The Dark Enquiry (25 page)

“Precisely. So long as Napoléon III was in power, there was an effective counter to Bismarck’s rise in Prussia. But when the emperor was daft enough to start a war no one wanted and got himself thrown out of France, suddenly the entire Continent was no longer stable—an untenable state of affairs for any of us.”

“What does Continental politics have to do with a club for Spiritualists?” The connection eluded me.

“Because the Spiritualist trappings of the club were only so much window dressing. It was formed as a sort of hive of espionage.”

“Espionage!”

“The house was purchased by the British government in order to provide a place for coded messages to pass between English and French agents, a sort of cooperative effort against the Prussians.”

I could scarcely take in what Brisbane was telling me, it all seemed so fantastical.

“Why a central point for their meetings? Would not a series of clandestine arrangements work better?”

“Yes, and that’s why the club eventually fell into disuse. For a time, it was convenient. There were so many agents in England and France and no one knew what anyone else was doing. Spymasters have a passion for secrecy and obfuscation, even when it serves no purpose,” he added with a wry twist of his lips. “The crux of effective espionage is that no one
can
know what anyone else is doing. This sort of front made things infinitely more complicated, which suited the spymasters whilst matters on the Continent were sorted. It was actually rather effective for a short while. The spymaster would give coded information to the medium who would pass it along to the operative at the next session. Because there were so many regulars, the mediums never knew to whom they were actually giving the message and neither did anyone else.”

“If they did not know to whom to address the message, how did they pass it along?”

“Because the messages from the spymaster always began with a specific phrase. ‘A message from a dark lady.’”

I sat bolt upright. “Brisbane! That is the message Madame delivered at our session!”

He swore softly. “If I had heard that at the time, it would have made this all a damned sight easier.”

“Madame must have been involved in espionage,” I said, catching my breath. It was almost painfully exciting.

“Except that the Spirit Club has not been used for that purpose in a dozen years,” Brisbane told me gently. “It was a mad idea in the first place. Gathering all of those spies in one place seemed like a sound notion as it meant the English could keep an eye on their Continental opposites. In practise, it was utter chaos, and its best use was in keeping aristocratic dilettantes from doing any real mischief. Society gentlemen could play at being spies and feel they were doing their part without ever having access to the most important information. They were useful at best, but too often they bungled—and badly. They were always finding themselves embroiled in one fiasco or another. It took endless sorting out and finally, the whole thing got to be so much trouble, the government just packed it in and went back to the old ways.”

“How do you know so much about the Spirit Club?”

Brisbane ground out the glowing tip of his cigar onto the sole of his boot. “Because just at the start of my career I had to sort out a very thorny problem that almost got me killed by an unhappy English spymaster. A terrified and very elderly widow hired me to protect her as she attended séances because she was quite certain she was being followed every time she left the club and she feared for her life.”

“Was she being followed?”

“Yes,” he answered in some disgust, “by a cotton-headed fool who thought she might be in Bismarck’s pay. He did not take kindly to my interference, and I ended up the subject of a rather vigorous interrogation in the basement of the club.”

“Oh, dear,” I murmured.

“Not one of my happier memories,” he reflected, rubbing at his chin.

I sat for a long moment, digesting all he had told me.

“What became of the club after the government disbanded it?”

He shrugged. “It became an actual haven for Spiritualists. There has been no reason to connect it with anything more—until now. There is one man in England who would know if the Spirit Club is once more being used as a rendezvous for spies,” he said slowly.

“Sir Morgan Fielding?”

“Morgan was the spymaster who interrogated me in the basement of the Spirit Club.”

I groaned and put my hands over my face. “And I interrogated him.”

“I daresay Morgan found it all highly amusing,” Brisbane told me. “And I will further wager that he deliberately charmed you and told you precisely as much as he wanted you to know and nothing more to set you haring off in the wrong direction.”

I peeped through my hands. “You think that he made up the tale about us being related in order to get into my good graces? You think that Morgan may not be my uncle Benvolio’s bastard?”

Brisbane’s lips thinned into a bitter smile. “That Morgan Fielding is a bastard, I have absolutely no doubt.”

“I still do not understand the need for all the theatrics. Surely Special Branch is up to the task of monitoring such activities.”

Special Branch had been formed at Scotland Yard some six years previously to keep a watchful eye upon Irish agitators, but it soon became apparent that every corner of such a far-flung empire ought to be observed and their duties had been expanded.

