Dorchester Terrace (46 page)

A
T HOME AT KEPPEL
Street, Charlotte awaited Pitt with intense nervousness. She kept telling herself that there would be no attack in Dover, that the train journey to London would pass without incident. She busied herself with household tasks, but would stop halfway through, pace around, then forget what she had been doing and start something else.

“ ’Ave yer lost summink?” Minnie Maude asked anxiously.

Charlotte swung around. “Oh, no, thank you. I’m just wondering if everything is all right. Which is quite stupid, because I can’t help, even if it isn’t.”

The telephone rang, and she was so startled she flinched and let out her breath in a gasp. Instead of allowing Minnie Maude to pick it up, she dashed into the hall and did it herself.

“Yes? I mean, good afternoon?”

There was a pause while the exchange made the connection. Then: “Charlotte …”

It was Pitt’s voice, and she was overwhelmed with relief. “Where are you? Are you all right? When will you be home?” she asked.

“I’m still in Kent. I am fine and I shall be home late,” he replied. “Please make sure you go to the reception with Aunt Vespasia, or with Jack and Emily, and stay with them the whole time. I shall come when I can.”

“Why are you still in Kent?” she demanded. “Are you sure you’re all right? Is Duke Alois all right? And Stoker?”

“We are perfectly fine. And you will like the duke when you meet him. And I’ll explain later. Please, just go with Aunt Vespasia, or Emily. I am not hurt in the slightest, really.”

“Oh … thank heaven for that. Yes, I’ll go with Emily and Jack.” Already she knew what she meant to do. It was the opportunity she needed. “I’ll see you there.” She replaced the receiver with a smile.

Then immediately she picked it up again and asked to be connected to Emily’s number. She had only a few moments to wait before Emily herself was at the other end.

“Emily? It’s me. Thomas has been held up and cannot accompany me to the reception at Kensington Palace. May I come with you, please? I … I would like to.” She said it gently; it mattered very much.

There was a moment’s silence, then Emily’s voice came back over the wire, filled with relief.

“Of course. That would be excellent. It will be like it was years ago, going together …” She stopped, not sure how to finish.

“What are you going to wear?” Charlotte filled in the silence. “I want to wear black and white. It’s the only new really grand gown I have.”

Emily laughed. “Oh, that’s wonderful. I shall wear the palest possible green.”

“That is your best color,” Charlotte said sincerely.

“Then we shall take them by storm,” Emily agreed. “We shall call
for you at half-past seven.” She laughed; it was a light, happy sound. “Good-bye.”

“Good-bye.” Charlotte replaced the receiver and went upstairs overwhelmed with relief, smiling all the way. “Minnie Maude! I think perhaps it is time I prepared for the evening,” she called from the landing. Jemima’s door opened on the next floor; she would want to help too, offer advice, and dream of the day when she would attend such events.

C
HARLOTTE ARRIVED AT KENSINGTON
Palace with Emily and Jack. It was a trifle tight inside their carriage, but both sisters looked superb. Emily’s gown was huge in the crown of the sleeve; the Nile-green silk gleamed like sunlight on still water, and the huge skirts, when swept around, revealed a silver lining underneath. It was slender-waisted, and low at the neck. Diamonds shone at her neck and ears, and on a bracelet over her elbow-length white kid gloves.

Charlotte’s choice was entirely different. It was a fine, sheer silk black overdress with a gleaming white gown beneath. The effect was all light and shadow, and when she moved it had a most extraordinary grace. The ribbon of black satin around the waist accentuated the natural curves of her body, and she wore pearl-and-jet jewelry with crystals that also caught the light in momentary fire. She knew that as she followed Emily in, she drew more eyes, and she held her head a little higher, feeling the warmth flush her cheeks. She did not normally consider herself beautiful, but perhaps for this occasion, she would make an exception.

The queen herself was not attending. She came to very few functions these days, only those where her absence would have been a serious dereliction of her duty as monarch. The Prince and Princess of Wales were traveling abroad, so—fortunately for Pitt, considering the affair at Buckingham Palace—they were not here either. The atmosphere was relaxed, with plenty of laughter amid the clink of glasses. Somewhere just out of sight, a small orchestra was playing lush, lilting Viennese music so that one could not help but wish to dance.

