The Chemickal Marriage (49 page)

‘He was with me,’ said Schoepfil.

‘The other prisoners –’

‘Kelling locked them in the stable.’

‘Then an agent of Vandaariff?’

‘But Vandaariff wants my collection for himself. No, the Contessa is frightened, thus she has become desperate – perfectly natural … and
perhaps
even advantageous.’ Schoepfil urgently dug under the cuff of one glove with the poking fingers of the other. ‘Ah! The itching becomes unbearable – any excitement sets it off –’

He peeled down the glove and Miss Temple stifled a gasp of surprise. Mr Schoepfil’s hand was a brilliant cerulean blue. He raised it to his mouth and nipped the flesh between his teeth, then tugged the glove back into position. Bronque watched with distaste.

‘Drusus, I assure you. The woman means nothing. She’s a monster – I
know
she’s a monster. She’ll get her comeuppance from Vandaariff or she’ll
hang. But what if we have another enemy entirely, perhaps one of the Queen’s retainers? They cannot be pleased at your taking up residence, and they are not
all
fools.’

‘Aren’t they?’

‘The Duchess of Cogstead, for example.’

‘Is it possible?’ Schoepfil frowned in thought, then abruptly slapped Bronque on the shoulder. ‘I will consider – as I will continue to consider the Contessa. Go – to Axewith, then Vandaariff. Make the offer.’ Bronque turned on his heel, but Schoepfil hopped after him. ‘Wait! Do you credit this story about Madelaine Kraft – that she was cured?’

‘Do you?’

‘Svenson says so.’

‘Svenson is a hero or a liar. Does he look like a hero to you?’

‘I wouldn’t know,’ laughed Schoepfil. ‘I’ve never seen one!’

Bronque marched out. Schoepfil stood staring at where Bronque had been. Then he lifted his nose and began to sniff the air. Miss Temple pressed herself against the wall. Schoepfil turned to her hiding place, but stopped sniffing as abruptly as he’d begun. He tugged his jacket into position and hurried after the Contessa.

Miss Temple crept to the keyhole. She saw the Contessa escorted away and Schoepfil, instead of following, disappear surreptitiously behind a Moorish screen. When he did not re-emerge, Miss Temple took a breath for courage and scampered down the corridor after him. The screen concealed another room. Schoepfil spoke into a copper funnel attached to the wall. He returned the funnel to its hook and shoved two fingertips under his glove, scratched, then briskly clapped his hands together, as if the sting might suspend the itching.

Beyond Schoepfil a door opened, his summons answered. At the distraction Miss Temple slipped in, as low as a spaniel, and dropped behind a sofa.

‘
Doctor
,’ called Schoepfil warmly. ‘Enter, enter – so much to discuss, so little time. You have eaten – no? Well, hardly time now – you have been told of the fire?’

‘I saw enough of it myself.’ Miss Temple craned around a sofa leg. Doctor Svenson looked like a beaten dog. Schoepfil poked him playfully.

‘Not
that
fire. Can you not smell?’

Svenson swatted at his greatcoat. ‘I would smell smoke if we stood in a rose garden.’

‘Yes, a shocking conflagration, by all accounts, and now that these accounts are arriving, thick as migrating crows – do crows migrate? – the Queen’s court is a-boil with fear.’ Schoepfil lifted a folder of papers from a table and raised a cloud of ash. ‘Thus the extremely small blaze in my own quarters prompts a request that I
relocate
.’

‘What caused this extremely small blaze?’

‘Do you truly not know?’

‘I have been locked in a room.’

‘The Contessa di Lacquer-Sforza. She has provoked an abominable inconvenience.’

‘I should say you came off lucky.’

‘I did not count you amongst her admirers.’

‘I am not. Where is Miss Temple? They were together in the baths.’

Schoepfil shrugged, as if the question were trivial. Svenson reached for the man, but Schoepfil’s hand shot out and quickly twisted the Doctor’s arm at the elbow. Svenson grimaced, but managed to repeat his question.

‘Where is Miss Temple?’

‘Perfectly safe – how you will squirm! – locked with that fellow from the brothel.’

‘Let me make sure of her safety. I can as easily be locked up there as here.’

Schoepfil released the Doctor’s arm. ‘An extraordinary request. Does the Contessa care for her as well? What if I threatened to cut off her nose?’

‘The Contessa would probably ask to eat it.’

Schoepfil sighed. ‘Perhaps. Before I decide the fate of Miss Temple’s nose, however, I must know more about Madelaine Kraft.’

‘There is nothing to tell. She recovered. I cannot say how.’

