Speak Its Name: A Trilogy (12 page)

Jack wasn’t sure whether to be relieved or disappointed.

“Therefore—yes, Darling, you may make that assumption. I can’t bring myself to contemplate anything so entirely wrong for me as marriage. What I need is an unassailable reason to deny myself the wedded bliss my female relations would force me into—something to stop their pestering once and for all.”

“They mean well, my lord.”

“They do.” He laughed ruefully. “They really do. That’s why I can’t simply tell them to mind their own damned business. The way they see it, I
am
their business.”

They rode for a few minutes in thoughtful silence. Then Jack said, “My lord, you must invent a woman.”

“What, pretend to be engaged? That wouldn’t serve for long. There’d be that telltale lack of a fiancée.”

“No, my lord. An unattainable woman. So long as the ladies think your heart untouched, they will be persistent as water on stone. But because they do want to see you happy, if you could convince them that the subject is painful for you, they might desist.”

“Yes, that might work. I’m always tempted to go ahead and tell them the truth, but that would only make it worse. My mother would think she failed, my father would die of fury, and they’d all want to ‘cure’ me.”

Over my dead body!
Jack restrained himself. “What I’m suggesting, my lord, is that you invent a long-lost love to whom you gave your heart, who married another or suffered untimely death.” He placed a hand on his heart and rolled his eyes in a tragic manner. “She is forever out of reach, but you cannot love another.”

“You scheming devil!” his lordship said admiringly. “You’ve been reading trashy novels again, haven’t you?”

“No, my lord. It was a trashy melodrama, in a theatre far below your mother’s standards. The story would have no effect on the matchmakers outside your family, of course.”

“The husband-hunting mamas can go hang. It’s mainly my mother I’d like to discourage.”

“Untimely demise would be the most effective.” Jack was beginning to enjoy the drama of his brain-child. “No one could attempt to discover the lady’s identity in order to ask her why she chose you over your rival. Or—I hesitate to suggest this—you might tell your mother that while you were in the Army, you married unwisely—”

“What?”

“To a young lady in another country—Italy, perhaps—who has since vanished, and you do not know whether she is alive or dead.”

“Oh, that would never do. Seriously, Darling, you don’t suppose my mother would rest one moment until she unearthed the poor girl, do you? Alive or dead, that wouldn’t stop her. Vesuvius pales by comparison. I wouldn’t have a moment’s peace until she had names, dates, and places.”

“I see your point, my lord. Your lady mother would be indefatigable. I have only one other suggestion, but you may not appreciate it.”

His lordship waved a careless hand. “Go ahead, demolish what’s left of my reputation! What is it? A secret seraglio? Loathsome disease?”

“If your lordship recollects our extremely close call at the Battle of Maiwand...”

“I almost wish I could forget it. We lost so many good men.” Lord Robert leaned back in the seat, his face suddenly sober. “Overrun by those devils two minutes after the doctor sewed up my leg, and him shot too, with the bandage in his hand. If his orderly hadn’t been as quick on his feet as you were, we’d both have been buried there. About the third time you saved my life, wasn’t it?”

Darling shrugged. “I was considering the geography of your injury, my lord. If your mother believed that the wound was not to your leg, but higher, and slightly more central, so as to interfere with dynastic ambitions...”

His Lordship winced. “Ye gods, man, that’s brutal.”

“Yes, my lord, but only consider—it is one thing that you can be certain she would never share with her friends, and perhaps not even with your grandmother. You might explain to your esteemed parent that you feel you must tell her outright, since she had not been able to apprehend your subtle hints.”

Lord Robert gave a most ungentlemanly snort. “So subtle as to be nonexistent.”

“You are a master of subtlety, my lord. Such restraint you have, such consideration for the young lady who would, as your wife, never know the fulfilment of motherhood.”

“Motherhood looks like a lot of damned hard work, from what I’ve seen of my sister’s family. Not to mention nine months of serious discomfort to acquire the little devils.” He shuddered. “Another reason to avoid marriage—I shouldn’t want to be responsible for putting any woman through that!”

