Dorchester Terrace (9 page)

“That’s what worries me,” Pitt admitted. “It doesn’t make sense. We haven’t understood it yet. But you’re right, there’s something planned, even if this is just a distraction, something to keep us occupied so we miss the real thing. But we can’t ignore it. And if, as you say, someone is prepared to cause a train crash just to kill one person, then it has to be someone of overwhelming importance.”

Stoker moved his thin, strong hands in a very slight gesture of helplessness. “Whatever they are planning, it would have to be soon. They wouldn’t want to risk a change in the timetables wrecking their plan.”

Pitt took a deep breath, and suddenly the room felt colder, even though the fire was still burning and the windows were still closed.

“So who could it be?” he asked. “Who’s coming from Dover to London in the next couple of months? Who would anarchists want to kill?”

“Nobody that matters, far as I can tell.” Stoker shook his head.
“Some Russian count is coming to stay for a private visit. Might be visiting some of our royal family at the same time, I suppose. One or two politicians, but no one important: a Frenchman and an American. Can’t see why any of them would be worth killing, especially here. Probably far easier to do it at home, if you wanted to. Oh, one minor Austrian duke, Duke Alois, but he doesn’t hold any office, and he’d be easy enough to kill in Vienna. And whoever did it could escape there. Whole of Europe to go to. We’re an island: A foreigner would stick out like a sore thumb, unless he hid in one of the immigrant communities in London. But why bother? It makes no sense.”

“Then this is to divert us from something else,” Pitt answered. “Something more important.”

Stoker nodded, his jaw tight. “More important than a foreign count or duke being assassinated right here in London, under our noses?”

“Well, if it’s a diversion, that’s the point,” Pitt said grimly. “They can’t hold our attention unless they do something drastic. Keep looking. And tell me what you find.”

Stoker rose to his feet. “Yes, sir. Maybe it’s a dry run to see if we pick it up?”

“I thought of that,” Pitt agreed. “Learn everything you can. But discreetly.”

When Stoker was gone, Pitt sat back in his chair and considered. Many cases in the past had begun as a whisper, a rumor that seemed trivial at first, a fact that didn’t quite fit, an alliance that was outside the usual pattern. Narraway had years of experience in seeing the anomaly that was the first indication of a new plot, or an attack on a new target.

Until his arrival at Special Branch, Pitt had been used to being called in only after a crime had been committed. He then worked backward to unravel it, the history, the motives, and the proof of guilt that would stand up at trial. It was a new discipline for him to be faced with an event before it occurred, and to be responsible for preventing it.

Did those who had appointed him in Narraway’s place really have any understanding of exactly the skills involved in this process? Had
they misjudged Pitt’s abilities because they had seen Narraway’s successes, and had known that Pitt had contributed to most of the later ones? Could they be so naive?

He had a gnawing fear in the pit of his stomach that they could be.

His own judgment had sometimes been desperately flawed. He had been taken in completely during the whole O’Neil affair; he had been just as duped as the rest of them, until close to the end. And he had believed Narraway innocent out of personal loyalty, which had nothing to do with reason, logic, or ability.

He thought of Narraway’s Irish past, the tragedies and compromises, the things Narraway had done that Pitt would not have. Narraway was subtler, more experienced, and infinitely more devious than Pitt, a loose cannon, whereas Pitt was predictable. And yet even Narraway had come within an inch of being ruined, despite all his skill and experience.

Was Special Branch itself on trial now? Was that the crux of it? Was this all part of a larger plan to ultimately proclaim it a failure and get rid of Special Branch altogether? Pitt knew that even within the government, not everyone wanted them to succeed.

Pitt made it his first priority to learn whatever he could regarding possible assassination targets. If the intended victim was indeed someone visiting a member of the royal family, then the minister in the Foreign Office responsible for Central and Eastern Europe would be a good person to begin his inquiries with. Accordingly, he was at Lord Tregarron’s office a little after half-past two. If there was anything in the rumor, then foiling the plot was a matter of urgency. An assassination on British soil would be one of the most acute embarrassments imaginable, whoever the victim was.

