The Chemickal Marriage (36 page)

‘By God – you have won your way with Lacquer-Sforza, but here you do trespass, Mr Foison! That man is
mine
!’

Harcourt stood in the doorway with several Ministry men, reinforcements muttering at their superior’s collar.

Foison nodded at Chang. ‘And
he
is mine. Is it not possible they are acquainted?’

‘Perhaps! Perhaps! And now that we are all present – well, go ahead and ask your best – but any attempt to exclude the Council will not stand.
My
prisoner is here only at Lord Axewith’s personal instruction –’

‘Your prisoner is here so
we
may learn what
you
could not.’

‘If you throw them together they will only lie – you will be forced –’

‘To take measures?’

‘Exactly. And it will be no business of mine.’

‘Though it was your business with this gentleman.’ Foison sighed at the man in the chair. ‘Rather crudely.’

‘He is no gentleman!’ Harcourt’s eyes were hard. It was clear to Chang that the prisoner had been savaged precisely
because
of Harcourt’s indecision – with the ferocity boiling forth in resentment at his dilemma.

Foison shrugged. ‘He bleeds like one, but such distinctions are not my expertise. I do know that Cardinal Chang –’

‘A criminal of the first water.’

‘If by that you mean he will be more difficult to persuade, I agree.’

‘Do not say that where he can
hear
!’ Harcourt sputtered. ‘You steel his purpose – now he will hold out even longer!’

‘I tell the Cardinal nothing he does not know. Just as he knows, no matter his resistance, that I
will
break him. The only question is how badly broken he will be.’

‘If you think we will spare you,’ Harcourt called to Chang, deciding after all to support Foison, ‘you are deeply mistaken. The nation is in peril. The
Crown
. And in setting yourself against us, you’re nothing but a common traitor.’

Chang nodded towards their prisoner in the chair. ‘Is he?’

Foison pulled the bag away. Mr Phelps flinched from the light as if it too might strike him. What Cunsher had endured at the Marcelline was nothing to the ordeal inflicted on Phelps. Dark blood smeared his face. One eye had swollen shut, and the other peeped through a veil of seeping fluid. His nose was broken and one lip split like a rotten plum.

Chang felt his stomach tighten. Phelps had been one of their own, and this is what they’d done. Foison gently turned Phelps’s face to Chang. ‘Do you know this man, Mr Phelps?’

Phelps nodded. His voice was a slurred croak. ‘Criminal … ought to be hanged.’

‘You just heard Mr Harcourt voice the same opinion. Perhaps you would explain
why
he should be hanged?’

‘Outlaw … the Duke signed a writ on his life.’

‘I don’t believe he did.’

‘Lost … never delivered –’

‘Come, Mr Phelps. When did you last see this man?’ Phelps shook his head at the question, as if such a thing were beyond his scattered mind, but Foison remained patient. ‘At Parchfeldt? At Harschmort? This evening at the Palace?’

With a pang, Chang saw Phelps shake his head at this last suggestion, too vehemently. Harcourt pointed a finger, triumphant.

‘He is
lying
.’

A tight, pleading gasp of distress escaped Phelps’s throat. ‘Chang is a killer … you know it yourselves –’

‘Who did he kill?’

‘I don’t know –’

‘Did he kill Colonel Aspiche?’

‘I don’t know –’

‘What of Arthur Leverett? Or Charlotte Trapping?’ Foison remained calm. ‘The Crown Prince of Macklenburg? The Comte d’Orkancz?’ Phelps gulped air, unable to reply. Saliva flecked his purpled lips. Foison rested a hand on Phelps’s shoulder. ‘So many deaths …’

‘I would like nothing more than Cardinal Chang on a scaffold,’ said Harcourt.

‘
Why in hell are you here?
’ Chang’s voice was as dark as he could make it. Harcourt quailed.

‘I – I – Lord Axewith – I am appointed, deputized, in the immediate crisis –’

‘Do not speak to the prisoner, Mr Harcourt, he only seeks your discomfort.’ Foison stepped away from Phelps, hands at his waist, near his knives. ‘In truth, perhaps it would be better if you left.’

‘Phelps is my prisoner,’ protested Harcourt.

‘But Chang is a different matter. I require this room free.’

Harcourt sniffed and took a pocket watch from his waistcoat. ‘Very well. Five minutes. But then we will consult.’ Foison said nothing. Harcourt nodded, as if they had agreed, and backed into his assistants. They left in a scuffle. The soldiers remained at either side of the door.

