When the Devil Drives (37 page)

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Authors: Caro Peacock

BOOK: When the Devil Drives
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Tabby clapped her hands. In the small room it sounded like a series of shots and Sir Francis flinched. He looked from me to her and back again.
‘She means it,' Tabby said.
‘Excuse me. If you'll be good enough to wait here.' He left the room abruptly.
‘Well, are they going to cut off our heads or what?' Tabby said.
‘Goodness knows.' I felt weary, past caring.
‘Are they keeping us prisoner here?'
‘We have to wait here in any case to make sure he brings Mr Legge.'
We waited. At some point the doors of the chapel must have opened because the organ music surged louder. Boots stamped on the cobbles as soldiers came to attention. The queen and her guests were going back to their routine Sunday, the afternoon walk on the terrace and the military band playing airs from Donizetti. Soon after the last strains of the chapel organ had died away, Sir Francis was back, looking harassed.
‘Instructions are being given to free Mr Legge.'
‘And bring him here?' I said.
‘And bring him here.'
I expected him to leave us on our own again, but he sat down.
‘Since we last met in London, I've been hearing more about you, Miss Lane.'
Impossible to tell from his expression whether those things had been bad or good. He was waiting for me to ask but I wasn't going to give him that satisfaction.
‘I gather it's not the first time you've been able to do a service to Her Majesty.'
‘I suppose you're thinking of what happened two years ago,' I said. ‘I wasn't intending to do her a service that time, nor this time either.' It sounded ungracious, but I'd no intention of posing as a champion for Little Vicky.
‘No. As you made very clear to me, you were working for a client. An unusual line of business, for a young woman.' He smiled. A more human smile this time, but tentative, as if not sure of his ground. I remembered he'd said he had a daughter about my age.
‘I have a living to earn,' I said.
‘You don't aspire to what most young ladies want?'
So I'd become a young lady now.
‘What's that?'
‘Marriage. A household of your own. A family.'
While Tabby and I had sat there waiting, my mind had gone to Robert and how I could explain all this to him. I wondered what he was doing. Having lost track of anything that was happening outside immediate events, I couldn't even remember if the wedding in Ireland would have taken place yet. My face must have given something away, because Sir Francis was apologetic.
‘I'm sorry. I'm trespassing.'
Trespassing on a sadness, his voice said. Well, he was right about that. All this had been such a blow to my confidence in my own judgement that I couldn't see a clear way ahead. Was it fair to inflict on Robert, with his own problems, a woman who could look down on Clyde's body, know what he'd done and still feel sad? Probably not.
‘If you decide to persist in your . . . er, profession we may be able to offer you work from time to time,' Sir Francis said.
‘For the Foreign Office?'
No answer. I guessed that the first rule was not naming names.
‘So will you give me your word not to talk about what's happened?'
I'd thought about that too.
‘There are people who will have to know something. Mr and Mrs Talbot for instance.'
A nod. They were approved, discreet. Also, there was the promise I'd made to Janet Priest's sister. I couldn't and needn't tell her everything, but at least she could know that the man who'd planned her sister's killing was dead. No need to say anything about that to Sir Francis.
‘But you won't tell your journalist friends?'
How Tom would love it. And surely something was owed to Jimmy Cuffs.
‘Wouldn't that serve your purpose?' I said. ‘The best way of clearing Prince Ernest's name would be to expose the whole thing to everybody.'
He couldn't suppress a shudder. ‘I think not.'
Because that would mean telling the world what another sovereign power had done to try to prevent a certain wedding. Bad diplomacy.
‘I see. You'd rather keep it to use for a little quiet diplomatic blackmail next time you're negotiating a treaty.'
No response.
‘So which was it?' I said. ‘Austria or Russia?'
No response, but then I hadn't expected one.
Two or three sets of heavy steps sounded in the passage outside, then a familiar voice. ‘If you're taking me to call on the queen, you might have given me time to change my boots and breeches.'
Amos, sounding as good humoured as on a summer morning in the stable yard. The door opened and he was in the room, towering over Sir Francis. When he saw Tabby and me he came to such a sudden halt that the officer behind cannoned into him.
‘Don't tell me they've gone and arrested you two as well.'
Sir Francis made a sign to the escorting officer. He left, closing the door behind him.
‘I don't think we're arrested,' I said. ‘And you're not any more.' I glanced towards Sir Francis. He nodded.
‘This is Sir Francis Downton,' I said. ‘He wants to thank you for what you've done and apologize for locking you up.'
