Anne Perry - Dorchester Terrace

“Yes,” Pitt answered, accepting the exquisite glass, but putting it down on the small table to his right without drinking from it. “I now know who killed Serafina, and why. But then so do you.” He watched Blantyre’s sensitive, haggard face and saw not a flicker in it, not even a change in his eyes.

“And who killed Mrs. Blantyre,” Pitt continued. “But again, so do you.”

This time there was a twitch of pain, which Pitt believed was perfectly real. Blantyre must have hated killing her, but had known that if he himself were to survive, then he had no alternative. Adriana would never forgive him for her father’s death, and maybe not for Serafina’s either. Even if she told no one, he would never be able to sleep again if she was in the house; perhaps not eat or drink. He would always be aware of her watching him. His mind would run riot imagining what she felt for him now and when she would lose control and erupt into action.

Pitt went on levelly. “I also know who betrayed Lazar Dragovic to the Austrians, which of course was the beginning of all this.”

“It was necessary,” Blantyre said almost conversationally. They could have been discussing the dismissal of an old but ineffectual servant.

“Perhaps you don’t understand that,” he went on. “You are a man of reason and deduction who comes to conclusions, and leaves it for others to do something about those conclusions. My father was like that. Clever. And he cared. But never enough to do anything that risked his own moral comfort.” Bitterness filled his face and all but choked his voice. “Whoever lived or died, he must always be able to sleep at night!”

Pitt did not answer.

Blantyre leaned forward in his chair, still holding the whisky glass in his hand. He looked steadily at Pitt. “The Austrian Empire lies at the heart of Europe. We have discussed this before. I tried to explain to you how complex it is, but it seems you are a ‘little Englander’ at heart. I like you, but God help you, you have no vision. You are a provincial man. Britain’s empire covers most of the globe, in patches here and there: Britain itself, Gibraltar, Malta, Egypt, Sudan, most of Africa all the way to the Cape, territories in the Middle East, India, Burma, Hong Kong, Shanghai, Borneo, the whole subcontinent of Australia, New Zealand, Canada, and islands in every ocean on Earth. The sun never sets on it.”

Pitt stirred.

Temper flared in Blantyre’s eyes. “Austria is completely different! Apart from the Austrian Netherlands, it stretches in one continuous landmass from parts of Germany in the northwest to Ukraine in the east, south to most of Romania, north again as far down the Adriatic coast as Ragusa, then west through Croatia and northern Italy into Switzerland. There are twelve main languages there, the richest, most original culture, scientific discoveries in every field of human endeavor … but it is fragile!”

His hands jerked up, and apart, as if he were encompassing some kind of explosion with his strong fingers.

“Its genius means that it is also liable to be torn apart by the very nature of the ideas it creates, the individuality of its people. The new nations of Italy and Germany, born in turmoil and still testing their strength, are tearing at the fabric of order. Italy is chaotic; it always has been.”

Pitt smiled in spite of himself.

“Germany is altogether a different matter,” Blantyre went on with intense seriousness. “It is sleek and dangerous. Its government is not chaotic; anything but. It is highly organized and militarily brilliant. It will not be contained against its will for long.”

“Germany is not part of the Austrian Empire,” Pitt pointed out. “It has a language in common, and a certain culture, but not an identity. Austria will never swallow it; it will not allow that.”

“For God’s sake, Pitt, wake up!” Blantyre was nearly shouting now. “If Austria fractures or loses control of its possessions, or if there is an uprising in the east that is successful enough to be dangerous, Vienna will have to make reprisals, or lose everything. If there is trouble in northern Italy it hardly matters, but if it is in one of the Slavic possessions, like Croatia or Serbia, then it will turn to Russia for help. They are blood brothers, and Russia will not need more than an excuse to come to their aid. And then teutonic Germany will have found the justification it needs to take German Austria.”

His voice was growing harsher, as if the nightmare was already happening. “Hungary will secede, and before you know how to stop any of it, you will have a war that will spread like fire until it embroils most of the world. Don’t imagine that England will escape. It won’t. There will be war from Ireland to the Middle East, and from Moscow to North Africa, maybe further. Perhaps all of Africa, because it is British, and then Australia will follow, and New Zealand. Even Canada. Perhaps eventually the United States as well.”

Pitt was stunned by the enormity of it, the horror and the absurdity of the view.

“No one would let that sort of thing happen,” he said soberly. “You are suggesting that one act of violence in the Balkans would end in a conflagration that would consume the world. That’s ridiculous.”

Blantyre took a deep breath and let it out slowly.

“Pitt, Austria is the linchpin, the glue that holds together the political body of Europe.” He was staring intently. “It wouldn’t be overnight, but you’d be appalled how quickly it would happen, if Vienna loses control and the constituent parts of the empire turn on one another. Picture a street riot. You must have had to deal with them, in your days on the beat. How many men does it take before the crowd joins in, and every idiot with a grudge, or too much to drink, starts swinging his fists? All the old enmities under the surface smolder and then break out.”

Pitt remembered a time that was very similar to what Blantyre had just described: rage, hysteria, violence spreading outward until it took hold for no reason at all. Too late to regret it afterward, when houses were in ruins and broken glass was everywhere among fire-blackened walls and blood.

Blantyre was watching him. He knew Pitt understood what he was saying.

“There will be a vacuum at the heart,” Blantyre went on. “And however much you like to imagine that Britain is the center of Europe, it isn’t. England’s power lies in pieces, all over the globe. We have no army and no presence at the core of Europe. There will be chaos. The Austrian and German part of Europe will be at the throats of the Slavic northern and eastern parts. There will be a pan-European war, economic ruin, and in the end possibly a new and dominant Germany. Is the peaceful death, in her sleep, of one old woman so important to you in the face of that?”

“That is not the point,” Pitt said quietly, facing Blantyre across the two untouched glasses of whisky. “I have no intention of pursuing Serafina’s death right now. What concerns me is the validity of the information you have given Special Branch regarding Duke Alois, and the apparent threat of his assassination.”

Blantyre raised his eyebrows. “Why should you doubt it? Surely you can see that I, of all people, do not want an Austrian duke assassinated. Why the hell do you think I turned Dragovic over to the Austrians? He was planning the assassination of a particularly brutal local governor. He was a pig of a man, but the vengeance for his death would have been terrible.” He leaned forward, his face twisted with passion. “Think, damn it! Use whatever brain you have. Of course I don’t want Alois assassinated.”

Pitt smiled. “Unless, of course, he is another dissident. Then it would be very convenient if he was killed while he was here in London. Not the Austrians’ fault-it’s all down to the incompetent British, with their Special Branch led by a new man, who’ll swallow any story at all.”