Deadly Peril (6 page)

“So let’s get this tedious meeting over with,” Lord Cobham continued, turned on a heel and strode down the short street toward Alec’s townhouse. He kept talking, expecting Sir Gilbert’s short wide person to keep apace with him. “I’m due at White’s for a hand of piquet before dinner. And you, Parsons, have portmanteaux to pack. Come along! Come along! Can’t keep Lord Bloody-High-and-Mighty waiting!”

As Sir Gilbert scrambled to match Lord Cobham’s stride, then follow him up the three shallow steps and into the wide expanse of a black-and-white tiled entrance foyer, he wondered if his now ennobled junior secretary cared to remember who he was. Sir Gilbert’s question was answered almost immediately upon entering the Lord Halsey’s morning drawing room.

“A
CUP
OF
TEA
, my lord, or would you prefer coffee?” Alec asked politely in answer to Lord Cobham’s rude outburst upon entering his drawing room.

“Eh?
Tea
?” Lord Cobham responded, brought up short in the middle of the Aubusson rug by the mild question, as Alec knew he would be. Blinking, he lost his belligerent tone and responded in kind. “Tea. Yes. A cup of tea.”

Alec nodded to Wantage, who stood to attention at the tea trolley with a liveried footman, before looking past Lord Cobham to the man at his back. Alec immediately recognized him and met him with hand outstretched.

“Sir Gilbert! What a pleasure to see you after all these years. I just wish it had been under happier circumstances. You are looking well, sir.”

That Alec greeted him with genuine warmth, and had the good manners to refer to him as ‘sir’, lifted Sir Gilbert’s mouth into a smile and he shook hands with the younger man as if it were only yesterday they had said their goodbyes on the steps of the Foreign Office building on the Strand. For an instant, he forgot everything Lord Cobham had said, and the well-trained subordinate bowed to title without a second thought.

“Congratulations on your elevation, my lord,” Sir Gilbert replied, and in answer to Alec’s compliment he patted the front of his wool waistcoat which was buttoned tightly over his paunch. “Too many years stuck behind a desk will do this to a man. Whereas you, my lord, haven’t changed a jot.”

“Tea? Coffee?”

“Coffee, my lord. Thank you.”

“And how is Lady Parsons? As I recall, she was partial to making fly fringe…?”

Sir Gilbert grinned, even more in charity with Alec for remembering his wife’s little after-dinner occupation while the men played chess. “Ah, you recall that, do you? Maria will be flattered. Even more so when I tell her it was
Lord
Halsey asking after her fringes.”

“For God’s sake, Parsons,” Lord Cobham hissed out of the side of his mouth, “pull yourself together!”

“As to that, Sir Gilbert,” Alec continued smoothly as if Lord Cobham had not spoken, “you may tell Lady Parsons I was persuaded to accept the honor against my better judgment by those who presume to know my best interests better than I!” Adding before the Duchess could protest, “Allow me to make you known to Her Grace, and to my uncle…”

“Aunt Olivia?” Lord Cobham wondered aloud as he thrust his walking stick at the footman to take the cup of tea offered him by the butler. He blinked down at the Duchess as Sir Gilbert stepped away from bowing low over her outstretched hand. “Why are you here?”

“Y’look as if you’ve seen a ghost, Cobham!” Plantagenet Halsey declared pleasantly, sipping at his cup of tea. He had the Duchess’s cup refilled and said to her in an undertone, “Here. Drink this. You’ll need it now more than ever to get through this meetin’.”

The Duchess glared at him, eager to tell him what she thought of his coddling ways, when she was diverted by Lord Cobham, who said, with a sniff and a significant look down his nose at the old man,

“Apologies, Aunt Olivia, but this matter can only be discussed between members of my department. The sensitive details in documents are not to be divulged to persons who do not have a right to know. If it was to get out and about, it would do irreparable damage to relations with a Continental court. What we say within these four walls must not reach the ears of our enemies. And our enemies are everywhere!” He looked at the old man. “I must insist, you, sir—”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Clive!” the Duchess said dismissively. “We are talking about rescuing my granddaughter and my nephew, and you are talking pompous drivel. Where’s Shrewsbury? Why isn’t
he
here?”