Brisbane sighed. “Special Branch are overworked and under manned. They are too new to be of any real use yet, although God hopes they will be someday. The truth is every bit of this ought to be taken out of amateur hands and left to the professionals. But there are those, the queen among them, who believe that the inherent superiority of the gentleman gives him a unique ability to serve his country in any capacity. Too often they are inbred idiots who merely muck up the field, and the professionals like Morgan have to clear up after them.”

“I would have expected Sir Morgan to fall into the class of gentleman-dilettante,” I argued.

Brisbane rolled back a sleeve, revealing a whip-thin scar that snaked from his wrist to his elbow, curving up the length of his arm like a serpent. I had often traced it with a delicate fingertip, but I had never asked him where he had acquired it.

“Morgan Fielding is no amateur,” was all that he said. He rolled the sleeve back into place.

“I hope you returned the favour.”

Brisbane gave me a slow, chilling smile. “I did.”

I considered this and came to the conclusion that the less said upon the subject, the better. In fact, I had an entirely different matter of conversation already at hand.

“I am glad you played tonight. The music was most affecting.”

He canted his head, his mouth curving into a slow smile.

“Was it?”

“Yes, it was quite exhilarating. I cannot think when I have been so…stimulated by a piece.”

“Show me,” he commanded. And I did.

The next morning we rose and washed and dressed ourselves, making as presentable a
toilette
as we could under the circumstances. We collected Rook and I tucked the dormouse into my décolletage once more. Granny gave us more of her rank tea and some cold meat for breakfast and walked us to the edge of the camp when the time came for farewells.

“You did not tell my fortune with the bones,” I teased.

She shrugged. “Sometimes it is best not to look too closely at the future, child. Look to today.” But she hugged me tightly, and when we broke apart, she put a finger to my brow, pressing firmly to the spot just between my eyes. She did the same to Brisbane and I realised it was a blessing of sorts.

“Thank you, Granny,” he said softly, kissing her on both cheeks.

She wagged a finger at him. “Sometime Granny will ask you to pay a reckoning,” she said. “You must not forget.
Ja develesa,
children. Go with God.”

With that, we left, and I noticed Brisbane patting his pockets.

“What are you doing?”

“Making certain I still have my pocketwatch,” he said drily.

I gave him a little push, but as I did, I felt something in my pocket bump against my leg. I put my hand into my pocket and drew out a small calico bag.

“What is this?”

Brisbane gave a look. “A charm bag. Do not open it or you will spill the magic.”

I was not certain if he was serious, but I decided it was better to be safe. I tucked it carefully back into my pocket.

“What is in it?”

“Probably a feather, a stone, a bit of bone.”

“Bone?”

He smiled. “Animal, not human. A few other things, as well. Granny will have said an incantation over it. Do not lose it. A charm bag is protection.”

“From what?” I demanded.

But Brisbane said nothing more and I did not like to ask.

The morning sunshine was bright and the trees on the heath were ablaze with autumn colour. Juniper berries shone in the hedges, and here and there spotted scarlet caps of toadstools peeped through veils of green moss. A light breeze buffetted the trees, streaming the gold-and-red leaves like silken banners held aloft. It seemed impossible that we should have to investigate anything so awful as murder on such a day, but as soon as we reached the copse where Monk had hidden the carriage, Brisbane resumed his inscrutable mask and I knew he was pondering the case. We arrived in due course at Sir Morgan’s house in St. John’s Wood, and were shown in at once. I was surprised to find Morgan awake and ready to receive visitors. I would have thought him a late riser.

“Good morning, my dear Lady Julia. And I see you have brought your estimable husband this time. Good morning, Mr. Brisbane,” Sir Morgan said, and there was a note of humour underscoring his polite greeting.

“I think we might dispense with the fiction that we are unacquainted, Morgan,” Brisbane said coolly. “I have informed my wife of the origins of the Spirit Club and that I once had an investigation that took me under its roof.”

Sir Morgan put up his hands. “My dear man, we cannot speak of such things before breakfast. Come and eat with me.”

He ushered us out a pair of French doors and into his pretty little garden. It was cleverly designed with such careful plantings that the views of the surroundings were completely blocked by a tidy riot of flowers and greenery. I was surprised to find there were no exotics here, only a colourful mass of English cottage blooms. A neat path led from the house to the mews door at the back, and in the centre of the garden stood a comfortable arrangement of table and chairs. Dew still spangled the late roses, and it felt rather like an enchanted scene, so picturesque was the setting. We settled ourselves, and in a few minutes Sir Morgan’s turbanned servant had presented us with a delectable breakfast of pastries, cups of chocolate and fruit besides the usual array of English dishes, and pots of tea. Sir Morgan busied himself with the chocolate service and the tea caddy, spooning up more of the delicious green tea and dishes of whipped cream to dollop onto the chocolate.

