5.
THE NEXT DAY Folkard awoke, after a restless night, to discover Professor Stone gone. He thought he managed to calm the professor down, talk a bit of sense into him. Certainly when they had settled, after a few tips of port, Stone seemed a bit more content to proceed as previously planned. To lie low a little longer until Folkard got word from Bedford about the information garnered from Smithwyck.
Folkard stood by the window, looking out at the street below, watching the brawlers fighting over some trivial matter, urged on by the worst kind of women. To the south he could hear the sounds of dockhands at work down at the Thames, while to the north people set about their business of the day, finding ways to makes ends meet, only a hairsbreadth from falling into the kind of life those in St Giles lived. In some ways, Folkard reflected, he agreed with much of what Stone had said. The government were running the Empire into the ground.
Nonetheless, it was the Empire he had sworn to protect. He may have been on leave, working on a covert mission, but he was still a captain of Her Majesty’s Royal Navy.
He had a duty to Queen and Country.
Folkard checked his derringer before turning from the window. Professor Stone had to be stopped, before he could irrevocably damage the Empire.
Chapter Twelve
“Callers”
1.
“WHAT DO YOU want here?” Annabelle heard Mrs Collingwood’s voice from the front hall. There was an edge to the sound which she had not heard before; not fear, so much as outraged challenge. Without hearing the reply she knew immediately who this must be. She looked around the table. Fairfax Cartwright listened with interest and Blount with irritation, but only Colonel Wyndham’s eyebrows rose in shared realisation of the obvious identity of their caller.
“Miss Somerset, gentlemen,” Major Gordon said in greeting as soon as he appeared at the doorway. “Please do not rise from your breakfast on my account. Your uncle is absent, Miss Somerset. I hope he is not unwell.”
“My God, you’ve got your nerve coming here,” Blount said.
“Uncle generally takes his meals in the kitchen with Rachael and the cook,” Annabelle said. “What do you desire of us?”
“I understand that my presence is not wanted and so will only remain long enough to pass on my news, and I believe it is news in which all of you will rejoice. But first let me express my admiration for your courage, Miss Somerset, and of course yours as well, Mister Cartwright. I hope you will communicate my compliments to Commander Bedford when next you see him as well. I am also pleased all of you managed to escape harm in this incident.”
Annabelle studied him as he spoke, and although Gordon was capable of sarcasm and irony, as well as a studied delivery completely opaque as to the sentiment behind it, this declaration seemed sincere. “How can you know of the events of last evening so quickly, Major? Surely you are not awakened with every police report filed during the night.”
“Ah, but this was not every police report, as I am sure you know. Mister Cartwright’s mention of the assassination of the Austrian ambassador transformed it, as the metropolitan police currently are working on little else but that outrage. The information you provided the detective concerning the gang and their involvement in that plot produced immediate action, and I have, within the hour, received word that the gang has been broken up and most of them arrested. You will be interested to know that two of the gang members have confessed to involvement in a plot to kill the new ambassador, this time with firearms. We have secured those as well, two pneumatic rifles of the sort preferred by assassins due to their silence. They were of Austrian manufacture, ironically enough.”
Mrs Collingwood walked past Gordon without looking at him and handed Annabelle a note.
“This just came, delivered by some dirty street urchin,” she said softly. “I gave him a shilling.”
“Thank you, Mrs Collingwood,” Annabelle said and opened the note.
“So you rounded up the entire lot?” Cartwright asked.
“Most of them but not the ringleader,” Gordon answered. “William Snide I believe is his name. With his confederates in custody and a price on his head, he cannot long evade capture.”
“Well, if you’ve delivered your news, it’s time you left,” Major Blount said and glared up at Gordon to emphasise the point.
Gordon smiled in reply. “Of course. Ladies and gentlemen, I bid you—”
“No,” Annabelle said. “It is not yet over. This is a note from our confidential source in Whitechapel. I will not share his name with you, but I think you will agree that his information has been reliable thus far.”
