Barbara Cleverly - The Blood Royal

‘I think I see you in the brig, Wentworth. Yes … alongside Long John Silver in manacles in the brig. And that reminds me …’ He dug about in his desk drawer. ‘Got a pen, have you? We have some pretty filthy business to conduct here tomorrow morning and you’re going to be up to your ears in it. We’ve accounted for the Morrigan but the Morana — goddess of ice and death — is still out and about and seeking a victim. And there’ll be half a dozen assorted royal lives on the line next Saturday. I need to know you’re on side.’

Bacchus and Fanshawe arrived at the ops room at eight thirty on Monday morning to find Sandilands already installed. The Commander’s face lit up at the sight of the large cardboard box Fanshawe was carrying. He didn’t try to hide his relief.

‘You’ve got it! I won’t embarrass you by asking how on earth you managed to get your hands on it, but well done!’

Bacchus grimaced. ‘Had to take a hostage for it, sir. The Home Secretary gets his granny back at noon today if she behaves herself.’

‘I expect you’ve already had a rummage around?’

‘Who could resist? Fascinating stuff. I think, with a touch of imagination, we can make something of it.’ Bacchus seemed unusually positive.

‘And my other request? Did you manage to get the tickets?’

He put an envelope down on the table. ‘No problem there. Except for the cost of course which made my eyes water. But then I thought you were most probably expecting it to be accounted for by your department. I’ve sent in the usual chit. And I have the news item you asked for.’ He took a sheet from his inside pocket and put it next to the envelope. ‘We have our forger standing by. Name of Sam Scrivener. All we need is the text of the letter and we’re off.’

‘And the postman,’ said Fanshawe. ‘Is everyone quite happy about this aspect of the scheme? I mean — couldn’t I or Bacchus or even the post office delivery man take care of that? I can’t see why we have to involve Wentworth again.’

‘I wonder whom you prefer for this duty, Fanshawe? We could send you but they’d just drag you in, subject you to heavy flirting and tell you nothing. The menace of Bacchus’s moustache would silence them. These are women who have narrowly escaped summary execution at the hands of the Bolshevik not-so-secret police. They know what it is to have a price on their heads. They know they are still, in a foreign land, pursued. They’re jittery. The princess — quite rightly — trusts no one. Especially the people’s police force — that’s you and your minions, Bacchus. I do believe she regards you as a sort of Cheka-on-a-leash. But she has declared herself ready to accept Wentworth as go-between … ambassador if you will. We’re not the only shadowy organization to keep this house under surveillance. A young girl paying a visit here is not in the least remarkable — there’s a constant stream of them passing through as you are aware. Miss Wentworth has established a relationship of sorts with them and she is, after all — and this cuts some ice with these people — the girl who danced with the Prince of Wales in such amity the other night. She would appear to be in his confidence.’

‘They’ll know by now that it was Wentworth’s interference that saved his life, sir. And thwarted them.’

‘Not them , Fanshawe. I don’t believe we’re dealing with a conspiracy. These are people who define themselves by their reverence for monarchy. The British strand may be in bad odour with one of them at the moment but they are and always will be impressed by royal favour. They accept Wentworth as a sort of chargée d’affaires , the effective and unthreatening mouthpiece of our establishment. And so, gentlemen, like it or not, she is!’

Bacchus produced the camera bag he’d slung from one shoulder. ‘Not sure what you want me to do with this?’

Joe walked over to the easel he’d installed by the window and flung back the covering sheet.

‘Lord!’ Fanshawe exclaimed, recognizing it. ‘Not that again! It’s the God-awful Russian painting. What are you doing with that daub, sir?’

‘It has its part to play in the little show I’m putting on. Hocus pocus, Fanshawe. Never disregard it. The picture belongs to Wentworth. A thoughtful gift from HRH for services rendered. I’ve examined it closely — more closely, I’d guess, than the Russian contingent have. It’s sending us a message. One that I think we can interpret in our own way and call to the attention of the princess and her coterie. Can you take a snap of it in this light with your equipment, Bacchus?’

The Branch man appeared delighted to be challenged and set about putting his camera pieces together, muttering happily of lenses and focal lengths and distances as he worked.

The preliminaries complete, the men looked at each other in satisfaction.

‘Do we have to wait for the constable or shall we set about it now and present her with a fait accompli? She is, after all, just delivering the package,’ Fanshawe wanted to know.

Joe appeared to be choosing his words. ‘The princess will interrogate her — in the most civilized way, of course. And our would-be assassin will most likely be listening in. One would hope so. I would like Wentworth to be familiar with the facts and sufficiently in command of the strategy to be able to improvise if necessary. She has to understand the importance of the offer she is about to extend to the Russians. I want her to be listening when we put it together. Wentworth is not to be regarded as cannon fodder — she’s a well-aimed bullet.’ He looked at the clock. ‘I asked her for nine … though her time-keeping seems to be a bit erratic. So …’

One minute later they heard the tap on the door.

* * *

‘It’s a confidence trick, sir!’

‘You have it, Wentworth. I put my hands up to it. A deceitful piece of chicanery! A dirty bit of business!’

‘The end justifies the means, then, you’d say?’

‘Don’t be tedious!’ Joe responded to her cross face with a flash of impatience. ‘This is not a debating society. This is a police force. And a national protection unit. It will take considerable nerve and a degree of low cunning to pull it off. You, I observe, are not short of either, so stay with the stroke I set, will you? We’re anticipating no less than the removal — the permanent removal, one hopes — of this menace to the lives of the prince and the rest of the royal family. When it’s removed, gone abroad, they’ll be able to go about their daily business once more without the constant fear of assassination.’

‘You say “it”, sir.’ Lily spoke hesitantly. ‘We’re talking about “she” — a strong-minded woman who will object to being manipulated. She may refuse to accept a suggestion that she simply leave the country.’

‘I would expect so. And that’s why we have to make her an offer that is irresistible to her. One that will give more satisfaction than sticking a knife in HRH or whatever she has planned for him next time. We have to thank some ancient Greek for an old military proverb: If you wish to get rid of your enemy, build him a golden bridge to flee across.

‘Aristides’ advice to Themistocles, I believe, sir,’ Bacchus chipped in. ‘Concerning the Persian retreat back across the Dardanelles.’

‘Thank you, Bacchus. I believe you’re right. And we’re going to take it again. It’s exactly what we’re going to do. With the utmost politesse we’re going to show our enemy to the border and offer a passage out. The golden bridge in question is a first-class berth on a luxury liner — the Hirondelle did you say, Bacchus?’

‘Yes, sir. The pride of the French fleet,’ he announced. ‘She starts on Friday from Cherbourg where she takes on board a few chefs de cuisine and a chanteuse or two. Then she nips across to Southampton where she picks up the English contingent and goes in one hop to New York. Dancing and dining and entertainment all the way. From there, first class again on the transcontinental railway … Chicago and the sunset route west to San Francisco.’