“So much more civilised than speaking on an empty stomach,” Morgan said.

“I am sorry we troubled you so early,” I said, reaching for a fragrant pastry. “I suppose we are lucky we did not find you still abed.”

“Abed? Good lady, I have not yet been to sleep,” he said, his green eyes twinkling. “I am sorry that Nin cannot come out to greet you, only I never permit her outside. Far too dangerous, you understand.”

Brisbane’s black brows winged upwards. “Nin?”

I darted him a quick glance. “Sir Morgan has the most extraordinary cat. A Siamese, he tells me. A souvenir of his travels abroad.”

Morgan looked at me warmly. “Yes, and she is entirely smitten with Lady Julia. I have never seen her so devoted to anyone other than myself.”

“I can just imagine,” Brisbane said drily.

We fell to eating then, and Morgan and I chatted companionably over breakfast. Only Brisbane remained quiet, offering little to the conversation.

Morgan levelled a glance at him. “Tell me, my dear, do you not find his silences deafening?”

“I would rather have an eternity of his silence than five minutes’ conversation with any other man,” I said truthfully.

Morgan smiled, and when he did, it was touched with melancholy. “You are the most fortunate of men, Nicholas. I would give half the years of my life to hear a woman say the same of me.” He looked to me. “She is an extraordinary individual. You must guard her with your life.”

“I intend to,” Brisbane said softly, and I would not have been at all surprised to see them draw swords and commence to brawling over the breakfast pastries.

“Yes, well,” I said, dusting crumbs from my fingertips, “we have not come to discuss the past but the present, sir. Can you confirm for us that the Spirit Club is being used once more for the purposes of espionage?”

Morgan nearly choked upon his chocolate, and it took him some minutes to regain his composure. When he did, he looked to Brisbane who merely gave him a thin smile and folded his arms over the breadth of his chest.

“My dear lady, you are no wilting wallflower, are you? Straight to the heart of the matter. Very well, I will pay you the compliment of replying in kind. Yes.”

I blinked rapidly. I had not expected this. “Really?”

“Really. The more arcane purposes of the club were revived earlier this year after the French government nearly fell to the Boulangistes. We felt the need to keep a closer eye upon the situation and also believed we had sorted some of the difficulties that once made the Spirit Club an impractical arrangement.”

“And did you? Sort the difficulties?”

“Apparently not, since Madame is dead.”

“Was she a spy?”

“No,” he said slowly, “but she passed messages for us, relaying communications between our own agents and those of our allies. The communications were always coded and she never knew what they contained. She did not even know to whom she was relating the message, for she was only told what to say and to preface it with a key phrase.”

“‘A message from a dark lady,’” I murmured.

“Precisely. In that respect, it worked very well. Since her contacts only knew her and not the other way round, we thought the system quite safe.”

“And it was not?” I guessed.

Morgan’s handsome mouth turned down. “We recently began to suspect that Madame was playing her own game. And unfortunately, that rather muddied the waters for us. We had hoped to use the sessions at the Spirit Club to draw out the agents from other countries, both friendly and otherwise. It is always best to know whom one is dealing with, and our German counterparts have been remarkably bashful about showing their faces. We sent out various ‘messages from a dark lady’ to prod them to action, but the gambit has proven less than successful, I’m afraid.”

“What sort of game was Madame playing if she was not directly involved in espionage?” I ventured.

“We believe she was organising the fall of the Conservative government,” Morgan said coolly.

I choked back a laugh, but I did not feel mirthful. To suspect it myself was one thing, but to hear the words fall from Sir Morgan’s lips was chilling. I forced my voice to lightness. “Come now, sir. You expect us to believe that a medium who worked in travelling shows could topple an entire government?”

“Easier than you think,” he said. “Our Prime Minister is a man of great probity and personal morality. It is that very morality that may prove his undoing. If any member of his inner circle were found to be consorting with the enemy, Lord Salisbury would be overthrown at once and the entire Conservative government would fall.”

