Speak Its Name: A Trilogy (11 page)

Well, if and when he appeared, that would be easy to ascertain; back in Whitehall, Smythe had given him coded countersigns. But McDonald might be playing some other game altogether, and if so it probably had nothing to do with their current errand. When they reached glorious Vienna, their first destination would be a telegraph counter, where he could wire a carefully worded query to Mr. Bloody Secretive Smythe. Something along the lines of, “Damn your eyes (stop) This is urgent (stop) Who is contact (query).”

Scoville’s head still ached; he knew it was making him irritable. The doctor had left tablets for him to take, but they had to be taken with food.

What a nuisance! There stood the Alps off to the south, the morning sun dazzling white on their mantle of snow, but he couldn’t let his attention wander. He couldn’t even doze. He had to sit here with pistol to hand, on the off-chance that his assailant might return to finish the job while Darling was away.

What was taking Darling so long, anyway? Scoville looked at his watch and realised that his man had been gone for only ten minutes. Nothing was likely to happen to him in broad daylight, in the public rail cars. He’d be back soon enough.

There was nothing to do but puzzle over the situation. Why had McDonald come by at four in the morning? That was an insane hour for a social visit. If he had been on urgent business, why had he refused to deal with Darling?

And why did Darling have such an antipathy toward McDonald? In Scoville’s own case, he had simply realised that his boyhood acquaintance had grown into a man with an ugly imagination and no tact. Was Jack Darling simply a better judge of character, or did his attitude spring from some other source? Scoville didn’t want to pry, but if their lives were in danger he might have to. Just another headache to add to the growing list.

Why couldn’t this infernal train get to Vienna?

At least one of his questions was answered in a few minutes’ time. Darling appeared with a coffeepot in his hand, followed by a waiter bearing a heavy covered tray. His first words were, “No visitors, my lord?”

“None. And he’d better not show up until I’ve got outside some of that coffee. It smells delicious.”

Darling nodded, tipped the waiter, and locked the door after he left. “I hope you were not inconvenienced by the delay, my lord. I thought it best to fetch our food directly from the kitchen, so no one else would have a chance to tamper with it.”

“Good thinking. What have you brought for us?”

“Nothing elaborate,” he said, pouring the coffee. “Fine coffee, for a start.”

It might not have been elaborate, but Scoville was not in the mood for a fussy meal. The coffee was perfectly brewed, and he found that the crusty rolls, buttered eggs and bacon, still piping hot under the silver cover, were exactly what he needed. After several minutes of determined ingestion, he swallowed a last morsel of jam-covered bread and sat back, replete. “Darling, I thank God every day that you remember Bonaparte’s maxim.”

“My lord?”

“An army marches on its stomach.”

“I have always considered that a very undignified position, my lord.” He raised an eyebrow. “And damned uncomfortable.”

Scoville laughed. “Perhaps so, but I never feel more optimistic than I do just after breakfast.” He poured himself a last splash of coffee so Darling could finish his own meal uninterrupted. “I don’t suppose you saw any sign of McDonald?”

“No, my lord. I did mention to the conductor that I thought I had heard someone outside our room during the wee hours, but he swore that no one was about.”

“Lovely.” Scoville smiled wryly. “This is not shaping up as the pleasure trip I was hoping for. Once we complete our errand, I have half a mind to get on the train, report back, then turn around and have ourselves a real holiday. Do the job and be done with it, get it off our hands.”

“The visit with the Baron, my lord?” Darling asked.

“Yes, that...” He hesitated for a moment, then made up his mind. “Darling, I expect you’re well ahead of me on this one. The fact is, we’ve got two jobs to do in Vienna, and the second is to meet some sort of courier who will give us something that we must take back to England in secret.”

“You’re not referring to the snuffbox, my lord?”

“I—” That stopped him short; he rubbed his chin reflectively. “You know, Darling, that’s a notion. Though why a courier would knock me over the head—no, we’re supposed to receive a small packet of papers from an old Army chum of mine at the café in the Sacher House. And that’s not until the day after tomorrow.”

“And Captain McDonald, is he—?”

“I don’t know. I was a fool not to insist on that bit of information, but they wouldn’t give me the courier’s name.”