Schoepfil reached into his coat pocket and removed a cork-stopped flask of brown dust. ‘I believe this is called bloodstone.’

‘Is it?’

‘It was in your own tunic, Doctor. Gorine confirms that you employed
bloodstone
to effect the lady’s restoration.’

‘Mr Gorine was not present. He tells you what you want to hear.’

‘What I want are Mrs Kraft’s whereabouts.’

‘She died in the fire.’

‘Who taught you the properties of bloodstone? Vandaariff? He’s resumed production of the Comte’s
library
, as you know.’ Miss Temple’s eyes went wide at the sight of a leather case propped next to the papers. She bore a scar where another such case, containing the glass book preserving the Comte d’Orkancz, had nearly cracked her skull.

‘With luck he’s set a book aside for you.’

Schoepfil trilled with amusement and shook his head, too quickly, like a little dog shaking off sleep. ‘You tweak me, Doctor Svenson – you
tweak
me because nothing has gone your way. I accept it – accept the
impulse
– though I insist on a serious response before we leave.’

‘Leave for where?’

‘Excellent question. And since I admire your abject determination, Doctor, I will tell you – well, tell you a
little
…’ Schoepfil held up a hand, stepped to the archway and poked his head through. He re-emerged, smiled, and then without warning leapt behind the sofa. But when Mr Schoepfil’s attention had been diverted at the archway, Miss Temple had crept to the cover of an over-stuffed
fauteuil
. Schoepfil lifted the sofa to glare at the carpet beneath.

‘Are you quite well?’ asked Svenson.

‘Of course I am,’ growled Schoepfil. ‘Didn’t you hear?’

‘Hear what?’

‘A
spy
.’ Schoepfil returned to the archway, scowling out. ‘
Breathing
.’

Svenson sighed impatiently. ‘If you refuse to tell me –’

‘I will tell you when I want! And you will tell
me
– whatever I want – more than I want – you will beg for the chance!’

‘No doubt,’ agreed the Doctor blandly.

Schoepfil marched straight to Svenson and struck him across the face. Neither man spoke. Miss Temple dared not peek to see their expressions.

‘I will not endure that … that
tone
,’ hissed Schoepfil. Svenson’s silence was excruciating. Schoepfil sniffed. ‘Set the matter aside. What I was
going
to say – what I was going to
offer
– was a chance for your own skills to turn a
profit, Doctor. A chance to follow in the footsteps of greater men. Doctor Lorenz, Mr Grey –’

‘They were corrupt fools.’

‘Better to follow fools than your neck in a noose, eh?’

‘Follow where? Robert Vandaariff controls every such laboratory, does he not? For heaven’s sake, what is your
serious
question?’

Schoepfil hesitated, and his voice dropped to a nervous whisper. ‘What has my uncle
done
to this Cardinal Chang?’

A discreet cough announced Mr Kelling, soot-smeared but unperturbed. ‘The Duchess of Cogstead, sir. She insists –’

Before Mr Schoepfil could welcome the lady or attempt to refuse, the Duchess made her entry. Miss Temple hardly recognized the old put-upon woman she had seen in the baths, for here was a high lady of court, wig and powder perfectly applied, and her dress, in happy contrast to the clinging bathing costume, a triumph of buttresses.

‘Your Grace.’ Schoepfil made an unctuous bow. ‘As you see, we
do
prepare our exit –’

‘Where is that woman?’

‘Woman?’ Schoepfil fluttered a hand, a grey wren shaking its feathers, at the leather case and papers. ‘Kelling, if you could collect all that and bring it to the coach?’

‘The woman in your protection,’ said the Duchess.

Schoepfil chuckled. ‘I am no church offering sanctuary –’

‘The Contessa di Lacquer-Sforza. She is in your hands. I want her.
Now
.’

‘Goodness!’ Schoepfil turned, distracted by politeness, to Svenson. ‘My apologies, madam, do you know Doctor Svenson? Personal attaché to the late Crown Prince of Macklenburg. Doctor Svenson, Her Grace the Duchess of Cogstead, Mistress of Her Majesty’s Bedchamber and
de facto
mistress of this entire facility –’

The Duchess shifted her voice, hard as a stone, to Kelling, who was gathering items as instructed. ‘Put that down. Nothing will leave this room.’

Schoepfil raised his hands. ‘First you tell me to go,
now
–’

‘Until I have this woman your effects are impounded. You will not leave.
You will not communicate. Your moment – yes, I am aware where Colonel Bronque has gone, and where Lord Axewith has been diverted – your
moment
to engage with
events
, Mr Schoepfil, will
pass
. Unless I have that woman.’