He had not spoken Bellmont’s name, and I held my breath as he went on, his voice gentle. “And Madame had already accomplished the first part of her scheme. She had created an attachment between herself and one of Salisbury’s most trusted advisers. I think you know whom.” He paused and I said nothing. “Another cup of chocolate, my dear?” He rose and went inside the house a moment, returning with a bottle. “You need warming, I think.” He added a tiny measure of something fervently alcoholic to the cup and stirred. “Drink that up. It will make this easier to bear.”

I sipped and found the warmth of it shot clean to my belly. “You know?”

“I know, and I further know that you believed her goal was simply blackmail, to use her lover’s letters against him as an insurance policy of sorts. The result might well have ruined him in society, but that was not her aim. She meant to bring down Salisbury, as well, and for that, she must demonstrate not that Lord Bellmont—” I winced at the name “—was an unfaithful husband, but that he was an unfaithful Englishman, a traitor.”

“Impossible!” I cried. “No one loves England more than Bellmont. She could never have proved such a monstrous thing.”

“She could have, if at the same time she gave her favours to Bellmont, she was intimately connected to a German,” Morgan said simply.

I put my head in my hands and groaned aloud.

“Have you a specific German agent in mind?” Brisbane put in quietly. I dropped my hands and peered closely at Sir Morgan.

Sir Morgan shrugged. “Any one of a dozen. I’m afraid Herr Bismarck has been exceedingly busy. We have not as yet been able to identify the specific agent who might have shared Madame’s confidence.”

I cleared my throat. “We do know that Madame had formed an attachment that she expected to be quite lucrative. In fact, she seemed to think her connection with this person would secure her future—hers and that of her sister.”

I said nothing of where I had heard that bit of information, nor anything about the button that indicated the attachment was to a member of the kaiser’s circle. If Morgan had not discovered it for himself, I was in no mood to give such information away freely, and a quick glance at Brisbane confirmed it. He was regarding me with cool approbation, and I knew he approved of my discretion. It had been a terrible shock to have my worst fears about the entire matter confirmed by Sir Morgan. It was as if I had awakened from a nightmare to find that the goblins I had fled had followed me to wakefulness.

Morgan steepled his fingers together, fitting the point just below his chin.

“That would make sense,” he mused. “Madame would need to get right out of England, preferably before the scandal broke. She would need a means of escape.”

“Would she have been in danger of prosecution?” I wondered.

Morgan’s lips thinned to an unpleasant smile. “Madame would have been in danger of quite a few things if she had attempted her coup. But she was only an instrument. Her German contact would have been directing matters and would have arranged for passage to the Continent under the protection of Bismarck.”

I shuddered, thinking of that meddlesome, dangerous old man in Berlin.

“I still cannot believe Bismarck would stoop to such machinations to topple Lord Salisbury,” I remarked.

“Lord Salisbury has been remarkably effective at putting the fear of God into the Germans,” Sir Morgan replied. “The Naval Defence Act was the last straw. More than twenty million pounds will be spent on building warships. England’s navy will be invincible again, and Bismarck cannot risk that. As much as he despises Liberalism in his own country, he must have a Liberal government in power in England for Germany’s protection. Otherwise he must spend millions to match our expenditures in armament.”

“And if he does not?”

“Annihilation,” Morgan said softly, and there was a hard note of satisfaction in his voice. I realised then that the effete and urbane character he put on in society was just that—a part he played to deflect suspicion. The real man beneath the façade was every bit as ruthless as Brisbane. Perhaps even more so.

I considered him carefully. “I wonder which of the faces you show to the world is the real one?”

His smile was genuine then, for the corners of his eyes crinkled in a peculiar way I had not seen before, and the years seemed to fall away, if only for a moment. “As little as I can possibly manage,” he told me. “But I am your cousin. That much is true.”

“I believe it. And I think your mother, for all her inconstant affections, must have loved Uncle Benvolio after her fashion.”

He cocked his head, fixing me with his bright gaze. “How can you know that?”

“Because she gave you a Shakespearean name.”

His roar of laughter was as charming as it was unexpected. “No one else has ever made the connection to
Cymbeline
. By God, I wish I had met you a dozen years ago,” he said.

“Tread carefully, Morgan,” Brisbane commented softly.

Their eyes locked, and something shifted then. The tentatively companionable mood of breakfast was broken, and in its place was something quite inexplicable. I only knew that these men were not enemies, but neither were they friends, and I realised then that they must have endured rather more during Brisbane’s interrogation than either of them let on.

Sir Morgan spoke, his voice touched faintly with malice. “Tell me, Brisbane, have you ever told Lady Julia how you came to meet Sir Edward Grey?”