Chang spoke as brightly as possible. ‘My turn?’

‘I must deliver you alive. You understand the breadth of options I can
exercise without compromising that condition. Whether I do so is up to you.’

‘You will not break my teeth for your own revenge, then?’

‘No.’

‘Why not?’

‘Because I know what awaits you, Cardinal Chang. Revenge enough.’

He was bound to a chair. When it was done, Foison crossed to the door, waving the green-coats out ahead of him. ‘I will return momentarily – Mr Harcourt, for all his faults, is energetic and must be contained. You cannot escape – nor, if you value the young woman’s life, will you try.’

The door closed and the room fell into silence, apart from Phelps’s straining wheeze. Chang knew there was little time. He snapped his fingers

‘Phelps! Wake up! Phelps!’

Phelps raised his head with difficulty, his one clear eye helpless and apologetic. Was he even in his right mind?

‘Your friend is alive,’ said Chang.

Phelps swallowed, blinked. ‘Friend?’

‘The one taken with you. He is alive and free.’

‘Dear God. Thank heaven.’ Phelps cast a wary glance to the door. ‘The Doctor?’

‘You need not worry. But there is little time –’

‘No.’ Phelps began to shake his head. ‘No – I am so sorry – so ashamed –’

Chang dropped his voice. ‘You had no choice. No one does. Listen to me – I must know what you said –’

But Phelps did not hear, still working to form his words. ‘I did not know – you must believe me, Chang, I had no earthly idea. A failure from the start.’

‘No one knows – and everyone submits. Phelps, there is no shame –’

Tears rolled lines through the blood on Phelps’s shaking face. ‘All this time, I had thought myself reclaimed –’

‘They were bound to apprehend us –’

‘But who
am
I, Chang? How much have I betrayed? Have I done so all this time?’

‘Done what?’

‘Betrayed everything!’

‘But what did you tell them?’

‘I don’t know!’

Chang forced himself to stay calm. ‘Phelps, they are about to set in on me – it will doom us both if I contradict you –’

‘My soul is already taken.’

The man was useless. Chang changed tactics. ‘Have you seen Celeste Temple? She is to be exchanged – have you seen her? Did they speak of her? Is she here?’

Phelps shook his head. ‘Heard nothing. Seen nothing. If the girl is here …’

‘What? What?’

‘… she has already been consumed.’

The door opened. Phelps flinched at the sound and began to babble. ‘I assure you – for God’s sake – we said nothing –’

Foison smiled regretfully. ‘Of course not. Still, one attempts what one can.’ He took a third chair, facing Chang, but putting Phelps between them.

‘Cardinal. Will you tell me of the Contessa?’

‘By all means. She claims to be Italian, her figure is handsome, her personal habits are slovenly in the extreme –’

A knife appeared in Foison’s hand, and he extended his arm until the tip pricked Mr Phelps’s earlobe. Phelps gasped but kept still.

‘No,’ said Foison. ‘Mr Phelps has divulged everything, or so I am convinced. Do you understand? I lose nothing in his disposal.’

‘And I do?’

‘Such is my
perception
. Start from the Customs House. After the explosion – how did the Contessa find you?’

‘I found
her
.’

‘She has sworn to kill you.’

‘And I, her. It is deferred.’

‘
How
did you find her?’

‘I saw her coach and forced my way inside.’

‘Another lie.’

Phelps gasped again as a whisper-thin line of blood formed across his earlobe. As Chang watched, a bead of red slid off the line and hung like a pirate’s ear-ring, then dropped to stain Phelps’s shirt. Chang had barely seen Foison move.

‘Cardinal?’ Foison tapped the knife against Phelps’s shoulder.

‘I guessed where she would be. She had hidden herself in the Palace, hoping to enslave as many highly placed courtiers as possible –’

‘If you are referring to Sophia of Strackenz –’

‘I refer to Lady Axewith.’

Foison shifted in his chair, the knife cradled in his lap. ‘Do you have proof?’

‘The lady’s appearance, for one. But also the network of society women she has enlisted to gather information. They have been swarming Axewith House like bees a hive – all at the unseen behest of the Contessa.’

‘Where is the Contessa now?’

‘Laughing at you, I expect. Why did you stop Harcourt from taking her?’

Foison ignored the question. ‘Where is Doctor Svenson?’

‘We were separated after the blast.’

‘Where is Francesca Trapping?’

‘With Doctor Svenson.’

‘How did he acquire her?’