“What does it say?” Gordon said and held out his hand. Annabelle gave him the note. “More davy’s-dust,” he read. “Is this some sort of code, Miss Somerset?”
“The code of the streets, I suppose. It means Snide is again acquiring gunpowder.”
Gordon’s brows came together in thought and then he turned to leave. He paused at the doorway. After a moment he turned back to them. “I will, of course, pass this intelligence on to my superiors,” he said, and Annabelle felt he was suddenly choosing his words with great care. “Military intelligence is not directly involved with domestic policing, so they will, I am certain, pass it to the correct agencies. From there it will be acted on, without doubt. Time is, of course, short. The new Austro-Hungarian ambassador is scheduled to arrive in two days. He will be met at the aerial park by several cabinet members and, on behalf of the royal family, the Prince of Wales.”
“Well if time is all that short, you’d best be about your business,” Major Blount said. Gordon met Annabelle’s eyes once more and she saw worry there, and she felt certain she was meant to, that he intended her to see beyond simply his words. Then he turned and left.
“Well!” Mrs Collingwood said. “The cheek of the man! When he could as easily have sent a note with his news.” She sat down at the table and for a moment a look of sadness and loneliness swept across her face and Annabelle thought she was going to cry. Then the look disappeared, masked again by indignation. Annabelle reached over and took her hand and Mrs Collingwood smiled at her with slightly trembling lips. Whatever else Gordon had meant by his visit, Annabelle thought, it had been a cruel thing.
“Cheek indeed,” Major Blount said. He rose and carried his plate to the sideboard and examined the platter of bacon with interest. “Why, the chap’s no gentleman at all, no gentleman at all. I’m going to speak to his battalion commander, by God. Seconded or not, if the chap wants to wear the fusilier uniform, he’ll behave like one.’
Colonel Wyndham exchanged a look with Fairfax. “You are lost in thought, Mister Cartwright, and I think you have something to share with us, something other than Major Blount’s indignation,” he said, and then turned to Blount and added, “entirely proper as that indignation is, old fellow.”
“I think Gordon was trying to tell us something,” Cartwright said, “something more than he was at liberty to say in so many words.”
“He was telling us the information would not be acted on,” Annabelle said, “or at least not in time.”
Cartwright nodded in agreement.
“What?” Blount demanded, returning to his seat with a re-filled plate. “Why, don’t be silly, my dear girl. He said just the opposite.”
“He said it repeatedly,” Cartwright said, “over and over, as if making a point that his words could not be trusted.”
Blount looked doubtful but Wyndham nodded. “Yes, I’m afraid I agree. But why make a point of telling us?”
“Because we have acted already,” Cartwright answered, “and done so with some effect. He wishes us to act again, but cannot direct us to do so.”
“Well I don’t know why we should,” Blount said, “least of all on the say-so of that sort of chap. None of this new business seems directed at Miss Somerset, and that was our main worry, wasn’t it? Why not let the police do their job—or not, as suits them? Not that I’m for blowing up government offi
cials as a general principle, but what are a few cabinet secretaries and Austrian ambassadors more or less? We never seem to run out of them, what. And as to the Prince of Wales…well, the less said there the better.” As if to emphasise the point he thrust a forkful of fried eggs and bacon into his mouth and chewed vigorously.
“I cannot agree,” Cartwright said. “The Prince may play the fool in public, but he is Lord Chillingham’s most capable and determined opponent. The Queen, out of fear of provoking a constitutional crisis, will not act against Chillingham and his clique, but once Albert Edward is king, he will. I am certain of the fact.”
“But what can he do?” Wyndham asked. “The monarchy has no real power over the government.”
“He can make lords, Colonel. He can flood the House of Lords with his hand-picked people and end the supremacy of men like Chillingham and Belvedere, and then push through reform legislation which will prevent someone else from taking their place. That’s the one power the monarchy still has: he can make lords.”
