Anne Perry - Dorchester Terrace

He knew where Stoker was, and the other three men he had brought, but never once did he look at them. He had not asked assistance from the Dover police. They were there as a courtesy, knowing from the Austrian Embassy of Duke Alois’s visit, but he had weighed the issues and decided it was better not to let them think there was any particular danger.

He was standing in the wind, part of the crowd, when he felt a nudge next to him and half-turned. Jack was standing beside him, pale-faced, cold, his coat collar turned up.

“You were right,” Jack said before Pitt could speak. “It’s Tregarron. I’m sorry. Serafina seduced his father into an affair, then because of it, he was blackmailed into committing treason. It was all a long time ago, and obviously he’s dead now, but the present Lord Tregarron was desperate to conceal it, for his own protection, and his mother’s too, I imagine. It … it explains a few other things he was doing. I should have seen it earlier. I didn’t want to.”

Pitt looked at him with surprise and a sudden warmth of affection. “You came down here to tell me?”

“Of course.”

“Thank you.”

“Be careful …” Jack warned urgently.

Pitt smiled. “I will. You should get back home, before you’re missed.”

“Can’t I help?”

“You just did. We may need you back home yet, if Tregarron’s at the party this evening.”

Jack smiled and moved off into the crowd.

The ferry was nosing in gently; in a few minutes the gangway would be lowered. The Port Authority had told Pitt that Duke Alois would be disembarking first. It would have been better had he come amid the other passengers, less conspicuous, but it would have been contrary to protocol, and thereby would have signaled that Special Branch felt unable to protect him under normal circumstances. It was a debate Pitt had had with himself, and he was still not sure if he had come to the right answer.

He watched as the docking procedure took place. It seemed infinitely slow, and yet when the slender, elegant figure appeared at the top of the gangway, dark hair blowing in the wind, Pitt felt a leap of alarm. His mind raced to think of anything he might have missed, failed to do, or not thought of, and what Reibnitz, if he was really here, would have prepared for.

Alois came down the steps, slowly, giving a slight salute and smiling at the dignitaries waiting at the bottom to welcome him. He was followed by four casually dressed, very fashionable men around his own age. None of them was in uniform. Pitt was seized with a sudden conviction that they didn’t have the faintest idea that there would be any danger. They were on a foreign vacation to a country where they had no enemies, no rivals, and no one who could be anything but delighted to see them.

The mayor of Dover stepped forward and the welcome began. It was a long, highly formal affair.

Pitt watched the small crowd of people gathered to observe the event, or who were simply here to meet their own friends and family. He tried to appear as if he was looking for some family member himself. He saw Stoker and his other men come a little closer as Duke Alois moved away with the mayor and his officials.

“Looks as if he has no idea of danger,” Stoker said quietly as they walked side by side from the dock along the street toward the railway station. “I suppose somebody did tell him?”

Pitt did not reply; Salisbury had said he had informed the duke-so perhaps the duke’s nonchalance was an act? He wasn’t sure.

Stoker grunted, and increased his pace.

Pitt was tense as Duke Alois and his men stepped up into a carriage and the horses moved off at a walk. The general traffic had been held back to allow them passage. Pitt looked down and across the street, but he saw no dust carts, no sweepers. Where was Staum?

He and Stoker followed after the carriage on foot, watching every movement, occasionally glancing up at higher windows above shops and offices. The wind was gusty, with a light spatter of rain, and as far as he could see, none of the stores were open. Still, he was nervous.

He glanced at Stoker, and saw the same anxiety in his face, in the stiff, tight-muscled way he walked.

If there was no attack in Dover, did that mean it was going to be on the train after all? A diversion? A crash?

The station was in sight. Two hundred yards to go.

A dust cart trundled by, wheels bouncing on uneven stones. Pitt and Stoker stared at the man wheeling it, but he was very old and wizened, and was steering the cart in the opposite direction.

Fifty yards, and then they were there. Duke Alois and his men alighted. The mayor of Dover conducted them inside. Pitt and Stoker gave a last look around, saw nothing suspicious, and followed them in.

The railway station was large and busy. A porter pushed a trolley weighed down with trunks and cases, its wheels rumbling over the platform. A few yards away a family was arguing excitedly, children jumping up and down. A small boy wailed with frustration. A man waved his arms and shouted a greeting. Half a dozen carriage doors slammed in the nearest train, and ahead of them the engine blew out great clouds of steam and smut. Pitt brushed it off his face, unintentionally smearing the dirt across his cheek, to Stoker’s amusement. For an instant the tension was broken.

Pitt wiped away the smut and they pushed their way past other passengers. They reached the train, where the mayor was bidding Duke Alois good-bye. His escort seemed far more attentive now, standing on the platform looking first one direction, then the other, eyes searching.

As Pitt drew closer, he saw that one of them had a hand out of sight under his coat. Pitt knew it rested on the grip of his revolver. Pitt stopped and looked straight at the man’s face.

“Commander Pitt, Special Branch,” he introduced himself. “If you will allow me, I shall show you my identification.”

Before the man could reply, Alois turned from the mayor and stepped toward Pitt, smiling. He had a pleasant face: ascetic and filled with a kind of lopsided amusement.

He held out a hand. “How good of you to come,” he said cheerfully. “Quite unnecessary, I’m sure, but a damned decent gesture.” He spoke English with no trace of an accent.

Pitt offered a hand and met a firm, surprisingly strong grasp.

“How do you do, sir?” he replied. “It probably is unnecessary, but it might still be a good idea to get into the carriage anyway, if you don’t mind.”

“Certainly. Cold out here. Always damned cold, railway platforms, don’t you think?” With alacrity, Duke Alois gave the mayor a small salute, and disappeared into the very handsomely decorated first-class carriage, Pitt a step behind him.

Duke Alois looked around approvingly. “Oh, very comfortable,” he said with satisfaction. “Plenty of room.” He looked at his own escort, standing to attention, waiting for his orders. “You chaps can busy yourselves doing whatever you do, looking out of carriage windows, or watching doors, or whatever. The commander here will have a cup of tea.” He looked at Pitt. “Won’t you?” It was a question, but the look in his light blue eyes was level and unflinching. In its own discreet way it was an order.

“I’d prefer to make sure of the rest of the carriage, sir, if you don’t mind,” Pitt answered.

Duke Alois laughed. “For heaven’s sake, man, have your fellow here do it.” He gestured toward Stoker. “I’m sure he’s excellent. If you brought only him, you can’t really imagine that there’s anything to worry about.”

“There are others,” Pitt told him.

“Very good. Then we shall have a cup of tea, and leave them to it. Come.” He opened the compartment door, and Pitt was obliged to accept.