The Dorset House Affair (24 page)

‘I’m going to have that garden passage demolished,’ he said. ‘It was never used much, and when it was, it was used to commit murder. It’s all to be pulled down, and turned into a wide
flower-bed
, with statues and a sundial.’

‘What a good idea,’ said Lady Claygate. ‘We can get a
landscape
gardener in to do the thing properly.’

They know, now, thought Kershaw, that their son Maurice was something more than a scamp and a seasoned gambler. He rose from his chair, and bowed to the field marshal and his wife. It was time to go, before any searching questions were asked about his own role in the affair. He motioned to Box to join him, and together they left the room.

‘Good Lord!’ said Major Edwin Claygate, softly. ‘So Moggie was a hero, after all.’

‘I told you there was nothing wrong with Maurice,’ said Sarah, her eyes full of tears. She turned to Julia Maltravers, who was sitting beside her.

‘What will you do, now, Julia?’ she asked.

‘Do?’ said Julia. ‘I shall sell my London apartment, and go back to Northumberland. There’s our old family seat, Thorpe Hall, to look after, and the home farm to manage. I shall pick up my life where I left it off last year, and take things onward from there. One cannot live in the past.’

‘But whenever you come to London, my dear,’ said Lady Claygate, ‘you must make Dorset House your home. You’ll always be welcome here, and not just for Maurice’s sake. I wonder what will become of Elizabeth? With her brother dead, she’ll be all alone in the world.’

‘Oh, who cares
what
happens to her, Mother-in-Law?’ cried Sarah indignantly. ‘She was just as bad as her brother – conniving and scheming…. If Alain had lived, he would have been tried and found guilty of murder, and she would have been an accessory.’

‘Poor Elizabeth had suffered terribly,’ said Julia, flushing with indignation. ‘I visited her, as you know, and she told me terrible things that I can’t repeat to others. I had a letter from her yesterday, to say that she is abandoning the manor-house, and keeping company with an honourable gentleman who lives in the district. She, too, was a victim of that brother of hers. Can’t we all wish her well?’

‘I’m sure you are right, Julia, dear,’ said Lady Claygate, ‘and I’m pleased to hear that Elizabeth is going to face up to the real world at last. We must go forward. I think we might well survive the political ramifications of this affair. We’ve already had overtures from the French Ambassador, haven’t we, John? He wants us to hold a reception here for the Sultan of Morocco. It’ll be an excuse for a whole flock of diplomats to come here and discuss the present state of the North African colonies.’

‘Yes,’ said the old field marshal, hoisting himself up from his chair. ‘That could be a very interesting occasion. The
ambassador’s
suggesting some time in mid-November – the fifteenth, he thought. Pencil it in to your engagement book, will you, Edwin? Now, whom shall we invite?’

With one accord, the members of the Claygate family left the parlour, deep in conversation about what members of the Dorset House set would be suitable to meet the Sultan of Morocco.

Box and Kershaw stood under the great Corinthian portico of Dorset House, and watched as the colonel’s smart closed carriage rumbled out of the lane from the mews.

‘Mr Box,’ said Kershaw, ‘I’m going direct to the Foreign Office, to chew over this Dorset House affair with Sir Charles Napier. I
expect you’re going back to King James’s Rents. May I offer you the hospitality of my carriage?’

Box assented, and Colonel Kershaw said nothing more until they were sitting in comfort, and the carriage had turned into Berkeley Square. Then he began to speak.

‘Box,’ he said, ‘I want you to understand that I was very worried that De Bellefort would succeed in passing the Alsace List to Pfeifer at Versailles before we arrived on the scene. We didn’t know whether they would be able to keep to the exact time of their rendezvous, and I was concerned that De Bellefort would have accomplices in the palace grounds. He has worked with little select gangs of his own before, as you know.

‘And so I contacted a man in France who I knew would ensure that De Bellefort would not succeed in making the exchange if we could not arrive in time to prevent him. This man, part French, part Algerian, is called Théophile Gaboriau. He heads a group of fanatical French patriots called the Syndics, whose aim is to restore to France all lands lost to her since the year 1800. I knew he was a violent, ungovernable man, but I made the decision to seek his help.’

‘Sir,’ Box protested, ‘there is no need for you to justify your action to me—’

‘Oh, yes, there is, Mr Box. I’ve known ever since we found De Bellefort dead that you suspected me of having engineered his murder. Well, I tell you now, solemnly, that I intended no such thing. You had the warrant, and you were to arrest him. Mr Ames warned me not to take Gaboriau into my confidence, and I didn’t listen to him. Mr Ames lives and works in Paris, and knows a great deal about the underground movements. I should have listened to him. I didn’t. I was wrong.’

‘What was the state of things when you and Mr Ames came on to the scene?’ asked Box.

‘We both saw De Bellefort lying dead on the path,’ Kershaw replied. ‘Before we could examine the body, poor Pfeifer staggered
out through the door of the cottage, protesting that he’d been set upon by ruffians. That, by the way, will be the official explanation of De Bellefort’s death – murdered by common robbers. Mr Ames removed the accusation of “traitor” from the dagger, collected all the money and, as you know, returned it to Pfeifer. It will suit everybody’s book to hear no more of the affair.

‘As for the Alsace List, Major Blythe and myself conveyed it personally to Baron Augustiniak, who has caused it to reappear in the archives of the French Foreign Office. The Alsace conspirators have all been warned off. Now everybody – by which I mean France, Germany and Russia – can pretend that the list never existed. That’s much the best way.’

‘And what about poor Mr Norbert, the banker, sir?’

‘A few days ago, Box, a man called at Norbert’s bank in Metz and handed him a briefcase containing ten thousand pounds. It was Norbert’s own briefcase. I am convinced that Gaboriau had removed it from the scene of the murder – remember that De Bellefort would have been carrying it – and arranged for its return to Norbert. Gaboriau is a patriot, not a thief. He took not one single banknote away from that terrible scene.

‘That man De Bellefort murdered Maurice Claygate and Sophie Lénart, and brought about the ruin of his own sister, who could have ended her days in a lunatic asylum. He plotted the betrayal of over twenty foolish men in Alsace-Lorraine, all of whom would have ended up on the German gallows. I have no regrets that he is dead, Mr Box, but I did not have him murdered. Do you believe me?’

‘I do, sir. And I must also point out, respectfully, that your suppositions concerning this man Gaboriau are only that –
suppositions
. They would not stand up for a moment if submitted to the rules of evidence.’

Colonel Kershaw laughed, and a brilliant smile transformed his usually sober features. Box’s artfully contrived jibe had restored his good humour. The carriage arrived in Whitehall, and Box and Kershaw stepped down on to the pavement.

‘Goodbye, Box,’ said Colonel Kershaw. ‘I think our visit to Versailles was worth all the resultant inconvenience. I hope that we shall work together again, some time.’

‘I hope so, too, sir,’ Box replied. ‘Goodbye.’

He watched Kershaw hurry up the steps of the Foreign Office, and then made his way down Great Scotland Yard, and so to King James’s Rents.

The Dried-Up Man

The Dark Kingdom

The Devereaux Inheritance

The Haunted Governess

The Advocate’s Wife

The Hansa Protocol

The Ancaster Demons

Web of Discord

Evil Holds the Key

The Gold Masters

The Unquiet Sleeper

The Aquila Project

Depths of Deceit