“I suspect your lady relatives care less about your prospective wife’s discomfort than the acquisition of grandchildren, my lord. But I believe your mother would refrain from matchmaking if she has the least regard for your feelings, any sympathy for the anguish you feel when you realise you will never hear the patter of little feet—”

“Enough! Darling, I once told my mother that if I longed for the patter of little feet I would buy a spaniel.” He frowned, considering. “Perhaps I should. She’d remember, I’m sure—she never forgets a thing.”

“Spaniels are generally good-tempered, affectionate creatures, my lord. Considerably more so than most children.”

“Or wives. Though I really shouldn’t say that, life is probably as short on choices for women as it is for men like myself. I’m lucky to have you, Darling. It’d be damned lonely otherwise.”

It was a very good thing that they were in an open cab, surrounded by the evening traffic from restaurants and other establishments, or Darling might have thrown his arms around his employer and lost his position. “I consider myself very fortunate, my lord.”

Lord Robert laid a hand on Jack’s arm. It was an unusual gesture; he seldom made any sort of physical contact. “Darling, I’ve been meaning to mention this for some time now.” He hesitated, as though not sure how to proceed. “I want you to know that if you find yourself a girl—a special girl—that is, if you should decide matrimony is the thing for you—well, you mustn’t let my misogyny stop you. We’ll find a way to work things out.”

You’re trying to kill me, aren’t you?
Jack had to swallow before speaking, and he chose his words with care. “I’m quite happy with circumstances as they are, my lord. I don’t believe I’ve ever met a woman who would entice me to renounce my bachelor status.”

Was that a sigh of relief from his lordship? “Well, I’m selfish enough to be happy to hear it,” he said, “Even if I’m not quite selfish enough to insist on keeping you to myself.” He looked around as though trying to find a distraction. “Ah, I believe we’re nearly there. Enough of domestic matters, let’s turn our attention to foreign affairs.”

~

“Dead?” Scoville said. “How? Who was he?”

They hadn’t been met by the Ambassador himself, but by Sir James Woodward, a member of his staff. Sir James was a square-faced, iron-haired man of vigorous middle age who was probably the Embassy’s Intelligence Officer. In his large, comfortable, and extremely private office, Sir James gave them some excellent sherry and a summary of how their assignment had been intended to proceed—and how it had gone wrong when McDonald had disappeared and his contact was found murdered.

“No one you would know, my lord. He was involved in the German munitions industry, but he had the pragmatic attitude that all secrets sooner or later cease being secret, and wished to profit from accelerating the process. As to how, it appeared to be a robbery. He was struck on the head from behind, a single blow that killed him instantly.”

Scoville had to restrain himself from reaching to touch his own head, where the stitches were still annoying. “That’s a bit too close for comfort.”

“Yes, my lord—it is suggestive. We had dealt with this fellow before—that is to say, our intelligence chaps had—and his information was generally reliable. Captain McDonald’s orders were to make contact and exchange a small parcel of gemstones for a handful of very important papers.”

“Gemstones being untraceable?”

“Precisely.”

“Did he succeed?”

“We don’t know. McDonald’s whereabouts are unknown at this point. We had expected him to arrive in Vienna at least a day before you did. He seemed convinced that someone—the Prussians, or perhaps the French—were having him followed. That was why you were enlisted. A chance meeting of an old military acquaintance would be natural enough, and he would have had no obvious contact with this embassy or our staff, who are of course known to all the local agents of other powers.”

“Would the papers be of use to anyone else, sir?” Darling asked.

“Oh, certainly. Anyone in France or Italy would be as interested as we are in knowing what sort of weapons the Germans are building. There are rumours of chemical weapons, poisons—these documents should confirm the rumours and might even contain a formula. The Germans will surely be trying to get them back, if they know of their loss. We hope that Captain McDonald is simply lying low, waiting to rendezvous with you tomorrow at the Sacher Café.”

“So am I, Sir James.”

“If he does, we’re past subtlety now. Bring the documents here straightaway and we’ll send 'em out in a diplomatic pouch. We appreciate your assistance, but it was never our intention to put your life at risk. If McDonald was being followed, his attempt to contact you on the train may have brought you to the attention of whoever killed his German contact. You are armed, I hope?”