Vespasia arrived, escorted by Victor Narraway. She was always beautiful, but it seemed on this occasion that she had paid more attention to her appearance than usual. She wore a gown of soft violet; its skirt was not as large as many, and the narrowness of it was very flattering, especially to someone of her height, who walked as if she could have balanced a pile of books on her head without losing a single one. She wore a tiara, a very slender thing, a mere suggestion of amethysts and pearls.

Watching her, Charlotte found herself smiling at what a striking pair Vespasia and Narraway made, and knew that Jack, who was beside her with Emily on his other arm, was wondering why she looked so delighted.

They moved on, talking politely, making conversation about anything and nothing. She missed Pitt. It was odd to be here alone. In spite of the magnificence of the palace, with its great high-ceilinged rooms and its sweeping marble staircases, in spite of the wit, glamour, and ceremony surrounding her, there was an emptiness. Charlotte thought of Adriana Blantyre, and for a moment she felt tears prick her eyes. Would his love of Austria be enough to bring Evan Blantyre here, in spite of all that had happened? She scanned the room to see if she could find his familiar figure. Twice she thought she saw him, but when she looked more closely it was someone else.

She had been in the palace over half an hour when she was introduced to Duke Alois Habsburg. He was tall and a trifle thin, with dark hair and an agreeable, slightly absentminded expression. But the moment his attention focused on her she saw the bright intelligence in his eyes.

“How do you do, Mrs. Pitt?” he asked with a smile.

“How do you do, Your Highness?” she replied with a very slight curtsy. She would not have wished him harm, but she wondered why Pitt had to risk his life to defend a man who played at academic pursuits for pleasure, and served no actively useful purpose.

Someone made a joke and Duke Alois laughed, but he did not move from standing almost in front of her. A young woman in pink was staring at them both, clearly waiting for Alois to notice her; at least that was clear to Charlotte. The duke appeared not to have realized it.

“I imagine your husband will arrive soon,” he said to Charlotte.

“Yes, sir,” she replied, forcing herself to smile back at him. “He has been held up. I don’t know why. I apologize.”

“Don’t you?” Alois raised his eyebrows. His expression was agreeably interested. “They stopped our train. Put a hay wagon across the track.” He said it as if he was commenting on something as trivial as the weather. She barely saw the shadow of grief in his eyes. “Unfortunately, they shot my friend Hans. Your husband went straight after the marksman, without hesitation.”

Charlotte was stunned. Suddenly the hubbub of laughter and music drifting from the other room seemed to fade away.

“I’m so sorry. How is your friend?” she asked quietly.

“I am afraid he is dead,” he replied. Only his voice changed, not the bland look on his face. “I think he may not have suffered. It was a perfect shot, straight through the heart.”

She could not think of anything to say. She felt foolish.

“He looked like me,” he said. There was a catch in his voice that he could not hide. “Your husband is a good man. I look forward to knowing him better. Perhaps you will come to Vienna one day? You would enjoy it. It is a beautiful city, full of music, ideas, and history.”

She took a deep breath. “I look forward to it. Thank you, sir.”

He smiled, then turned away to make polite and meaningless conversation with the young woman in pink.

A
T THE FARTHER SIDE
of the room, Emily was standing beside Jack. They also finished a courteous discussion and drifted from one group to another.

“Where is Thomas?” Jack said very quietly to Emily. “Why isn’t he here?”

“I don’t know,” Emily replied. “But wherever he is, Charlotte isn’t worried about him.”

“Are you sure?” he asked anxiously. “She wouldn’t show it if she were.”

“Of course I’m sure,” Emily said with an elegant shrug of exasperation. “She’s my sister. I’d know if she was pretending.”

He looked at her with a raised eyebrow. “You haven’t read her very well over the last few weeks.”

She flushed. “I know, and I’m sorry about it. I thought she was being very self-important.” She took a deep breath. “I was.” She did not add that she had been afraid that Jack was out of his depth with his promotion to Tregarron’s assistant. That was something he might guess, but she would rather that he did not know it for certain. “Charlotte and I understand each other better now,” she added. She knew he was still looking at her, so she flashed a quick, confident smile, and saw him relax. Now she wondered how worried he had been, and decided she would prefer not to know either. It would be a good thing for them both to have the chance to deny things, and for each to be able to pretend to believe the other.