“Otherwise detained,” Lord Cobham replied in a much subdued voice. “Seems our Spymaster General is playing nursemaid to his ill granddaughter. Nothing serious, so I’m told. Thought nurses took care of that sort of thing. But what do I know? I don’t have grandchildren—or children, for that matter. So he’s left it in my hands to deal with the—”

“Did you bring that letter, the one addressed to Lord Halsey, or not?” the Duchess demanded. When he nodded over his teacup she straightened her back. “Well? Where is it? You might have the right to withhold it from me, but you cannot do so from him. If anyone can make sense of this travesty, Alec can—and get on with doing something about it! Which is more than your department is doing!”

Lord Cobham opened his mouth to refute such claims, but as it was his aunt making them, he knew when to bow to
force majeure
. With a surreptitious roll of his eyes at his subordinate, as if to say he was compelled to humor his elderly aunt’s whims, he handed Alec a folded piece of paper with a broken seal, saying stiffly, “For your eyes only, Halsey.”

Alec took the letter and retired to the window seat to read without distraction. He heard his uncle make an innocuous remark to Sir Gilbert, and the Duchess ask her nephew how preparation was progressing with the outfitting of a schooner, and then he was lost in Sir Cosmo Mahon’s letter.

The more he read, the more understanding he had of the perilous situation in Midanich, and was able to unravel truth and fiction from the Duchess’s panic-laced account. He was acutely aware of the danger Cosmo and Emily faced as prisoners in a war-torn country, but Cosmo’s dictated letter made that realization much more urgent. He heartily wished he had the ability of flight, for to fly like a bird, and at speed, would enable him to rescue Cosmo and Emily within days, not weeks. Cosmo’s letter had the effect of making him feel thoroughly impotent, and that every hour which passed until he could free them would be interminable.

He was eager to be off within the hour, but knew this to be an impossibility. So many things had yet to be arranged, not least the requisitioning of a suitable ship whose captain and crew were prepared to travel north in this weather and perilous situation. And this despite the danger that awaited him returning to a country he had successfully fled and vowed to never return. He knew precisely what awaited him at Castle Herzfeld. He’d been subjected to violence just short of torture, and witnessed the madness that lurked in the shadows inside those thick walls, escaping within an inch of losing his life. Now, ten years on, those traumatic events had lapsed into the stuff of nightmare. If not completely forgotten, then at least so successfully suppressed that he could rest his head lightly upon his pillow.

And yet here he was, preparing to travel to Midanich, and this time well aware of the evil that awaited him. He did not shirk from it; he could not. Two people very dear to his heart were in dire straits and needed his help. So be it. He must go. If it crossed his mind that he might have to sacrifice himself and change places with Cosmo to ensure his and Emily’s safety and escape, such a circumstance was instantly dismissed as irrelevant. All that mattered was securing his friends’ release. His dread was secondary. He would deal with the Margrave and his sister when the time came. For the time being, he needed to focus on the here and now. So he perched his spectacles on the bridge of his bony nose and lowered his eyes to Sir Cosmo Mahon’s carefully scripted letter.

Dear Alec
[he read]

I am writing what is dictated to me by a court official. He does not understand English. I do not write in French, do I? So I will do my best to sprinkle this letter with a few sentences here and there to alert you of certain particulars. Our consul, Jacob Luytens, is to verify under oath that what I’ve written is a true and correct translation from the French spoken by the official, whose native tongue is German. And that everything I write is a true reflection of my situation. It is quite a language coil, you, my dear friend, would have no trouble unraveling. The sworn oath has put us all in danger, should this be seen by the wrong pair of eyes.

Mr. Luytens assures me he will get this letter to you. I must trust him.

I am treated well, though held against my will. I have been assigned a small room within the palace. My watch, clothes, portmanteaux—everything—has been confiscated. I scratch the days on the wooden floor of my room under the rug, when the sun rises. I am neither permitted quill and paper nor books. Once a day I am taken under escort to walk in the courtyard, or atop the inner wall where there are no grisly reminders of war, whichever takes my fancy. I am fed at breakfast and at dinner, and my chamber pot is emptied daily. While I wish I could bathe more often than once a fortnight, under the circumstances to soak in a hot bath is a small luxury I have come to cherish.

