Gordon Dahlquist - The Chemickal Marriage

As Pfaff helped himself to a seat, Miss Temple passed him another page from her stack of papers. ‘The Comte’s house in Plum Court – it appears derelict, but the rear garden held a greenhouse where he worked. Also the art dealer that exhibited the Comte’s paintings. And then the Royal Institute. If Vandaariff is alive –’ She sighed. ‘How can there be no word whether the richest man on three continents has died?’

‘Soon now,’ Pfaff chuckled indulgently. ‘Once Mr Ropp returns from Harschmort –’

‘The Royal Institute,’ continued Miss Temple. ‘Since every one of the Comte’s laboratories was destroyed, he may have sought other facilities. Also, he will need particular supplies to rebuild – and in such quantities that must reveal the effort.’

‘An excellent stratagem.’

‘It is, actually,’ said Miss Temple.

Pfaff stood with a smile, and called to Mr Brine, who sat impassively on an upholstered stool. ‘Keeping the mistress safe, then, Briney?’

To Miss Temple’s disgust, both of Mr Brine’s cheeks flushed pink.

Cramming her hours with tasks brought welcome exhaustion that served to insulate her grief. In the night she cleaved to Chang, but through her days, passed in a world that so assailed Miss Temple’s senses, he was gone. It was a widening divide she fought to ignore.

Mr Ropp did not return. Pfaff speculated the man had received better work elsewhere, or given himself over to drink with his advance wages. When Mr Jaxon delivered his report from Tarr Manor (the house occupied by Roger Bascombe’s cousin and her young son, the quarry empty and unguarded), Pfaff sent him – at Miss Temple’s insistence – after Ropp to Harschmort, this time with instructions to approach Robert Vandaariff’s mansion cautiously on foot, through the dunes.

The longer she waited the more the Boniface felt like a prison. Without revenge to shape her character, doubt gnawed at Miss Temple’s mind. Her efforts had been directed against Robert Vandaariff – since, as master of the blue glass, he represented the greatest threat. Yet the Contessa was Miss Temple’s primary enemy – her nemesis – and had eluded her altogether. The woman had fled Parchfeldt with the glass book that held the Comte’s memories. She had also captured young Francesca Trapping. Heiress to the Xonck Armaments fortune, the child offered the Contessa brutal leverage over Vandaariff.

Miss Temple had promised Francesca safety. Would her present efforts prove any less bankrupt?

Miss Temple emerged from the cellar of the Boniface, her gloved hand smelling of gunpowder, and returned to her rooms by way of a rear staircase, ascending just in time to see Mr Pfaff and Mr Ramper, returned from Parchfeldt, proceed rapidly past.

‘Tell me exactly ,’ whispered Pfaff. ‘And are you sure he was there, not just some mucker from the train?’

Ramper, taller than Pfaff by a good five inches, stopped where he was and leant very close to Pfaff. Pfaff did not flinch.

‘He was in a brown coat,’ snarled Ramper, ‘looked like he’d been living rough – but no poacher, no woodsman and no farmer. He was watching the gate.’

‘How do you know he wasn’t some gypsy, sniffing out salvage?’

‘Why would a gypsy follow me through the woods? Or take the same train?’

‘Then why didn’t you damn well take him?’

‘I thought if I followed him I could find out who he was.’

‘ And? ’

‘I told you – once I got past the constables –’

‘He was gone. Superb .’

‘No one would go to that ruin without a reason – the same damned reason I had.’

Ramper raised a hand to knock on Miss Temple’s door, but Pfaff caught it mid-air.

‘Not a word,’ Pfaff hissed. ‘The factory, yes, but not this … figment . We don’t scare the mistress.’

Miss Temple emerged from the stairwell, grinning broadly.

‘There you are, Mr Pfaff,’ she called. ‘And Mr Ramper – how good to see you safely returned.’

Pfaff spun round, his hand darting instinctively behind his coat. He smiled in greeting and stepped aside so Miss Temple might reach her door.

Mr Ramper had not entered the Parchfeldt factory itself. The gate was barred and strongly guarded. The grounds outside were pitted with artillery craters, but he saw no bodies. The white walls were blackened by flame. The machines inside – if they remained – were silent, and the smokestacks on the roof were cold.

Miss Temple asked if he had examined the canal. He had: there was no traffic to be seen. She asked if he entered the woods to the east. Mr Ramper described the shell holes and fallen trees amongst the stone ruins. Without noticeable tightness in her voice, Miss Temple asked if he had found any bodies there . Mr Ramper had not.

She poured more tea before turning to Pfaff.

‘After a reasonable period of refreshment, of course – I will have Marie fetch brandy – Mr Ramper will direct his efforts to these machines . If they have been moved, then surely someone with knowledge of the canals can confirm it. If they have been repaired, then an inquiry to the Xonck Armaments works at Raaxfall may help us, for it is there the Comte’s devices were made.’

‘The works at Raaxfall are shut down,’ said Pfaff. ‘Hundreds of men without a wage.’

‘Mr Ramper – the men guarding the factory, did they wear green uniforms?’

Ramper looked at Pfaff before responding. ‘No, miss. Local men for hire, it seemed.’

‘The Xonck factory had its own small army,’ Miss Temple explained. ‘Perhaps they have accompanied the machines.’

Pfaff considered this, then nodded to Ramper, who stood.

‘Do wait for your brandy, Mr Ramper. Mr Pfaff, what of the Royal Institute?’

Pfaff smiled, and rubbed his hands in a gesture Miss Temple was sure he’d copied from the stage. ‘No one’s let it spill, but there’s money in the air. I’ve found a glassworks by the river, apparently turning away work – I’m off tonight to see why.’

‘Then let us speak this evening, when you have returned.’

‘I will not return until quite late.’

‘No matter.’

‘The hotel staff will not admit me.’

‘Mr Brine will wait in the lobby – it is the simplest thing.’ She turned brightly. ‘Mr Ramper, perhaps you will finish this plate of biscuits – one dislikes their persistence in a room. And, Mr Brine, if you would come with me – I believe Marie has explained there is a fault with the lock on my window.’

Mr Brine obligingly followed Miss Temple to her chamber, pointedly averting his eyes from her bed as he advanced to the window. He turned, his face quite wilfully blank, at the sound of her closing the door behind them.

‘There is little time, Mr Brine,’ she whispered. ‘When Mr Ramper leaves the hotel, I want you to follow him.’ Brine opened his mouth to speak, but Miss Temple waved him to silence. ‘I am not interested in Mr Ramper. My fear is that his brown-coated man did not lose him at all, but has followed him here , and will follow him away. Say nothing to anyone . Exit through the rear of the hotel – I will send you on an errand. If Mr Ramper is under scrutiny, follow this brown-coated person as best you can. Is that clear?’

Brine hesitated.

‘Silence is a provocation, Mr Brine.’

‘Yes, miss. But what if the fellow wants you? If I’m gone, you’ll be alone.’

‘Not to worry.’ Miss Temple patted her clutch bag with a smile. ‘I have only to imagine the man a brown glass bottle and I will pot him square!’

She did not have to fashion an excuse for Mr Brine to leave after all, for when they reappeared Pfaff himself sent Ramper and Brine on their way, expressing a desire to speak to ‘the mistress’ alone. Once the door closed, Pfaff reached into an inner pocket and removed a green cheroot, wrapped tight as a pencil. He bit off the tip and spat it into his teacup.