Iain Pears - Stone's Fall

'He must have been blown through the window,' Drennan said softly.

'And Macintyre, you think?'

'No hope there. None.' He said no more, but I knew he must be right. The engineer had been lying only about two feet from the main explosive charge. That alone, quite apart from the falling masonry and fire, would have killed him instantly.

'We will be questioned by the authorities,' Drennan said quietly. 'We need to decide what we will say.'

'The truth, I imagine.'

But Drennan nodded at Cort. 'And what about him?'

I looked at Cort's poor white face and felt suddenly sick. I knelt back on the ground, and leant my forehead on the stone, trying desperately to control the violent heaving of my stomach. I failed.

Drennan dragged me upright again and shook me violently. 'Pull yourself together,' he hissed in my ear. 'We have to get away from here before the authorities arrive. We can go and talk to them later when we know what we're doing. Follow me quickly.'

No one paid much attention to us as we disappeared into a little side alley, then hurried off. I took Drennan back to the Marchesa's, where I ordered hot water from the maidservant, and insisted that it be brought immediately. Faster than immediately. Then we went to my rooms, stripped off and wrapped ourselves in towels to wait. Neither of us said a word; I slumped in a chair, conscious only of the smell of rank mud that was in my nose and my hair and all over my body. Drennan paced up and down impatiently but was no more capable of speech than I. I poured two large tumblers of Italian brandy – harsh, unpleasant stuff but strong and effective, and we drank that instead. Then another, until the water arrived, and was poured into the tin bath by the servants.

Then we were done and dressed, Drennan looking slightly baggy in a borrowed suit, for he was smaller than I.

'Listen Drennan, I have to tell you something.'

'Go ahead.'

'I do not think that what we witnessed today was Cort murdering Macintyre.'

'No?'

'I believe we witnessed Louise Cort trying to murder her husband.'

I sat down and told him, very meticulously and honestly, everything that had happened. He showed no surprise, indeed gave no reaction at all. I ended by handing him the letters which had been delivered that morning. He looked at them, and gave them back.

'I see. So you are afraid . . .'

'No. I am not afraid of her at the moment. I am afraid for the boy. The last time I spoke to her she said all she had to do was to free herself of her husband and the boy, then she would deal with me. I didn't take her seriously then, but now it worries me.'

Drennan stood up. 'Do you want me to go to his lodging and see?'

'If you're up to it, I would be very grateful. More grateful than I can say. I do not think my going would help.'

'I think that is right.'

He left, and I sent word for the Marchesa, to ask for a few moments of her time.

She heard me out impassively, then sighed sadly. 'That poor man, of course I knew such a thing would happen. His aura . . .'

'Just stop this rubbish about spirits and auras,' I snapped. 'We haven't got time. Cort has killed a man. He might be insane, but if so, it was your ridiculous séance that set him off. How is that going to look when it gets round this city, eh?'

The spirits retreated whence they came as the Marchesa realised her peril. Scandal has killed as many people as knives and bullets.

'If it was just your reputation, then I wouldn't care too much. But Macintyre had a daughter. Cort has a son. And there is Cort as well, who is now likely to spend the rest of his life in an insane asylum, if he is lucky.'

'Well, he must be packed off to England immediately,' she said breezily. 'As for the dreadful accident which claimed the life of poor Mr Macintyre . . .'

'It wasn't an accident.'

'The dreadful accident,' she repeated. 'Which happens when people play with explosives . . .'

'You cannot possibly think anyone will believe . . .'

'I think people believe the simplest explanation.' She stood up. 'I must talk to Signor Ambrosian. He is a friend, and is powerful enough to tell the police how to proceed.'

'I don't want . . .'

'What you want is of no importance, Mr Stone. You do not know this city, nor how it works. I do. And it sounds to me as if you have caused enough trouble already. You will leave it to me to arrange matters as I see fit. Go and rest, and do nothing until I get back.'

I was left alone for the rest of the afternoon, until well in the evening. It was dark before the Marchesa got back. Under any other circumstances, I would have been taken aback by her sudden transformation from ethereal spiritualist to political manipulator, but nothing could surprise me any more that day. Marangoni was with her. Cort was fine, he said. 'He's some burns, cuts, bruises and a broken collarbone, but that's all. He was extraordinarily lucky.

'Physically, that is,' he continued. 'As for his mental state – well, that is another matter. I'm afraid he has had a total breakdown. Not unexpected, but unfortunate, nonetheless. Well, we shall see how he is in a few days' time. Luckily, he is in hospital, so he won't bump into his wife . . .'

'What do you mean?'

'She was brought to me a few hours ago. I am beginning to resent being used as a convenient way of hushing up English scandals, you know.'

'Why?'

'For having set fire to her apartment block. With her child still in it. When they realised there was a blaze, all the occupants fled into the street in panic but no one thought to check Cort's apartment. Drennan did, when he arrived, and he was nearly too late. He kicked in the door – very bravely, I must say, as the fire was a bad one – scooped up the infant and ran down the stairs with it. The child has a burn on his left arm, and Drennan has a bad cut on his cheek from flying glass. Apart from that they are both fine. But many people's apartments and possessions have been destroyed. It's a bad mess.'

At that moment I felt more grateful to Drennan than I could express. He had saved me, as well.

'What makes you think she started it?'

'She was seen doing it,' he said, 'and she was later found at the railway station about to board a train to Switzerland. She had all her money, clothes, jewellery and passport with her. Everything but her child and her husband, in fact. And her reaction when she was told her son had been saved from a fire was not that of a loving mother. When I also told her that both her husband and you had had a narrow escape her response was so violent she had to be restrained.'

'So what happens to her?'

'That is out of my hands, of course. It will depend on what the authorities think appropriate.'

'They will regard it as a terrible misfortune,' the Marchesa said firmly.

'Will they?'

'Yes. You are a lucky man, Mr Stone,' she continued, turning her attention to me. 'You have friends with influence. Signor Ambrosian was most concerned about your mishap and will interest himself in the matter. The explosion was indeed an accident, apparently caused by the carelessness of Mr Macintyre. As for Mrs Cort, she must be dealt with in a manner which causes no embarrassment.'

'And that's it?'

'Well, there is, of course the question of Mr Macintyre's daughter, and Cort's son. There, I don't know. I suppose we must ask Mr Longman what is to be done. That is his job.'

St James's Square,

London

15 March, 1909

10 p.m.

Dear Cort,

You will find with this letter a bundle of papers which I wish you to keep entirely confidential. It will explain my current actions, as you, above all men, need to know. In the package you will find all the relevant documents concerning the battleships, and guidance as to how you should proceed over the coming months. You will also find a memoir which, to my mind, is of greater significance.