Sir Francis shot me a look that said that wasn't what he'd intended at all. But Amos was beaming at him, holding out his hand and his goodwill was too much for the forces of diplomacy. Sir Francis got to his feet, took Amos's hand and said he was sure they were all very much obliged to him. He didn't apologize, but that might have been too much to expect.
‘So we can all go home?' Amos said.
Sir Francis looked at me, still angling for that promise of silence.
‘Yes,' I said. ‘We can all go home.'
Amos stood back to let Tabby and me through the door first. I turned at the door.
‘So you'll be sending Mr Legge the money he had to pay for the race horse?' I said.
Amos started saying it didn't matter. I interrupted him. ‘How much was he?'
Amos bent his head, shamefaced. ‘Thirty guineas.' Then, apologetically to Sir Francis: ‘That was a good five guineas too much, look, but you know what they say: “Needs must when the devil drives.”'
‘Needs must,' Sir Francis agreed.
Tabby, Amos and I walked out of the castle gate. There wasn't even a patch of blood where Clyde's body had been.
COURT CIRCULAR
WINDSOR, Tuesday. His Serene Highness Prince Ernest of Saxe Coburg is better.
The Bard of the Rifles attended at the Castle last evening and played the following pieces:–
March, “Kenilworth.”
Overture,
Fiorella
(Auber), arranged by Weichsel.
Cavatina,
Ultimo Giorno de Pompeii
(Paccini).
Quartetto,
Puritani
(Bellini).
Galop,
Beniowsky
, arranged by Weichsel.
“Walza die Heimuth” (Strauss).
Prince Ernest is better.
The Times
6 November 1839
TWENTY-FIVE
Dublin. Friday 8 November.
My dear Liberty,
The thing is done: happy couple seen off on their honeymoon tour, leaving a castle full of bachelors with sore heads, bridesmaids with worn-out dancing shoes and enough goodwill and gossip to last until the next gathering of the Fitzwilliam clan. As you see, we've reached Dublin and we face a final weekend of duty visits before the boat to Holyhead on Monday. All being well, London two days after that. I can't tell you how much I'm looking forward to seeing you and hearing all your news.
One thing I want to discuss with you. I've made friends with one of the regiment of cousins, a cheery fellow of about my own age who rides like a demon, drinks like a bosom friend of Bacchus and writes surprisingly good poetry. During his stay at the castle, he threw his heart at the feet of la belle Alice and was spurned. For some days he moped around threatening to drown himself in the lake but was happily persuaded against it by talk of the giant pike that inhabits it. A watery grave may sound fine and poetic, but not with saw-toothed fish in attendance. So he's adopted the next resource of a broken heart – travel. He plans to spend the winter in France and Germany then, in the spring, move on to Italy, Athens and perhaps even Constantinople. He's asked me to accompany him. At first I told him it was out of the question, though my heart leapt at the thought of Athens. Since then, I've been wondering if it may be just the thing I need. As you know, I'm nowhere near as well travelled as you are and I sometimes worry that I may appear dull in your eyes as a result. I've told him I will give him my answer in a couple of weeks. What do you think? I must hurry this to the post then change for dinner. Stephen sends his best respects to you. I'm so looking forward to seeing you, my dearest.
Another question there, beneath the one he'd asked me. He knew that and so did I. But I didn't know the answer.
Towards the end of November,
The Times
got round to announcing what everybody knew:
COURT CIRCULAR
The Queen held a Privy Council at half-past 1 o'clock on Saturday afternoon, for the reception of Her Majesty's declaration on the subject of her intended marriage with his Serene Highness Prince Albert of Saxe Coburg Gotha.
The Council was attended by 85 Privy Councillors, all of whom (with very few exceptions) appeared in naval, military, or official costumes, or in their robes of office, the members of orders of knighthood wearing their respective ensigns. Among the earlier arrivals were Lord Lyndhurst, the Earl of Durham, Viscount Beresford, Lord Wharneliffe, Lord Ellenborough, Earl of Ripon, and Lord Brougham. The last-named noble Lord came in forensic costume.
The Duke of Wellington appeared in his uniform as Governor of the Tower. His Grace, while entering the Council-room, took the arm of this brother, Lord Cowley. The noble Duke was warmly congratulated on his arrival by many noblemen and gentlemen present.
The Privy Councillors were ushered on their arrival across the grand hall and sculpture gallery into the library, where the Council was held.
The Queen's Guard was on duty on the Palace lawn, and received his Royal Highness the Duke of Cambridge on his arrival with the usual honeurs, the band playing “God Save the Queen.”
When the Council had assembled, the Queen entered the chamber from an ante-room. Her Majesty retired after reading her declaration.
Formal announcement of the Royal Engagement
The Times
, 25 November 1839
And Amos sold the bay race horse for one hundred guineas.

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