“But not if he is dead,” Annabelle said. “This is not my country and I have no direct interest in its politics. But regardless of where I take Uncle Cyrus when we are clear of this, I cannot think that our prospects will prosper if Lord Chillingham is freed of all restraints and impediments. Fairfax, you are the diplomat amongst us. I think you must take our information directly to the Austrian embassy and alert their staff to the danger. There must be at least one capable man there who will listen to reason.”
“Oh, there is indeed, a fellow named Konstantin Dumba. He just arrived this week in advance of the ambassador-designate as his special assistant. Until the ambassador arrives and his credentials are accepted Dumba is chargé d’affaires, to put the house in order, as it were.”
“You know him then?” she asked.
“Unfortunately, yes. Or rather, yes I do, but unfortunately we are no longer on speaking terms. He and I met on his last posting here to London and disagreed over…well, the reputation of a young lady. It nearly came to a duel. He is a very clever fellow and no coward, I’ll give him that. No, if our message is to be harkened to, it must not issue from me.”
“Very well,” Annabelle said. “I will go this afternoon, as soon as George arrives to escort me. There is no time to waste.”
“You will call on him on Sunday?” Blount asked with disapproval in his voice.
“I doubt that the illegal gunpowder merchants with whom Billy Snide deals will forgo their trade for the Sabbath. With so few days left to us, we cannot afford to either.”
2.
FATIGUE CREPT in once again, but Nathanial knew he could not stop now. He was so close to an answer.
He had prevailed on Sir Eleias’ goodwill once more, as well as his sense of justice. Sir Eleias had secured the information Nathanial needed on Project “G”, although upon returning with the papers, short of breath and quite beside himself, he had stated quite adamantly that this was the last thing he could do for Nathanial.
“My dear chap, I do not know what it is you have become embroiled in, but these,” he had waved the papers about, “did not come to me with ease. I am always happy to help a fellow Savilian, but I can only go so far. I have my career to think about, not to mention my family. And now with all this business in the Morning Post, well…”
That was something Nathanial could understand. While Sir Eleias had been out, Nathanial was allowed to use the Thomas’ residence to clean himself up, sending out the housekeeper to get him fresh togs.
“For your generosity I thank you, Sir Eleias. Sodalitas Convivium,” he had said, and left looking like a gentleman once again, the bandage around his wrist hidden by the cuff of his coat sleeve.
Despite Folkard’s advice, he would not pretend to be dead, but he would move swiftly.
From there he had visited Talbot Accountants in the city, to ask a favour of his brother, Dorian. Naturally Dorian was of a mind not to help, quite put out by Nathanial’s unexpected visit and visibly outraged at the letter in the Morning Post. But after some insistence Dorian had provided his younger brother with the information he required. He had been full of unwanted questions, most of which he managed to deflect, but the last question, asked as Nathanial was about to leave the small accounting firm, gave him pause.
“How is Edwin adjusting to city life? Mother told me he is currently boarding with you.”
Nathanial turned back to Dorian, seeing their father’s eyes looking back at him. “Caught up in the adventure,” he said, his expression non-committal.
“Yes, I dare say. He is quite foolish, wishing to follow this fancy of his. A writer of ‘scientific romances’. He would do well to get himself into something that has a future.” Dorian narrowed his eyes, offering his final attack. “He has no future around you, Lucky.”
Wordlessly, Nathanial turned and left Dorian. As the door closed behind him, Nathanial could not help but think that he would never see Dorian again. Indeed, he would never be able to see any of his family again. None of them, his mother included, would ever forgive him for causing Edwin’s death.
Now he stood outside one of the houses that lined Buckingham Street, just off the Strand, and only a short walk from Trafalgar Square. Like all the houses on Buckingham Street the one before him was in good repair, having been built in the last five years. It seemed that for the ex-French ambassador only the best would do. He approached the house and knocked on the door. Presently the door was opened by a servant, and Nathanial handed his card over.
