Dreaming Spies (42 page)

Well, I thought, the woman had certainly figured out what mattered to a citizen of the Land of the Rising Sun.

“One answer,” Haruki bargained, “then I go.”

“One answer, then the police take you away,” the countess corrected her.

“Charlotte, why say anything?” Tommy protested. “Let me ring for Baker. He and the footman can sit on her until your Inspector Gable arrives.”

But the woman wanted to tell her prisoner the truth, for the same reason she had run the knife blade down the half-healed wound: to cause pain. She wanted Haruki to walk away aching with the knowledge of who was responsible. Knowing there was nothing that could be done about it.

“I first met the gentleman who would become my husband, Lord Darley—Tommy’s father, James—some years ago, through a friend in Paris. James had an agreement with the fellow, that whenever he came across some particularly juicy bit of scandal, he would put Émile onto it, and in turn Émile would drop a few guineas in his hand. The upkeep on a place like this, his social responsibilities, the occasional game of cards or flutter on the ponies—life can be quite expensive, for a gentleman.

“Émile and I had a similar arrangement, although my tips were generally about the women—and frankly, more valuable. When James and I first met, we were both married, but I liked him well enough. Émile died during the War, as did my first husband. James’s wife died a few years later. He and I happened to meet again, three years ago. We found that we still enjoyed the other’s company. The following spring—this was 1923—he proposed. It was, in truth, as much a business arrangement as anything else.” She gave her husband’s son what was intended to seem, and apparently was accepted as, a shy and apologetic smile. I shuddered, although probably it was from the cold. Holmes wrapped his arm around me, as we pressed close for one another’s warmth.

“I did not, as many thought, marry James for his money. Since the War, I had established quite a number of lucrative ventures, all on my own. One of those harmless sources of income was to connect certain wealthy art-lovers with a gentleman who often got his hands on some very high quality art reproductions—even, occasionally, the originals.”

“A ‘fence,’ I believe they are called,” Haruki offered.

“A
provider
. It was through this gentleman that I heard of the Emperor’s book, and particularly of its hidden document. I was intrigued, and borrowed the document to have it translated. Even then, I was not certain as to the precise meaning, but I suspected that it was important.

“This was happening around the time that James proposed. I accepted, and in the course of merging our houses, we also merged our … ventures. I don’t remember which of us it was who thought to include Japan on our world itinerary, but we agreed, it would be the ideal opportunity to offer the book to its owner. Although as I suspect you are aware, the book did not include the document.”

Time was passing, soon the stars would begin to fade in the sky—and although my body craved the sun’s warmth, it would be a disaster. Holmes was aware of it, too: I could feel his growing uneasiness.

“Thank you,” Haruki said. Then her gaze shifted, to the young man with the gun. “And you, young Lord Darley: are you satisfied with this answer?”

The countess looked suddenly wary. “Tommy, sweetheart, I would like to get to bed before—”

Haruki talked over her, speaking still to Tommy. “Your father died. We all believed he was the blackmailer. Well, we knew he was
a
blackmailer—a young woman named Wilma Roland gave her life to prove it. But how convenient for you, not only that his papers lived on, but that his widow knew precisely what to do with them. I imagine the papers were kept in his safe, not in hers. Am I right?”

“Servants go into the big one,” he said. “Charlotte’s maid—”

“Tommy,” the coaxing voice began.

Again Haruki cut her off. “But all the papers were kept
there
, even for projects that belonged to your father’s wife. Am I correct?”

“It’s more convenient, to have them all in one place.”

“For her, certainly. If the Japanese police had arrested your father, and if the English police had come here to investigate, would they have found any evidence at all that he had not acted on his own?”

Tommy ignored his lover’s protests, even without the prisoner’s help. “That means nothing.”

“Doesn’t it? What if the police came to arrest you now? Would they find any evidence at all in the safe—that safe in
your
room—to tell them that Lady Darley knew anything at all about your crimes?”

“Of course they would!”

“Tommy!”

“I mean, there’ve been times when she … did things.”

“Which of you shot the fence, Bart Collins?”

“I never—”

“The Bourkes may be irreplaceable, far too valuable to shoot, but which of you spread the dismembered rabbit around the Bourke workshop by way of a warning?”

No response.

“Also, a Japanese translator by the name of Rai Hirakawa was taken from the river in London, a few days after Mr Collins was shot.” The name tickled the back of my mind … where? In Sussex: the newspapers. An inquest. “I imagine that Lady Darley took care to be busy in some public place at the time he died. Attending a party, having her hair done.”

“I—”

Haruki continued. “Another guess, since I seem to be having such luck with them. I would guess that your lover found her husband a little too civilised. That he was willing to commit blackmail, but she could not urge him into actual murder. For that she required someone a little more … ‘malleable,’ is, I think, the word. Did she seduce you before you left England? Or was it on the voyage over? Certainly you had cuckolded your father before you boarded the
Thomas Carlyle:
why else never meet her eyes on the ship? And having seduced your body, she then took her time on the home voyage to seduce your morals. Letting you know how exciting she found it when you were … ruthless. As your father never was.”

After a long and electric moment, Tommy’s head turned to look at the countess. I expect he was unaware that his hand followed his gaze—but she was not. She flicked an uneasy glance at the revolver, then restored her smile. “Tommy, darling, you can see what she’s doing, can’t you? Trying to drive a wedge between us? I love you, Tommy. You know that. I’ve given you … everything.”

“Lady Darley, how did your first husband die?”

The countess kept her pleading eyes on the young man. “I told you, he died in the War.”

“Yes, but in battle? Or was his body found in a Paris alleyway?”

