it cost him to put aside his worry, saw his hands clenched in frustration even as he smiled at Daniel and they spoke of history homework, and how best to answer a complicated question.

“But how is that the Holy Roman Empire?” Daniel asked reasonably, pointing to the map in his schoolbook. “Rome is way down there!” He put his finger on the middle of Italy. “It isn’t even in the same country. That’s Austria. It says so. And why is it holier than anywhere else?”

Pitt took a deep breath. “It isn’t,” he said patiently. “Have you got a map of where the old Roman Empire used to be? I’ll show you where it became the Eastern and the Western Empires.”

“I know that, Papa! And it wasn’t up there!” He put his finger on Austria again. “Why is all that bit part of the Holy Empire?”

Charlotte smiled and left Pitt to do his best with conquest and Imperial politics. No one else had ever been able to give a morally satisfying answer, and she knew Daniel well enough to expect a long argument.

C
HARLOTTE DRESSED FOR THE
dinner as she had done in her early twenties, before her marriage, when her mother had been trying desperately, and unsuccessfully, to find her a suitable husband.

She had chosen a color and style that flattered the warmth of her skin and the hints of auburn in her hair. The cut of her dress showed the soft curves of her figure to their best advantage. It was fashionable enough to feel up to date, but not so much that in a few months it
would be outmoded. She had Minnie Maude help her coil and pin her hair so it had no chance of slipping undone. To have one’s hair falling out of its coiffure would be deemed just as disastrous as having one’s clothing fall off! And rather more difficult to put right again.

In the lamplight, she was not sure if she observed one or two gray hairs, or if it was only a nervous imagination. Her mother, many years her senior, had only a few. And of course there was a remedy for it. Apparently iron nails steeped in strong tea for fifteen days make an excellent dye for darker hair! Rinsing the hair in tea was, she considered, good for it every so often anyway.

She wore very little jewelry. This was not only as a matter of style, but also because she owned very little, a fact she did not wish to make obvious. Earrings were sufficient. There was natural color in her face, but she added a little rouge, very, very discreetly, and put a tiny dab of powder on her nose to take away the shine. Once she was satisfied that it was the best she could do, she would forget it entirely and focus on whoever she was speaking to, listen with attention, and answer with warmth, and if possible, a little wit.

They had hired a carriage for the evening. To keep one all the time was an expense they could not afford, nor was it needed. If that day were to come in the future, perhaps it would be after they had moved to a house with stables. It would be exciting to make such an upward climb in society, but it would also force her to leave behind a place in which they had known much joy. Charlotte was perfectly happy not to have such a burden at the moment. She sat back in her seat, smiling in the dark as they were driven through Russell Square, its bare trees thrashing in the heavy wind. They turned left up Woburn Place, past Tavistock Square, open and windy again, then along the shelter of Upper Woburn Place and into the flickering lamplight of Endsleigh Gardens.

The carriage stopped and they alighted at the Blantyres’ house, where they were welcomed in by a liveried footman. He showed them immediately to a large withdrawing room where a blazing fire shed red and yellow light on leather-upholstered chairs and sofas, and a carpet rich in shades of amber, gold, and peach. The gaslamps were turned low, so it was difficult to see the details of the many paintings that
decorated the walls. In a quick glance all Charlotte noticed was their ornamental gold frames, and the fact that they seemed to be mostly land- and seascapes.

Adriana Blantyre came forward to welcome them, a step ahead of her husband. She was dressed in burgundy velvet. Its glowing color emphasized the fairness of her face and the amazing depth of her eyes. She looked both fragile and intensely alive.

Blantyre himself greeted Charlotte with a smile, but his glance returned to his wife before he offered his hand.

“I’m so pleased you could come. How are you, Mrs. Pitt?”

“Very well, thank you, Mr. Blantyre,” she replied. “Good evening, Mrs. Blantyre. It is such a pleasure to see you again.” That was not merely good manners. On the brief occasions she had met Adriana, she had found her to be quite different from most of the society women she knew. She possessed a sparkling energy and a dry sense of humor that lay more in what she did not say than in any quick ripostes.