‘I’d no idea the Contessa held such value at court –’

‘You have three seconds to reply.’

‘Your Grace, I need only one. Of course you shall have her. At Colonel Bronque’s suggestion, she waits in the custody of his soldiers. Allow me to escort you, and understand that I myself have no position on the lady. Apparently the Contessa and the Colonel are acquainted by way of the Duke of Stäelmaere …’

But instead of following Schoepfil, the Duchess only called to a group of courtiers who stood outside. ‘Mr Schoepfil will take you to her. Once she is in your hands, you know what to do. Mr Nordling!’ A grey-haired courtier came forward. ‘Escort Mr Kelling and his crate of goods to the guardhouse. Nothing to leave until you have my word.’

Schoepfil pursed his lips. ‘O Your Grace, I do assure you –’

‘
Go
.’

Schoepfil disappeared down the corridor, waving both arms to hurry the pace of his escort. The Duchess and Mr Nordling watched Kelling put the last of the papers into the box. Before Kelling could prevent him, Doctor Svenson slipped a hand through the strap of the leather case and slung it over his shoulder. Kelling looked up with shock.

‘I’ll carry this,’ said Svenson.

‘No!’ cried Kelling. ‘You will give that back!’

Svenson switched the strap to his further shoulder, ahead of Kelling’s grasping hand. He spoke to Nordling. ‘It was mine to begin with, you know.’

‘No!’ insisted Kelling, but he was suddenly a mere servant in a roomful of his betters.

‘Whatever takes the least time,’ said the Duchess. ‘To the guardhouse, Mr Nordling.’

Svenson clicked his heels to the Duchess and marched out. Mr Kelling snatched up the crate and hurried after. Mr Nordling bowed gravely and left his mistress alone.

The Duchess of Cogstead cleared her throat.

‘That can’t be comfortable, no matter how small you are. Come out, child, so I can decide whether you ought to hang as well.’

Miss Temple emerged on her hands and knees, meeting the Duchess’s gaze as proudly as possible. She knew enough to understand that, while highly placed people expected deference, they did not respect it, and that, properly presented, confidence could serve as a compliment instead of an affront.

‘Miss Celestial Temple?’

‘Yes, Your Grace.’

‘Your voice tars you a colonial. How are you here with the Contessa di Lacquer-Sforza?’

‘Under compulsion, Your Grace.’

‘Explain.’

‘I am afraid it would require an hour.’ Miss Temple batted her eyes to signal a lack of insolence. ‘I doubt you will find her.’

‘Schoepfil will defy me?’

‘She is already gone.’

‘That is impossible.’

Miss Temple shrugged. The Duchess folded both arms beneath her heavy bosom, a gesture of discontent.

‘Are you acquainted with Lady Hopton? She has also vanished.’

‘She is dead, Your Grace. You will find her in an attiring room. Hidden in a niche.’

That the Duchess did not blanch confirmed that someone had already done so.

‘But
why
in heaven’s name?’ Beneath the Duchess’s anger lay genuine confusion. She clasped her hands, the knuckles so thick it seemed to Miss Temple that the woman’s flesh was but a pair of gloves, and the fingers beneath studded with rings. ‘You saw it happen.’

Miss Temple nodded.

‘Do your veins run with ice, girl?’

‘No, Your Grace, it is simply that over the course of recent events –’

‘Lady Axewith!’ The Duchess grimaced at her own slow realization. ‘Lady
Axewith persuaded me to grant the Contessa an audience with the Queen – I did not understand the urgency. And now Lady Axewith is poisoned. Lady Hopton must have known –’

‘I expect she had certain conclusions to share with Her Majesty – or, more importantly with you, as you are Her Majesty’s – well, I am not sure of the term –’

‘
Friend
,’ the Duchess stated, her flat tone an implicit corrective.

‘Friend,’ Miss Temple echoed softly. ‘The Contessa and her allies discovered how to compel cooperation. I say compel, but the truth is closer to enslavement.’

‘As
you
were compelled?’

Miss Temple shook her head. ‘O no – I am not the Contessa’s slave. I am her enemy.’

‘But you helped her.’ The Duchess fixed Miss Temple with a threatening glare. ‘That story you told Her Majesty, was it a lie?’

Miss Temple felt the urge to make a clean breast of everything, but she knew the truth about the Duke, the glass, the books, Vandaariff and the Cabal – all necessary to impart before her tale to the Queen made sense – lay beyond her ability to persuade.