“Balls!” Darling looked instantly abashed at his own crudeness, but Scoville had to smile.

“That about sums it up, Sergeant. Someone has blundered.”

~

“Philharmonikerstrasse 4,
bitte
,” Scoville told the cabman. While planning the trip he had considered stopping at the Imperial Hotel, but had decided upon the Sacher, instead. The Baron was certain to be in residence at the Imperial, and this was one time he preferred to keep business and pleasure—or more accurately, one business and another—as clearly separate as possible.

Besides, he liked the Sacher. It was a hairsbreadth less grand than the Imperial, its vaulted ceilings perhaps not quite so high and gilt-encrusted, its paintings worth only a duke’s ransom, not a king’s. It had never been a royal residence as the Imperial had, but what the Sacher’s chef could do with coffee and chocolate was sheer genius. And it was directly across from the Opera House, a building that Scoville could gaze at for hours without tiring of the elegant balance of its architecture.

Lord Robert would never be so disloyal to London as to make an unfavourable comparison between the city of his birth and any other in the world. But Vienna, with its wide, open thoroughfares, had a bright gay charm unlike any other city he’d ever seen, the hybrid vigour of a cultural crossroads. He could spend a month here just visiting museums and galleries, and not reach the end of them. Ever-changing music, new ideas in art, the finest opera, and the food! The Viennese even had legends about their coffee, and it deserved them. He could smell the aroma here in the street, wafting out from the cafes.

The cab driver clucked to his horse and drove them quickly to the hotel. While Darling saw to the luggage, Scoville found a quiet corner of the lobby where he could sit and compose a telegraph message that would convey sufficient urgency without attracting any undue attention. He finally decided upon “Dear Uncle John, suffered minor injury on the train, urgent you send name of doctor you mentioned last week.” If that didn’t do the job, he’d have to talk to someone at the Embassy and hope that they were
au courant
.

He took his message to the concierge and arranged to have it sent; by the time he was finished, Darling was at his elbow with the key to their suite.

“I’ve taken the liberty of having our briefcase locked up in the hotel safe, my lord.”

“Excellent, Darling. Glad you thought of it. Does it still contain the antique item we acquired on the train?”

“Of course, my lord. If our visitor wanted the item smuggled across the border, this ought to make it impossible for him to take it back the same way he left it.”

“My thought exactly. Well done. Let’s nip upstairs and have a wash, then find a bite to eat. Did they give us a suite with a view?”

“Second floor front, my lord.” Darling grinned; he was aware of Scoville’s infatuation with the Opera House. “I shall place a chair directly opposite the window, for your ease of viewing.”

He really was indecently attractive when he smiled. “Don’t tease, Darling,” Scoville grumbled, giving his baser instincts a mental thump.

“Of course not, my lord. I was merely admiring your lordship’s appreciation of fine architecture.”

“And that’s two ‘lords’ in one sentence. For heaven’s sake, man, have mercy!”

“Yes, my lord.”

~

Scoville and his man were in the café, working their respective ways through plates of weinerschnitzel and chicken-and-leek strudel when a bellboy brought the return telegram from Smythe. Scoville unfolded the message while Darling tipped the messenger.

“Interesting,” he said as soon as the boy was out of earshot. “We are to visit the British Embassy at our earliest convenience, and take care for our personal safety.”

“A pity they didn’t consider our personal safety from the first.”

“Quite. Well, marching down to the British Embassy should make us as inconspicuous as the changing of the Guard, so I can only assume that a cat somewhere has escaped the bag. We must go—this wire names no names.”

Darling took a thoughtful sip of his wine. “Therefore it either is McDonald and they want to avoid naming him in a telegram, or it is not, and—”

“And they don’t want to name the real contact. Or it was McDonald and he’s met with foul play and all hell’s about to break loose, in a most clandestine way. Sorry, Darling, I really had not expected this.”

Darling shrugged. “No one’s shooting at us, my lord—not yet, at least. It could be worse.”

“I expect it will be, before we’re done. It’s not so much that I mind, it’s that if we’d known what to expect I wouldn’t have this Belgian lacework decorating my scalp.”