She tucked her arm in his. “Let’s go and be polite to the duchess of whatever it is. She’s a fearful bore. It will take some concentration.”

“All you need to do is listen,” he replied. He placed his hand momentarily over hers in a quick, gentle gesture, then removed it again instantly and walked forward with her beside him.

“That’s not enough,” she whispered, leaning closer. “You have to smile, and nod in all the right places, and try not to fidget, or let your eyes wander to other people …”

A
LMOST UNDER THE GREAT
chandelier Narraway was standing next to Vespasia. For a moment or two they were not engaged in conversation with anyone else.

“Where is Pitt?” he asked quietly. “Charlotte doesn’t look worried, but he should be here with Duke Alois. I’ve seen Stoker, dressed like a footman, but that isn’t enough.”

She looked at him closely. “You think something could happen here, in the palace?”

“It’s unlikely,” he replied, almost under his breath. “But it isn’t impossible.”

She was alarmed. She turned to face him, studying his eyes, his mouth, trying to read whether it was fear or merely caution that
moved him. His eyes were shadowed, nearly black, the lines around his mouth scored deep.

“Such a scandal, here?” she whispered.

He put his hand on hers, his fingers warm and strong. “Oh, nothing so melodramatic, my dear. Far more likely to be a quick scuffle in the shadows of a corridor, and then a body behind the curtains to be found in the morning.”

She searched his eyes and saw no laughter at all, nothing beyond the wry, gentle irony that softened his words.

“I don’t know where Thomas is,” she answered his first question. “I think something might have happened that we are not yet aware of. Duke Alois looks as if he is mastering his emotions with some difficulty, and I have not seen Lord Tregarron. Have you?”

“No. Please don’t … inquire for him …” He stopped, uncertain how to continue.

“I won’t,” she promised. “At least not yet.”

This time he did laugh, so quietly it was almost soundless. “Of course you will,” he said ruefully. “But please be careful. I have an awful feeling that this threat is not over yet.”

“My dear Victor, our concern with threats will never be over. At least, I hope not. And so do you. You would rather go out in a blaze of glory than die of boredom. As would I.”

“But I am not ready to do so yet!” He took a deep breath. “And I am not ready for you to, either.”

She felt a distinct warmth of pleasure. “Then I shall endeavor to see that my next blaze of glory is not an exit line.”

P
ITT ARRIVED AT
K
ENSINGTON
Palace just under two hours after the reception had begun. He had been home to Keppel Street and washed, shaved, and changed into his evening suit. Leaving Tregarron’s rifle locked in the wardrobe, he had then eaten a cold beef sandwich and drunk a cup of tea. Then, with his revolver in his pocket, which felt lumpy and conspicuous, he had caught a hansom cab, paying extra to the driver to take him with the greatest speed possible. He remembered the jolt of the train stopping, and then the shot,
the splintered glass, and the blood as the Duke’s man fell. The devil’s luck, or a brilliant shot? He thought the latter. Had the victim been chosen to accompany Duke Alois because he looked so much like him? Had he known that, and still been prepared to take that risk?

Had Pitt made the right decision in turning Tregarron, rather than arresting him for Hans’s murder? He might never have proved it, and even if he had, what would have been the result? A major scandal, a foreign policy embarrassment of considerable proportions, possibly the loss of his own position, for political clumsiness …

Or alternatively, it would never have come to court anyway. That would have left an impossible situation.

Yet it galled Pitt that the man had attempted to murder Duke Alois, had instead murdered the duke’s friend, and would now walk away from it with neither injury nor blame.

He entered the glittering reception hall feeling absurdly out of place. And yet, he did not look outwardly different from the scores of men standing around talking, to each other and to the gorgeously gowned women in their brilliant colors, their jewels sparkling like fire in the light of the huge chandeliers pendent from elaborate ceilings.

His eyes searched the crowd for Charlotte. He saw Emily. He recognized her fair hair with its diamond tiara, and the pale, liquid shade of green that suited her so well. She looked happy.