Matthias, my valet, is permitted to shave me every other day, and then is gone. We snatch conversation while we can. He tells me he is not mistreated, though I see he has a black eye and bruises. He says the heads on pike staffs along the parapets are of traitors or deserters—a warning to others who feel so inclined to speak out or flee. It is positively medieval. I feel I have walked into a scene from Hamlet, whose country is not so very far from here.

The court chamberlain, Herr Haderslev, has visited me upon two occasions. I am to be granted an audience to plead my case with the Margrave when he returns from engaging opposition forces in the south. I am told it will be the last battle before the winter weather sets in. I have requested an audience with the Margrave’s sister Princess Joanna. But our consul says the princess lives in seclusion and is never seen during the daylight hours because of her delicate condition. He would not elaborate what that condition was.

I asked Matthias if he knew anything about this condition which keeps the Princess hidden. The next time he came to shave me, he told me that no one speaks of what is known as the “unspoken truth”. It has a long, complicated German name, but this is the rough translation. I asked Mr. Luytens. He said writing it here would be enough to alert you—that you do, indeed, know more than Matthias can discover.

I live in hope the Princess will grant me an audience. My dearest Alec, hope is all I have left.

I have seen Mr. Luytens upon three occasions. It is all the contact I am permitted with our British consul, and this in a month. If it
were
my fate alone, I would consign myself to it, but it is the thought of Emily who keeps me awake at night.

The last time I saw Emily was when we said our farewells aboard ship in port, she to await my return the next day to set sail for Copenhagen. Our Consul assures me she is being accorded every civility as the granddaughter of an English duchess. But as he has not seen her, I fear what I am being told is not the truth. The look in his eyes tells me so. I do not know if it is to spare me or to torture me, because not knowing how she is, if she is alive or—no, I cannot write it here—is sending me mad. The only fact keeping me sane is that the estimable Mrs. Carlisle is with her.

I asked Matthias to find out what he could but when he attempted to make enquiries he came up empty-handed. Everyone lives in fear, not least the servants, who are a closemouthed lot who never lift their eyes above the stone flagging. And as my valet’s movements are heavily restricted by the palace guard, and he cannot speak the local language, he is sadly deficient in his information.

Confined to my room and alone, my mind wanders to fearing the worst, and I do not mean death, dearest friend. Death would be preferable and a godsend for a beautiful young woman such as Emily. As you know, in a time of war atrocities are perpetrated on the defenseless, the weak, and particularly on females, all because they can.

Please, for the love of God, whatever you do, do not mention my fears to Aunt Olivia. Create whatever fiction you prefer, but keep her spirits buoyant. She must continue to hope, as I hope, that we will come through this, if not unscathed, at least alive and whole. So, please, Alec, do not breathe a word until you have seen our expired earthly forms for yourself. And then, again, do not convey the worst to her but some fiction which will allow her to sleep peacefully.

Margrave Ernst has declared his country to be in a state of civil war. Troops are everywhere. I hear them parading across the courtyard, and these are just the elite palace guard. I am to tell you that beyond the walls of this impenetrable fortress, war ravages the countryside. Prince Viktor is declared a traitor to his country for taking up arms against his brother and for calling the native Frisian troops to arms. Any Frisian found in Viktor’s colors is immediately shot. No prisoners are taken. Thousands of people are displaced and ruined because of the merciless actions of Prince Viktor, who is controlled by his mother, the “she wolf”—the Countess Rosine. This is how she is described to me. Our consul Luytens nods his agreement with the official and makes no contradiction, so I am to assume he agrees with this assessment.

Herr Luytens has been back to Emden and returned at considerable personal risk. He says all ports are now controlled by the army, but that Emden remains open because it is through this port that all goods are channeled, and thus provides valuable income for the country, not least the Margrave’s war effort. And so it is at Emden you are to disembark, and with the ransom, the details of which our consul is to send by separate cover. Whatever the amount—bring it!

To be frank, dear fellow, I hold grave fears Emily and I won’t leave this place alive if you do not agree to Margrave Ernst’s demand to present yourself at Castle Herzfeld to negotiate our release. No one and no other method is acceptable to him.