“Yes, we both are. I need to ask, sir, at what point in this exercise am I supposed to visit the Baron?”

Woodward’s eyes sought the heavens. “That damned—I’m sorry, my lord, please forget you heard me say that. While you were en route, the Baron managed to utter two more idiotically belligerent statements—I hope it’s still only two—and for you to convey Her Majesty’s warm wishes would give him altogether the wrong impression. The Ambassador will be paying the visit himself, and encouraging the Baron to express his opinions a bit more diplomatically.”

“Will that help, do you think?”

“No, but you know how it is—it’s the look of the thing. One never knows what seemingly insignificant comment will blow up into a storm, so we must keep on top of the matter, just in case.”

“I’m sure you have it well in hand, Sir James,” Scoville said. “It’s a pity you diplomatic gentlemen don’t get the credit you deserve.”

“Ah, but that’s the trick of it, my lord.” Sir James permitted himself a small smile. “If we do our job properly, it appears that we’ve done nothing at all.” He scanned the single sheet of paper before him, and said, “I think our immediate business is finished, unless you have any questions.”

“None at the moment, sir. If our expedition tomorrow is successful, we’ll be back here as fast as a cab can carry us. We are to meet Captain McDonald at one in the afternoon, so I hope to see you before three.”

“Very good. If you require assistance, just send a messenger detailing time and place. We have guards here at the Embassy who are prepared to supply the sort of help that you might not wish to ask of the local police.”

“Thank you, sir. I appreciate that, and I shall bid you good night.”

“The same to you. A good and uneventful night—it would be best if you keep your man close by until this affair is concluded. “

“I will, Sir James. Until tomorrow, then.”

“Good night.”

~

When they reached their suite at the Sacher, Jack Darling was pleased to see that the hotel staff had been as thorough in its preparations as he would have been himself. The lamps in their rooms had been lit, there were fires in the grates, and the golden silk and damask of draperies and coverlets gave the rooms a warm, welcoming air. He turned the key in the lock with a tremendous feeling of relief.

Jack was looking forward to a good night’s sleep, especially after the previous night’s alarums. But the evening was still fairly young, and Lord Robert seemed restless. He picked up the book he’d brought along, a new novel by the American humorist Mark Twain, then put it down in what looked like annoyance and spent a minute or two gazing down at the street, only to give that up and return to his book. But after finding his place, he closed it again and was back at the window once more.

“Shall I mix a nightcap, my lord?” Jack asked after several repetitions of this exercise. “The cabinet is well-stocked with refreshments.”

“Yes, thank you. A small brandy, if we have it. Fix something for yourself, if you like.” He put the book down again, but stayed in his chair. “I’m sorry, Darling. You must be on your last legs. Why don’t you toddle off to bed?”

Even though he’d just been thinking of sleep, Jack resisted the suggestion. “It’s early, my lord,” he said as he poured the drinks. “And I’m wondering if I ought to spend the night on your sofa.”

“What, in here?” Lord Robert shook his head. “Nothing doing. You can’t have got more than a few hours’ sleep last night.”

“It looks comfortable enough.”

“We can put a couple of chairs in front of the doors and pile our luggage on them. No one would get past that without one of us noticing.”

Jack put the drink on the small table near the window, where his lordship was seated. “I supposed you’re right, my lord.”

“I know I’m right. Besides, that’s a fine piece of furniture, but it’s too short. The only sensible alternative would be for you to sleep in here with me. The bed’s big enough, but I hardly think you’d appreciate the offer. Cheers.”

For one mad instant Jack wanted to say, “Yes, please!” to the offer. He forced a smile instead. “I doubt it would matter, my lord—you’re a gentleman and I’m a sound sleeper.” He took a sip of the whiskey and soda he’d mixed for himself, glad to have something to do.

“Well, in any event, the fellow who left the trinket in my trunk must know you’d have found the thing when you unpacked, and the Sacher does employ a hotel detective. A stranger roaming the halls would be bound to excite suspicion.”

“I suppose so, my lord. I’ve been wondering if we might not get that snuffbox back in the morning and see what’s inside it. Cocaine, certainly—but we don’t know whether that’s anything but a distraction. There might be a message of some sort beneath it.”