by Beth Elliot
Absorbed in the exquisite detail of a Reynolds portrait of a little girl, she gradually became aware that one lady standing close by was complaining to her companions that the light was beginning to fade. Rose gave a guilty start and wondered how long she had been here.
The ladies were moving away back to the larger room. Rose glanced quickly at the remaining paintings. She was quite alone and could hear no sound from the other room. Returning there, she found it was also deserted. It must be really late. Rose hoped Aunt Emily’s audience had lots of questions to keep her talking. She hurried to the end of the corridor, where a narrow staircase led down to the ground floor, close to the room belonging to the Antiquarian Society.
Pausing at the top of the steps, she looked back regretfully. One morning she would return for a longer visit. With a sigh, she set her hand on the banister to go down the narrow stairs. Before she took the first step, however, a man’s voice spoke softly on the floor below.
‘Are you certain this is where they are meeting?’
‘Aye, an’ the General is here already.’
‘Very good, but is he here yet?’
‘Ain’t seen him so far. An’ I ain’t seen no blunt, neither.’
Rose held her breath. There was a grunt. Then she heard the chink of coins, followed by an indignant exclamation. ‘This ain’t what you promised me.’
The first voice spoke again. This time she noticed the trace of French accent. ‘I told you, half now and the rest afterwards. Make it look like an accident, you understand.’
There was some muttered swearing and then the first voice said urgently, ‘Not so loud.’
Frozen where she stood, Rose put a shaking hand over her own mouth. Her heart was pounding in her throat. To her horror, heavy steps sounded coming up the stairs. She backed away, then turned and tiptoed along the corridor. The door of the gallery was open and she plunged back in. The dim figures in the paintings stared down at her. Picking up her skirts, she fled across the wide room into the second, smaller chamber. The fear of pursuit made it hard to breathe. She dived for the door at the far end and let out a screech as she bumped into a tall, very hard body.
*
Tom watched his two helpers return from checking the top floor of Somerset House.
‘All clear, sir,’ whispered one.
‘This side as well. Ain’t nobody up here,’ nodded the other.
Tom raised his brows and let out a sigh of relief. ‘Let’s keep it that way,’ he said in a low voice. ‘Jessup, you keep watch up here on this landing. Timms, we’ll take the next floor.’ He led the way down the elegant staircase. At the bottom, Timms paused, his head swivelling as he checked the long corridor.
‘They’re here somewhere, I can feel it,’ he said, ‘it’s a big contract and that Gripper Browne will look to make money out of it.’
‘By kidnapping our man for ransom, do you mean?’
Timms shrugged. ‘If that’s his best choice. He’ll have his spies sniffing around. We can never get anywhere with breaking up that gang, guv’nor, they’re a bad lot. You watch your back now.’ He set off along the west wing.
Tom began to inspect each room of the east wing. It did not help that some rooms were still unfinished. There were piles of sand, plaster and tools, with heaps of rags, buckets and trestle tables. Easy places for a determined man to hide, thought Tom grimly. But search as he might, he could find no trace of anyone.
Today’s meeting between Kerim Pasha and General Lord Talbot was to agree on officers and equipment to be sent out to Constantinople for the training programme. Tom desperately hoped the deal could be settled very soon. His agents reported that over the last few days, certain suspicious characters had been spotted trailing after the Pasha. Keeping him safe was a matter of utmost importance if they did not want to lose the goodwill of the Turkish Sultan and his reforming ministers.
If only the man would stay quietly in the safe house we’ve provided, thought Tom, as he went from room to room, checking carefully then closing the doors behind him. But, oh no! He wants to sample the English way of life, and the deuce only knows where he’ll decide to go next. Completely impervious to all risks, Kerim Pasha slipped off to see the life of the city. Tom’s agents complained bitterly about the risks he took but there seemed no way to stop him. And Tom admired the man’s zest for life. But when he discovered the Pasha had been out riding with Rose in the Park, a red haze had blinded him for a moment, while he struggled to control the impulse to throttle the man.
