Anne Perry - Dorchester Terrace

“It was not a battle, Magnus. I understood you more than you did me, because your beliefs were never hidden. It is a good way to be. I am glad you have not changed. That is your victory; don’t regard it as anything else.”

He smiled, but his eyes were still grave. “Be careful, Vespasia. Although I suppose that is a foolish thing to say. You haven’t changed either.”

Vespasia had no doubt now what she must do. She would have liked to have seen Jack at his rooms in the Foreign Office, but she could not go there without Tregarron being aware of it. Instead she would have to speak to Emily, and hope to impress on her the desperate urgency of what she had to say.

As it transpired, Emily was not at home. Vespasia had to either wait for her or leave and return again in the late afternoon. She went home and used her telephone-an instrument of which she was becoming increasingly fond. However, on this most urgent occasion it did not help her. She failed to contact Victor Narraway, or Charlotte, and she did not dare spark curiosity or alarm by trying to reach Jack.

So, in the end, she returned to Emily’s home at five o’clock. She had only half an hour to wait before Emily herself arrived.

“Aunt Vespasia!” She was instantly concerned. “The butler tells me you called this morning as well. Is everything all right? What has happened? It … it isn’t Jack, is it?” Now she was afraid.

“No, not at all. As far as I know Jack is perfectly well, at least so far,” Vespasia replied. “But there is a situation of which he is unaware, which may endanger him very badly, unless he acts now. It will not be easy, but I am afraid circumstances may not allow him the luxury of waiting.”

“What?” Emily demanded. “What is it?”

“When do you expect him home?”

Emily glanced at the ormolu clock on the mantel. “In half an hour, maybe a little more. Can you not tell me what it is?”

“Not yet. Perhaps you would care for a cup of tea while we wait?” Vespasia suggested.

Emily apologized for her oversight in hospitality and rang the bell for the maid. When she had requested the tea, she paced the floor, unable to relax. Vespasia thought of asking her to desist, and then changed her mind.

When Jack got home, the butler informed him of the situation. He stopped only to hand his overcoat to the footman before he went to the withdrawing room.

He saw Emily at the window. She swung around to face him as soon as she heard the door. Vespasia was sitting on the sofa before the fire. The remnants of cookies and tea were on the tray, Emily’s un-drunk.

“Is it something serious?” Jack said, as soon as he had greeted them both.

“I am afraid it is,” Vespasia replied. “If Emily is to remain, then she will have to give her word that she will repeat no part of this to anyone at all, not even Charlotte or Thomas. And in my opinion it would be better if she left.”

“I’m staying,” Emily said firmly.

“You are not,” Jack responded. “If I think it is wise, I shall tell you afterward. Thank you for keeping Aunt Vespasia company until I arrived.”

Emily drew in her breath to argue. Then she looked again at his face, and obediently left the room. On the way out, she instructed the footman to see that no one intruded into the withdrawing room for any reason.

Briefly, and with as few explanations as she could manage, Vespasia told Jack what she had learned.

He stood by the fire, his mind racing, his whole body feeling battered. He wanted to cry out that it was impossible: only a collection of circumstances that did not fit together and, in the end, meant nothing at all.

But even as the words formed in his mouth, he knew that it was not so. There were other things that Vespasia did not know, but that fit into place like the last pieces of a jigsaw: the way Tregarron had dismissed Pitt, the contradictions in the reports that Jack had tried not to see. The small items of information that had turned up with people who should not have known them.

“I’m sorry,” Vespasia said quietly. “I know you believed that Tregarron was a good man, and that it was a considerable promotion for you to assist him as closely as you do. But he will be brought down, Jack, sooner or later. You must see to it that you do not go down with him. Treason is not a forgivable offense.”

But Jack’s mind was already elsewhere. Tomorrow Alois Habsburg was due to arrive in Dover. Pitt would go there tonight to be on the train with him when he came up to London. Tregarron had left the office at midday. There was no decision to be made. Of course Tregarron had denied that there was going to be an attempt on Alois’s life-he was the one who was going to make it!

“I’m going to warn Thomas,” he said, his voice shaking. “I must go immediately. We’ll leave for Dover tonight. Please tell Emily.” He turned and strode toward the door.

“Jack!” Vespasia called after him.

“I have no time to stay. I’m sorry!”

“I know you don’t,” she replied. “My carriage is at the door. Take it.”

“Thank you,” he said over his shoulder. He ran out onto the footpath and looked for the carriage. It was only a few yards away. He called out to the coachman and gave Pitt’s home address. Then he stopped. Should he go to Lisson Grove?

“Sir?” The coachman waited for his confirmation.

“No-right! Keppel Street.” Jack scrambled into the carriage and it pulled away from the curb. He sat white-knuckled while they raced through the streets. It was not far, but it seemed as if they must’ve crossed half of London.

They skated to a stop. He flung the door open and strode over the pavement. He knocked on the door, which was opened by Minnie Maude.

“Yes, sir?”

“Is Commander Pitt at home?”

“No, sir. I’m afraid yer just missed ’im.”

“Has he gone to Lisson Grove?”

“No, sir. ’E’s gone ter the railway station.”

“How long ago? Quickly!”

“Quarter of an hour, sir. Mrs. Pitt’s at ’ome, if you’d like to see her.”

“No … thank you.” He swung around and went back to the carriage. He was too late. There was nothing he could do now but go home and get money, and perhaps a swordstick from the library, and go down to Dover himself.

Pitt woke up in the morning with a jolt, taking a moment to adjust to his strange surroundings and remember where he was. It should not have been difficult. He had spent enough of the night lying awake staring at the unfamiliar streetlamp patterns on the ceiling of his hotel room in Dover.

This was the day Alois Habsburg was to land and take the London train. From the moment he set foot on English soil he was Pitt’s responsibility.

He had gone over the plans in his mind, trying to think of anything more he could do to foresee the attack, exactly where it would come, and how, if it would even come at all. But doubt nagged him: Had they been carefully misdirected here, to Dover and Duke Alois, when in reality the crime waiting to be committed was something entirely different? In the small hours of the night he thought of the Bank of England, the Tower of London, and the crown jewels, even the Houses of Parliament.

Pitt had fallen asleep without any answers.

Now he rose quickly, washed, shaved, and dressed. There was time for a quick breakfast, and it would be stupid not to eat. The best decisions were seldom made on an empty stomach.

He found Stoker in the dining room but they sat separately, to draw less attention to themselves. They left a few moments apart too. It was probably completely unnecessary, but better than being careless.

They were close to the docks anyway. It took them only ten minutes to be at the pier, where the cross-Channel ferry was already approaching. Pitt stood with his hands in his pockets watching the outlines of the boat as it came closer across the choppy gray water. He hunched his shoulders and turned his collar up against the chill of the wind. He liked the smell of salt, even the tar and oil and fish odors, but somehow sea wind was colder. It crept through every crevice in clothing, no matter how carefully one dressed.