He was still a trifle self-conscious announcing himself as Commander Pitt of Special Branch, but he managed to hide it. He was received with courtesy by a smart young man, who was presumably a secretary of some sort, and who invited him to wait in a very comfortable room.

The armchairs were of brown leather, and there were newspapers and quarterly magazines on the table before a briskly burning fire. He
was even offered whisky, which he declined. The secretary made no move toward the tantalus on the sideboard when he offered, as if he had expected Pitt to refuse.

“Right, sir,” he said smoothly. “We’ll not keep you longer than we have to.”

Ten minutes later it was not the secretary who returned, nor Lord Tregarron himself, but Jack Radley. He came in and closed the door behind him. He was dressed in a black coat and striped trousers. He looked extraordinarily elegant, and slightly uncomfortable.

“Good afternoon, Thomas,” he said with a half-smile. “I assume this must be important for you to have come here in person. May I tell Lord Tregarron what it concerns?”

Pitt was a trifle taken aback. He had not expected to have to explain his errand to anyone else, but he had not called on Tregarron before. Perhaps he should have foreseen it.

“I urgently need some information on visitors any of the royal family may be expecting from overseas within the next month or so,” he replied a little stiffly.

Jack’s eyes widened, curious but unconcerned. “Anyone in particular?”

“I don’t know. That is what I have come to ask. It might be either official or private.”

“Is there some concern for Her Majesty?” Now Jack looked more anxious. “Special Branch doesn’t usually bother Lord Tregarron with this sort of thing.”

“Not so far as I know,” Pitt replied a little coolly. He had heard Jack’s implied criticism that he was wasting their time. “My information suggests that the danger may be to the visitor, but it could be extremely unpleasant either way. I need to speak to Lord Tregarron as soon as possible.”

Jack nodded. “I’ll inform him.” He turned and left, closing the door behind him with a click.

Pitt waited, pacing back and forth across the deep red Turkish carpet, until Jack returned several minutes later, alone. Pitt started toward the door, but instead of opening it for them both to leave, Jack closed it again.

“This seems rather general,” Jack said unhappily. His finger was still on the handle, his body blocking the way out. “What is it that makes you believe there is some threat? You made it sound as if it could come from almost any quarter. Who do you suspect, and of what, precisely? If I could take that information to Lord Tregarron, he might be able to help you.”

Pitt was not easily ruffled. Years in the police had taught him the virtue of patience, and also that when people are shocked or frightened, they often react aggressively. However, this faintly patronizing tone from Jack, of all people, was as abrasive as vinegar on a cut.

“You make it sound as if I’m looking for some kind of personal favor to help me out of a predicament,” Pitt said tartly. “It is Special Branch’s duty to prevent any assassination attempts on British soil, and doing so is as much in the interest of the Foreign Office as it is in Special Branch’s.”

Jack paled and the skin across his cheekbones tightened. “An assassination attempt? Is that likely?”

“I don’t know! Because I don’t know who’s visiting, apart from the official government list.”

Jack stiffened. “Exactly what
do
you know, Thomas? I’ll see how it squares with the information we have. After all the recent problems with Special Branch, you must understand why Lord Tregarron is cautious.” There were spots of color on Jack’s cheeks, but his gaze did not waver.

“That is why I came in person,” Pitt said between his teeth. He was on the verge of adding that if Tregarron didn’t trust him, then he had better ask the prime minister to have Pitt replaced, because nothing would ever get done. Then he realized how childish that would have sounded, and how appallingly vulnerable. Had he heard someone else say such a thing, he would have immediately seen their weakness.

He took a breath and spoke more levelly. “I am aware of the delicacy of the situation, and Special Branch’s one recent near failure,” he said, faintly emphasizing the word “near.” “I would remind Lord Tregarron that in the end we succeeded—rather spectacularly.”

Jack stood motionless. “I will remind him. He will still want to know the details behind your concern. What shall I tell him?”

Pitt was prepared. He had expected to answer to Tregarron personally, but he could see that it was going to have to be through Jack. He outlined what Stoker had told him.

“It doesn’t seem like much,” Jack said gravely.

“By the time it does seem like much, it will be too late to deal with it quickly and discreetly,” Pitt pointed out. “You might mention that also. Special Branch’s job is not to stage dramatic rescues. It is, if possible, to avoid the danger and embarrassment in the first place.”