Tom was constantly preoccupied with thoughts of Rose. He understood why she felt so bitter towards himself. That arranged marriage had been distasteful to her and she still blamed him for abandoning her. Someone must have intercepted all those letters he had sent her. And yet, thought Tom as he cautiously opened another door and slipped through into a wide room, he could sense that from time to time she warmed to him. He was certain she still understood how his mind worked, just as when they had been so young and so much in love. But each time she quickly shut it off, turned away, smiled at other men, especially at Kerim Pasha, damn him!
At that moment he stiffened and listened intently. He could hear footsteps racing towards him. He stood firmly in the doorway to block whoever it was. The next moment a female figure appeared, looking back over her shoulder as she ran. She crashed smack against him and gave an ear-splitting shriek.
‘Steady!’ he grunted and grasped the woman by the upper arms. She was panting with fright and clawed at his driving coat. ‘Are you alright, ma’am?’ he asked as he felt her trying to pull away. ‘There’s no need to be in such a taking, assure you.’ He held her slightly back from him. Then he frowned and jerked his head forwards. ‘Rose?’ he said incredulously. She looked up into his face, gave a sob of relief and melted against his broad chest. He tightened his hold, his heart picking up speed. This was heaven! But her bonnet was blocking his view of her.
‘What the deuce are you doing up here on your own?’ he rumbled, ‘It’s growing dark. No wonder you were frightened.’
Rose had got her breath back now. She struggled to get free. Reluctantly he opened his arms. He was cheered when she clutched at his sleeve. Her hand was trembling and he wanted to put his arm round her again. ‘What happened?’ He looked round suspiciously.
‘Oh, Tom. Thank heavens you are here. There are two men at the bottom of the staircase. I heard them talking. Then one of them started coming up the stairs.’
‘Why should that frighten you so much?’
She let go of his arm and put up her hands to straighten her bonnet. ‘You don’t understand! They were saying - ’ she broke off and glanced over her shoulder. She gestured to Tom to bend his head down and whispered in his ear, ‘I heard a French accent. The French man asked the other to watch out for someone and - and kill him.’
‘What?’ With an effort Tom kept his voice quiet. He shook his head. ‘You must have misunderstood.’
‘Oh no, no, I definitely heard him say: “Make it look like an accident” and I heard the chink of coins…’ She looked at him anxiously. ‘Oh, Tom, I immediately thought of – of Count Varoshenyi. I know his b-business is most important.’
Tom’s heart turned to lead. All this was concern for Kerim Pasha. He drew himself up and offered his arm with a frigid bow. ‘Allow me to escort you back to your friends, ma’am.’
‘Yes, but won’t you warn him?’ Rose wrung her hands. ‘It is very sinister. Why are you so angry?’
‘What were you doing up here all alone?’ he snapped.
She gestured vaguely towards the walls. ‘The pictures…’
‘Ah!’ Through the freezing anger he dimly remembered she was an artist. ‘Come, we must get downstairs before the daylight goes completely.’ He drew her hand through his arm.
His search was ruined. In any case, he now knew that the spies were here and what they intended. He strode along towards the main staircase so that by his side Rose was forced to trot in order to keep pace. Thank h
eavens, Timms was nowhere in sight. He hastened on, Rose stiff and tight-lipped now. They descended the staircase into the main entrance hall.
‘Thank you,’ said Rose coldly. ‘I recognise this part of the building. My aunt is giving a talk in a room down that side passage.’
‘I will do myself the honour of restoring you to her,’ said Tom through gritted teeth. He looked down his impressive nose at her. ‘Who knows where those villains are now, eh?’
It was a slight satisfaction to see her blue eyes widen and to feel her grip tighten on his arm. They walked along the passage. There was the sound of a door opening just before they turned the corner. Voices sounded and people began to come out. The talk was over.
Rose still had her hand through Tom’s arm when they came face to face with Lady Benson. Clarissa and Clorinda were one step behind their mother, gossiping and giggling. All three stopped dead when they saw Rose.
‘Well!’ exclaimed Lady Benson. She swept an icy glare from Tom to Rose and back again. ‘Come, girls.’