“Are you certain you’re well enough to go out in the night air, my lord?”

“Oh, yes. Itches like the devil, but I believe that’s a good sign. And for heaven’s sake, it’s coming on to summer.” He folded the telegram and placed it in an inner pocket. “Our earliest convenience will be after dinner. I refuse to be hurried through a good meal. Here, try some of this
erdäpfelsalat
—they’ve given me far too much for one.”

Darling nodded, his mouth being too full to reply.

“I’m glad of this, actually,” Scoville said. “I’ll have the chance to ask for a hint as to what’s going on in the larger scene before I smooth the Baron’s ruffled feathers. And perhaps the Embassy will have some notion of what’s become of McDonald.”

“If they know, my lord.” Darling said, scooping a small portion of the tangy potato salad onto his plate. “It was late and I was not at my best, but he seemed very anxious to avoid being seen. If I erred in sending him away—”

“No, Darling. I appreciate your taking the role of dragon at the gate. If he had to insist on waking me up only to tell me who knocked me on the head, he wasn’t half anxious enough. Cecil’s wily. It’s just as possible he was being pursued by someone he’d loved and left and was looking for a place to lie low. He has an amazing talent for giving offence.” That was not the sort of remark he ought to have made, but he could rely on Darling’s discretion. “We can’t assume he’s our contact, after all. Half my club knew we were travelling to Vienna. Anyone might have told him.”

At Darling’s frown, he added, “Yes, that would be stretching coincidence very thin, but it is possible.” He’d sooner believe McDonald was an annoying complication than imagine he’d been entrusted with important State documents. If he was their contact, the man who recruited him must not have known him very well.

Scoville banned any further business discussion and ordered himself a slice of sachertorte and a cup of coffee. Darling had the same. When the meal came to a satisfactory close, they sought the concierge once again, and asked that gentleman to summon a cab.

~

Jack dismissed his worries about Lord Robert’s health as soon as they stepped out into the lingering twilight. The sun was down, but it was May, after all, and the day’s warmth still lingered. The fresh air would do them both good.

Since the cabdriver was Viennese, it was reasonable to guess that he would have at least a smattering of many languages, English among them. Further discussion of their current affair would have been out of the question even if they had anything left to say. At this point it was useless to speculate.

His lordship was always able to find something to talk about, of course, and turned to a familiar topic that alternately amused and annoyed him. His Grandmama had written his mother about his Obligations, and his mama had relayed the message as she always did. The letter had arrived just before they departed for the Continent.

“Apparently being a kind and generous uncle to my elder siblings’ spawn is not sufficient proof of my devotion to family. Grandmama is renewing her campaign to see that I secure a wife and kiddies as quickly as possible.”

“She is a very determined woman, my lord.” Darling liked the old lady, in small doses. He would not have wanted to work for her, though. She was the sort of crusty individual best admired at a short remove.

“Excellent word. Determined indeed. Much as I appreciate her fine qualities, you know as well as I that it’s a hopeless case, and I’m reaching the point where I no longer find her instructions entertaining. I don’t suppose you have any useful ideas for spiking her guns?”

“My lord, it is hardly my place—”

“I don’t know who else’s it might be, Darling. If anyone knows me, it’s you. And I’ve never known you to give me bad advice, even when I have to pry it out of you. You have my permission to speak freely, Sergeant—there is no one else to whom I might turn.”

Darling wondered whether his lordship’s head for wine had been softened by that thump it had received. “My lord... May I presume so far as to postulate that you do not expect, ever, to meet a woman who would be a satisfactory wife?”

“Good heavens. Took me at my word about speaking freely, didn’t you?” Lord Robert smiled in a melancholy way. “But that’s the whole point, isn’t it? You’re the only one who could.” He fell silent for a little while, then finally said, “Jack, I can’t bear the idea of marrying a woman I dislike just to satisfy my family. And tying myself to an unsuspecting woman that I did like—like, not love—would make two people miserable. Three, counting yourself—”

Jack sat up in shock, not sure he had heard correctly.

“Since such a marriage would put me in a permanently rotten temper,” Lord Robert finished. “And that would be bound to have an adverse effect on your peace of mind.”