Where the hell did Haruki get her information? She wasn’t inventing it—the words hit the older woman like a body blow, her wide eyes coming off her lover at last. “No! It was … he died on the Front. So many did.”

“Many did, true. But not him. And if Lord Darley—James Darley, that is—had not died a year ago falling from the roof of the Imperial Hotel, when would he have died? Would he have made it all the way home again, or might he have encountered a fatal accident somewhere along the way?” The black eyes returned to Tommy. “Lord Darley, Charlotte Bridgeford married your father not because she wished a partner, but because she required a shield. A ‘scapegoat.’ I suggest that she intends the same for you.”

Lady Darley did not quite dare to attack her, not with the gun still in her lover’s hand. Instead, she tossed her lovely hair, which had somehow come down around her shoulders. She laughed. “Oh, Tommy, this really is extraordinary. Ring Gable again and ask how long before we can get this creature out of our lives. You’ll see that … that … Oh, what is it
now
?”

The countess’s exhortations were pulled apart by a series of odd moves by Haruki: first she swivelled in her chair to look at the gilt desk behind her, then straightened to lean back on the settee. She propped one foot on the table, then the other, ankles crossed. Her fingers locked across her stomach, her mouth tucked into a secret little smile.

“What?” demanded Lady Darley. “What are you smirking at?”

“Merely the hour.”

“It’s four o’clock in the morning. Why the devil does it matter?”

“You are about to have visitors,” Haruki said.

As if in tardy confirmation, the clock downstairs chimed. The sound stopped, faded, and merged into a distant approaching murmur.

A car on the road—and a play of lights as it turned down the drive.

Hawthorn: birds nesting
.

Nakasendo: monkey’s fur
.

Two uses of moss
.

Wordlessly, Holmes wrenched himself upright using the balcony railing, then tugged me to my feet, pushing me in the direction of the portico roof.

I clambered across the gap, then scurried, bent double, across the dim light from the arched window—nearly sprawling on my face as I tripped on something. I pushed into the vines growing up the trellis, as Holmes did the same on his side. The narrow strip of light across the balcony abruptly became a flood as the orange curtains jerked apart. Tommy’s silhouette moved across the tiles where we had been seconds before. He looked down at the drive.

His voice was quite clear. “This will be Inspector Gable. Here, you take the gun in case she decides to make a break for it. Shall I put the book away?”

“No, just put it on a shelf—it’s the one thing the girl won’t talk about.”

The car stopped directly before the portico. The scrape of a door latch was followed by feet on gravel, crunching across to the steps and up the
landing to the door. The bell rang, followed by the hollow demands of a knocker.

If the servants slept through this, they had been drugged.

However, Tommy reached the downstairs door before any servant could. “Good morning, Inspec—oh, sorry. I was expecting Gable. He sent you in his place, did he?” The jovial beginning followed by marked uneasiness told me all I needed to know about Inspector Gable.

“I don’t know anything about that, sir,” said a man with working-class Oxford tones beneath the accents of education. “My name is Ambrose. This is Constable Harwood. I have come to investigate a report of criminal activities taking place inside this house.”

“Well, yes, although I’m not sure that there’s much investigation required. This girl broke in, little Japanese thing, not dangerous I’d guess but somewhat nervous-making, nonetheless, and …”

His voice faded as he stepped back to allow Ambrose and his man to enter. With the voices inside, there was little danger of being overheard. “What do you want to do?” I whispered to my large and all-too-nearly-visible husband.

“I propose that we take our leave of this circus before we are spotted. Miss Sato appears to have made plans that do not involve us. In any event, we can be of more assistance to her cause from the outside of a gaol cell than from within.”

“Agreed.”

Inside, the three men reached the top of the stairway, continuing down the short length of corridor. Their voices were strikingly clear. As I ventured a peek around the vines, I noticed that one segment of the big arched window had been left unlatched, and was slightly open: another sign of careless housemaids. Tommy’s pronounced drawl informed the Inspector about how he and Lady Darley had driven back from Leicester after a party (casually dropping the names of a few august fellow guests) and were having a nightcap in the library when …

The voice became muffled as the men entered the library. Holmes and
I prepared to make our departure down the trellises—and then came the other voice.

“Good morning, Miss Sato,” said Ambrose. “I trust we hit the time about right?”

Holmes and I froze into place.

“Thank you, Inspector, you are quite on time. This is Charlotte, Lady Darley and Thomas, Lord Darley. I believe you will find some items of interest in the safe in Lord Darley’s dressing room. The combination is 12; 2; 19. I believe that is the date of the former Lady Darley’s death.”

“Lord Darley, Lady Darley, you are under arrest for the—watch out, she’s got—oh, good. Miss Sato, I’ll take that weapon, if you please. Constable, please keep control of Lady Darley.”

It was at this point that the other members of the household belatedly trailed up from their beds: butler, footman, housekeeper, and two or three maids, roused by the tumult at the door. Tommy did his manly best to summon them to action but, given a choice between a large constable and their disliked employer, none cared to risk physical intervention.

Ambrose sent the servants downstairs to await him in the kitchen, then said something I could not quite hear. Tommy’s voice, however, rose clearly through the small gap in the window nearby.

“My good man,” he began to bluster, “surely you can see this … 
person
is an intruder? She broke into my house, she
threatened
Lady Darley, and if she knows the combination to the safe there’s no doubt she’s stolen us bli—”

“Tommy, for God’s sake, shut your mouth!” the countess snarled in a fury, but it was too late.

“Burglary, is it?” Ambrose asked, sounding quite cheerful at the prospect. “Perhaps my constable and I ought to have a look. Would you all be so good as to assist us? Yes, you too, my Lady.”