They swept past as if Rose did not exist. Clorinda muttered something in which the word ‘Julia’ was quite clear.
Tom raised his brows. ‘What was all that about?’
‘Pray do not regard them. They have taken a dislike to me, I fear.’
He gave a snort. ‘I should say that was a piece of luck.’ There was something of the old warmth back in his dark eyes as he halted outside the door. ‘Well, you are safe now.’
She withdrew her arm reluctantly. ‘Yes. Thank you. But what about those men? Can they be the same ones as those who attacked Sebastian?’
Damn! She was too sharp. Tom shook his head. ‘Pray do not think of the matter anymore.’ He bowed curtly and walked off.
Chapter Twenty-four
Tom stalked round the corner and took up a brooding pose, leaning against a pillar with his arms folded. He watched the people leaving Lady Westacote’s lecture. They drifted across the hallway and out to their carriages. At length a smile flitted across Tom’s lean face. When she was frightened up in the Art Gallery, she had called him Tom and clung to him in a very pleasing way. She was very glad to keep hold of his arm all the way downstairs as well.
Perhaps he still had a chance to win her affections back. His face brightened and he relived the feel of Rose rushing into his arms. At this point he remembered what he was supposed to be doing. Assuming a severe look, he straightened up and strode through the hall to meet Sebastian coming from the other wing of the building.
‘No sign of anyone on this side,’ said the younger man, ‘but it is impossible to check every room on every floor.’
‘They’re here anyway,’ said Tom. ‘It makes sense. Gripper Browne is based downriver at the new docks. His men can sneak in here through the Watergate. We just have to be vigilant.’ He noticed Sebastian staring at his cravat and put up a hand to discover that it was partly untied. He quickly reknotted it and smoothed back a lock of hair that had fallen over his forehead. It was true that Rose had bumped into him quite hard and then she had grabbed hold of him. Perhaps his dishevelled appearance was the reason why Lady Benson had stared so coldly at him. She had jumped to conclusions. Tom only wished that what she suspected had really happened.
With an effort he brought his attention back to Sebastian. ‘Is everything ready for afterwards?’
Sebastian nodded. ‘The decoy carriage at the front and a lookalike to get into it.’
There was the sound of conversation and footsteps coming along from the opposite end of the hall. Lady Westacote’s voice was clearly audible, describing some of the points her audience had found interesting. Tom pulled Sebastian back into the nearest doorway. He didn’t want Rose to see him again and start asking awkward questions. Well, more importantly, he wanted Rose safely out of the way in case any thugs were close by.
Thanks to Rose, he now knew the French were closely involved in the plot to have Kerim Pasha murdered. What a scandal that would cause. Even the idea of it sent a chill through him. He could see it all. The Ottoman Empire would be outraged by such an attack on one of their senior ministers. They would cut all those links so painstakingly forged by the British ambassador in Constantinople. The French would regain their influence with the Sultan while the British would lose this military training agreement. That would mean utter disgrace for Tom and the end of any hope he had of winning Rose.
He squared his shoulders. No panic, he told himself. I’ve been in worse situations. He pulled out his pocket watch. It was time to go. Sebastian was watching, his face eager. Tom jerked his head. They strode past the room recently vacated by the Antiquarian group, and checked the rest of that corridor. Then Tom tapped on a certain door. A large, middle-aged man opened it. He nodded at Tom.
‘All in order, sir.’
‘Good. Wait outside now, Timms.’
The man’s eyes darted from Tom to Sebastian and then towards the back of the large room. Timms raised his eyebrows meaningfully and moved heavily out of the room. The door closed quietly.
The two young men advanced a few paces and bowed with great formality towards the dark clad gentleman seated at the table. The gentleman made no sign he had noticed their arrival. He merely flicked open his snuffbox. Very deliberately he raised a tiny pinch of snuff to his nose. As he inhaled, his hooded eyes lifted to survey Tom. His narrow face was deeply lined and impossible to read. Beside him sat Witherson, spiderlike as ever, shuffling his papers and glancing up from time to time.