“I am here to see the master of the house, please see that he gets my card forthwith.”
The servant looked at the card. “Professor Stone, Mister Fon…”
“He will wish to see me,” Nathanial snapped imperiously.
“Yes. Right you are, sir. If you would care to follow me?”
Nathanial was seen to the drawing room, where he waited patiently. After a short while, voices echoed down the hallway outside. The loudest, a French man.
“Well, this is intriguing, wouldn’t you agree, Cooper?”
“If you say so, sir, the gentleman was most insistent.”
“One would expect little else from Professor Stone.”
Nathanial raised an eyebrow at this. Clearly the ex ambassador had heard of him, which only confirmed the hunch Nathanial was acting upon. Although insistent was a curious choice of word, and certainly not one Nathanial would normally use for himself. He would need to have a stern word with a certain geologist next time they met, he decided with a smile.
Cooper, the servant, opened the door further so the master of the house could enter. Nathanial was surprised by his appearance. He was much older than expected, with strong features, his hair white. His dress sense leaved a lot to be desired, wearing as he did a rather colourful lounge robe over a loose fitting shirt and trousers than had seen better days. His feet were bare, although that seemed not to bother him.
“That will be all, Cooper,” the ex ambassador said, his English perfectly enunciated, despite the strong French accent. This was a man who had clearly spent a lot of time in England. “Professor Stone, and of what service can I be to you?” he asked, once Cooper had left the room.
“I need your help, sir,” Nathanial began, put off his stride a little by the amused smile that seemed to dominate the old man’s face. “I understand you do not know me, but I rather suspect you know of me from your son.”
“You are known to Alexis?” He pursed his lips and gave an exaggerated shrug. “I think you are mistaken. Alexis has never mentioned you to me.”
Nathanial frowned. “That is hardly surprising, sir, for I do not think I have ever met an Alexis.” Or even heard of him, he thought. Was he even told about a brother? He did not think so, but then a lot had happened on Mercury, and perhaps he had simply forgotten, or maybe he was making a big mistake here. “I refer to your other son, Arnaud,” he said, hoping the man before him really was Arnaud’s father.
The old man rubbed the back of his ne
ck. “Hmm. Arnaud, you say? The name does not sound familiar. Perhaps you are mistaking me for another Sébastien Fontaine?”
Now Nathanial felt remarkably foolish. He could imagine Dorian laughing greatly at this. “I feel you may be right, sir. Forgive me. Arnaud did not mention the name of his father, but when I recalled that upon your hiring the services of Talbot Accountants you asked for my brother especially, I assumed that it may have been because Arnaud had mentioned me and you wished to learn more about me.”
“A rather convoluted reason to acquire a notable accountant, would you not agree, Professor Stone?”
“Indeed, sir.” Nathanial retrieved his hat and respirator mask from the small table beside him. “Forgive me for wasting your time.”
“Of course,” Fontaine said, just as Nathanial went to open the door of the drawing room, “that is just the kind of convoluted reasoning I excel at.”
Nathanial paused, and turned to look at Sébastien Fontaine. “Sir?”
“Arnaud said you were the epitome of English manners,” Fontaine said, “he also told me that he took great pleasure in challenging your, ah, prim ways.”
Despite himself Nathanial smiled. Although he was in no mood to be on the receiving end of jokes, he now saw he was not mistaken. Sébastien Fontaine was definitely Arnaud’s father. “Yes, he was insufferable at times.”
“And still is, I daresay. Now, please, let us sit down and discuss what it is you would like me to do for you. I have been following your progress with great interest, and wondered how long it would take you to reach me.”
“You…?”
“Of course. Being the ex ambassador of France does have its advantages.”
“In a self-imposed exile, unless I am mistaken?”
Fontaine winked. “We shall let everyone continue to believe that, shall we?”
Nathanial smiled again. “I must say, your English is excellent. Far better than Arnaud’s.”
series 02 01 Conspiracy of Silence Page 18