‘At the Palace. The Contessa had hidden her.’

‘That isn’t true.’

The words hung there. Phelps glanced desperately at Chang. Foison’s grip shifted on the knife. Chang knew it was a test, exerting pressure to establish how far he would go to preserve Phelps. Chang kept his face empty. If he made up anything now, it would make matters worse. Foison flicked his head, flipping a lock of white hair from his eyes. ‘Tell me about the painting.’

‘Which painting?’

‘You know very well.’

Another test – Chang had no idea what Phelps had already confessed. ‘A
newspaper clipping. From the
Herald
, critiquing an art salon, especially a painting of the Comte d’Orkancz entitled
The Chemickal Marriage
–’

‘And you saw this painting yourself?’

‘None of us did.’

‘I will ask you once more. Did you see this painting?’

‘No. The salon was in Vienna.’

The knife sliced through the earlobe. Phelps shrieked and hopped against his bonds. The gash streamed blood, the severed nub of flesh somewhere on the floor.

‘The salon burnt down with the painting in it!’ Chang shouted. ‘The clipping came from the Contessa – if you want to know more, ask her!’

Foison ignored his anger. ‘Again, please, how did you acquire Francesca Trapping?’

‘I didn’t! We were separated in the Palace – when I found Svenson, he had the child –’

‘So Doctor Svenson had seen the Contessa?’

‘If he had, she would have killed him.’

‘She did not kill
you
.’

‘Doctor Svenson would have given her no choice. She murdered the woman he loved, Elöise Dujong.’

‘So he stole the Contessa’s property – this child – out of revenge?’

‘You do not know Svenson. He rescued a child in danger.’

‘Has the child been mistreated?’

‘You saw her yourself, you damned ghoul. She’s been poisoned by that glass book. By your filthy master. Who’s no more Robert Vandaariff than I’m the Pope – or you’re the God damned Queen!’

The door opened, and Robert Vandaariff tottered in. He had aged even since the Customs House, his face grey and his bony fingers fiercely gripping the head of his cane. His throat was wrapped in a neck cloth, but a red bruise extended past its white border. Harcourt slipped in behind, eyes darting covetously between Chang and Mr Phelps.

‘Time ticks on,’ Vandaariff announced blandly. ‘Close the door, Mr Harcourt. We have no need of soldiers.’

‘But, my lord, your safety – Cardinal Chang –’

‘Is tied to a chair. Mr Foison will preserve me. Will you not trust him, too?’

With a gesture somehow grudging and haughty at the same time, Harcourt sniffed at the grenadiers and shut the door in their faces.

‘And the
lock
,’ added Vandaariff.

Harcourt turned the bolt. A curl of dread climbed Cardinal Chang’s spine. He had returned himself to this madman’s power. Every impulse cried out to fight, but he’d thrown away the chance.

‘Do you have … headaches?’

Chang did not answer, and then Vandaariff repeated the question, turning to Harcourt.

‘Mr Harcourt? The pains – they grieve you, yes?’

‘Beg pardon, my lord –’

‘I think they must. Speak freely.’

Harcourt shuffled back a step, aware of everyone watching. ‘Perhaps, my lord – but, given the crisis, regular sleep is impossible – much less regular meals –’

Vandaariff tapped Harcourt’s forehead with a knuckled claw. ‘
There
. Is it not?’

Harcourt smiled awkwardly.

‘And your eyes … have you seen your eyes, Mr Harcourt?’

‘No, sir. Should I?’

‘Take off your glove.’

Chang had not noticed the gloves: a self-important prig like Harcourt would naturally wear them. Harcourt squeezed his hands together.

‘I know already that your nails are yellow, Matthew. That the cuticles bleed, that gripping a pen gives you pain.’

‘Lord Robert –’

‘Not to worry, my boy. I also know what to do about it.’

Harcourt gushed with relief. ‘Do you?’

Vandaariff drew a handkerchief and laid it on Harcourt’s open palm. Harcourt gently plucked the handkerchief apart. When a blue glass card was revealed, Harcourt went pale, licking his lips.

‘You have met such an object before.’

‘Excuse me, my lord – it is difficult – ah – it is extremely difficult –’

‘Take it up, Matthew.’

‘I dare not – I cannot – given the current –’

‘I insist.’

Harcourt’s resistance gave way and he sank his greedy gaze into the blue card’s depths. No one spoke, and after a moment, like a dog in a dream, one of Harcourt’s legs began to shake gently, heel tapping softly on the floor.