The silence stretched out. Tom watched as General Lord Talbot dusted his fingers on a lace edged handkerchief and put the snuffbox away in an inside pocket. Sebastian shifted from one foot to another. My lord’s gaze transferred to him and inspected his arm, still in a sling.
At last the door opened. Kerim Pasha appeared, immaculate in his superbly tailored clothes. He swept off his hat, surveying the occupants of the room from keen eyes. Witherson rose from his seat and whispered in the General’s ear. My lord’s hooded gaze fixed on Kerim Pasha. Lithe as a panther, he walked up to the table and bowed. Still nobody spoke. Tom waited an instant then stepped forward.
‘General Lord Talbot, I have the honour to present His Excellency, Kerim Pasha, minister at the Sublime Porte.’
‘It is a great pleasure to meet you, sir,’ Kerim Pasha said courteously, ‘as one general to another, I trust we can cut straight to the heart of the matter.’
General Talbot’s expression changed slightly. Tom thought he registered surprise.
‘I was told you were a Turk, sir.’ His voice was rusty and cold.
Kerim Pasha looked down his nose. ‘Indeed, I am. What proof do you require?’ He took a seat opposite the general.
The latter raised his hand in a slight negative gesture. ‘I confess, sir that I am surprised. But let us proceed.’ He looked towards Witherson.
There was another silence. Tom ground his teeth. This useless pair could still ruin all. Get down to business! he besought them silently.
When the general made no attempt to speak, Kerim Pasha placed his hands on the table and began. He listed the number of officers he required to train his elite staff in the handling of new weapons. He wanted supplies of guns and ammunition. Rifles, he said, not muskets. He needed gunsmiths and engineers to teach the latest theories on siege breaking and on handling the new cannon being made already at the French built gun foundry in Constantinople.
At the mention of the French, General Talbot stirred. ‘French! Are they your allies?’ he grated.
Kerim Pasha inclined his head. ‘Twenty years ago,’ he replied. ‘And, believe me, sir, they are trying very hard now to regain that position. You will appreciate that I am in great haste to conclude this deal and avoid my country becoming the ally of Napoleon’s France.’
‘Hah! Bad business, very bad,’ nodded General Talbot. He had almost thawed, thought Tom, watching the statue-like figure. How unfortunate that he was the senior general and only he could authorise this type of task. He was such
an inflexible man and had not seen active service for a number of years. But it seemed that Kerim Pasha was getting a positive response now.
‘And I require everything to be ready within the week.’ Kerim Pasha announced, at his most regal. ‘I plan to sail in eight days and the men you select must travel with me.’
‘This is very short notice, sir,’ said Witherson.
‘Less time for anyone to talk,’ the Pasha gave a tigerish smile. ‘Secrecy is needed, both here and in Turkey. I will sail to one of our southern ports so these experts can reach my estates without anyone in Constantinople knowing they have arrived in the country.’
Witherson bent his icy gaze on Tom. ‘You are in charge of organising men and supplies for this enterprise, Mr Hawkesleigh.’
‘Yes sir,’ said Tom, wondering how he was to find everything in such a short space of time, never mind selecting reliable officers and engineers and getting them on board a ship bound for Constantinople.
Witherson spread out his papers and started asking questions. Tom watched and listened as the details were all discussed. The general turned his head from one to the other but made no comment, simply nodding from time to time. At last all was concluded. The general and Witherson departed.
Kerim Pasha walked over to the window and stared out for a while. Tom heard him sigh. He watched the man ease his shoulders back and felt a burst of sympathy. It was a monumental task and the major part of it was still to do.
‘We’ll manage it all somehow, sir.’ he said, keeping his tone cheerful.
Kerim Pasha turned back. His face was solemn. ‘I am giving you a lot of work, but you know how essential this plan is. And there is no time to be lost.’ He gave a rather wicked smile. ‘Even eight days is a long time.’
There was a muffled gasp from Sebastian.
‘A pity I cannot assist with the choice of men,’ continued the Pasha. ‘I thank you, my esteemed helpers. And now what do you plan to do with me?’
Sebastian stepped forward. ‘We have arranged a new house for you, Your Excellency.’