Jack bit his lip. “I’ll go and tell him. Please wait.”

Again Pitt was too restless to sit in any of the chairs, comfortable as they were. He stood by the window, then paced, then stared out the window again at the busy street below. The blustering wind whipped at coattails, caught umbrellas, and endangered hats. He could imagine the hiss and splash as the wheels of passing carriages sent arcs of muddy water up into the air behind them.

It was a quarter of an hour later when Jack finally reappeared. This time he looked distinctly embarrassed.

“I’m sorry, but we can offer no practical help. Lord Tregarron says that he has considered the information you passed to us, and he does not feel that it refers to any of the private visits of which we are aware, nor does it seem connected to any of the anarchist groups in Europe of which we know. In his opinion, it is no more than careless gossip, and there is no need for you to be anxious.”

He gave a bleak smile. “He asked me to convey to you his thanks for passing on your concern, and for taking the trouble to come personally, especially in view of recent past events.” He seemed about to add something further, then changed his mind. Perhaps a glance at Pitt’s face told him that he was already beyond the point of condescension.

Pitt felt acutely like the policeman he had once been, whom well-trained butlers would send to the servants’ entrance when he had been bold enough to knock on the front door. As if they felt that the gamekeeper’s son was putting on the airs of a gentleman and needed to be put in his place.

What would Narraway have done in this situation? The answer was obvious: He would not have
been
in this situation. Tregarron would have seen him, regardless of what he thought of the evidence.

Or would Narraway have been confident enough to judge the entire situation more accurately, and thus not needed Tregarron’s opinion? Was that where Pitt had failed?

“Thank you for attempting to help,” Pitt said coolly. “I shall have to acquire the information from some other source. This has been a waste of time, but it seems that neither you nor I have the power to avoid that. Good day.”

Jack started to say something, then changed his mind. He was pale, but his cheeks were flushed. He opened the door for Pitt, who went out and into the long corridor without looking back.

J
ACK WATCHED PITT UNTIL
he was out of sight, then returned to Tregarron’s office, knocking lightly. He was answered immediately.

Tregarron looked up from his desk, the question on his face.

Jack closed the door behind him. He found this embarrassing. Pitt was his brother-in-law, and he both liked and respected him. But he knew something of the circumstances of Pitt’s promotion to Narraway’s position, and how close the whole affair had come to disaster. He knew that Pitt must be nervous now, perhaps leaning too far toward caution, afraid of missing a clue, and consequently overreaching himself, and his authority. If he became officious, he would make enemies.

“I think he was just being careful, sir,” he said to Tregarron.

Tregarron smiled, but it was tight-lipped. “Don’t let him be a nuisance over this, Radley. If people realize he’s jumpy, they may start to imagine that there’s something real behind it. We can’t have Europe thinking we don’t know what we’re doing. Keep a tight rein on him, will you?”

Jack stood very straight. “Yes, sir.” He considered adding something more, then thought better of it. He was new to his position too. Tregarron was one of the most dynamic figures in the Foreign Office. He had clearly taken a liking to Jack, much to Emily’s delight.

He sincerely hoped Emily had had no hand in his promotion. It was extremely important to him to succeed on his own merit.

Early in their marriage, he had been content to live very comfortably on the wealth Emily had inherited from George Ashworth, but as time had gone by he had become less happy with it. Possibly that was due in part to the sense of purpose he saw in Pitt, and Charlotte’s confidence in him because of it. He wanted Emily to look at him with the same regard: a regard born of belief, not duty.

Tregarron cleared his throat impatiently.

Jack smiled. “Yes, sir, I’ll see that he doesn’t embarrass himself, or us.”

“Thank you,” Tregarron said. “You’d better look over those papers from the German ambassador.”

A
FTER DINNER THAT EVENING
, Pitt sat in the parlor in the big chair opposite Charlotte. The gaslight was bright, and the heavy velvet curtains were closed. The fire burned well, and the sound of the wind in the trees outside, mixed with the faint spatter of rain on the glass, was oddly comfortable. They were discussing moving house, but seemed to be deciding against it, at least for the time being.