‘Early the next morning, however, an envelope was pushed under my door. I picked it up and went outside to see who had delivered it, but the hallway was empty. Inside the envelope I found a note. It said that my husband had been murdered and if I wished to know more, I should go to the address written below. I was obviously shocked by this news, as well as being grief-stricken by Henry’s death, but I kept my wits about me. Was it true? Had my husband been murdered, or was it a plot to lure me somewhere so I could be killed as well. I decided that I owed it to my husband to go. The address turned out to be a building in a narrow alleyway, a little way from the main market square. I did as the note had instructed and made sure I was not followed. I was scared, but found an inner strength. All I cared about at that moment was being true to my husband’s memory.
‘I knocked on the large wooden door, in the manner I had been instructed. A small flap in the entrance was lifted and I saw a pair of eyes peer out. It was then closed and after a few seconds the door opened and I was ushered in. It was a type of estaminet, with an uneven stone floor and chairs and tables haphazardly placed around the dimly lit room. There was no one around except for the man who had let me in and another man who now appeared from behind a curtain. They were both foreign, although when the second man spoke it was in relatively good English. “Please do follow me,” he said. I did as he had instructed and ducked under the curtain after him. This led out into the rear alleyway, where the man now stood, holding the reins of a donkey. He gestured for me to climb up on its back and I did so. Once I was upright on the beast, he slapped its backside and we headed off through the backstreets of the city until we came to a small doorway halfway along a particularly long passageway. He stopped, knocked several times in the way I had done earlier at the estaminet and then, without a word, helped me off the donkey, tapped its backside again and away he went. By the time I looked back at the door it was ajar, and a fierce-looking, dark-skinned man gestured me in. Inside, the room was dimly lit and sparse. There were boxes stacked here and there and I had the feeling it was a type of small warehouse or office; a table and two chairs – one of which was occupied – were the only furniture in the room. As I stood there, the man in the chair rose and came towards me. As he neared me, I saw he had a kind face but it was troubled. His accent was foreign but when he spoke it was in perfect English.
‘“My name is Yorgos. I am sorry for your loss; your husband was a good man. He was also a friend to me. I cannot believe he is gone.”
‘He gestured for me to sit down and once I had done so resumed his own chair. He then offered me a drink but I declined. I was thirsty but I wanted more to hear what he had to say.
‘“Your husband was murdered,” Yorgos stated. “He was carrying a message the people who killed him did not want delivered. It was no accident he fell from the mountain path. He was deliberately pushed by one of the men who were meant to be guiding him.”
‘“How do you know?” I whispered.
‘“One of the men in an organisation I belong to saw what happened. He was trailing them in case they ran into the Pasha’s troops. The Pasha is the man who rules Crete. So what will you do now, return to England?”
‘“Eventually, I am sure, but I owe it to my husband to find answers. Do you know who the man was that pushed my husband?”
‘“I would strongly advise you do not stay,” he said, in a firm but gentle manner. “These are dangerous times for anyone on the island who is not Turkish, but especially for an English woman alone. Do not waste your time searching. The man who pushed your husband is already dead, as are the other two men with him.”
‘“But how? Why? Who would do that?”
‘“The ‘how’ is that their throats were slit. Their bodies were discovered at the bottom of a ravine. The ‘why’ is because the person who ordered your husband’s murder did not want any witnesses to the crime; and as for the ‘who’, that we do not know, although I would suggest you look to your own government for an answer.”
‘He looked across at me.
‘“I can see in your eyes what it is you intend to do, but if you start out on the road of revenge your life will be over.”
‘“Without my husband it feels as if my life is over anyway. What I want to do is return to Constantinople, to continue his work.”
‘Yorgos thought for a few moments, shook his head, and then looked across the table at me.
‘“I can see you are a strong-willed lady and although I strongly advise you to go back to England, if you are that determined to stay, I shall help you in any way I can. For now, though, return to your hotel and await my instructions.’”
‘I did as I was told and made my way back to the hotel. The two government officials were not happy when they found out I was staying, but there was nothing they could do about it. I was a financially independent woman who had no ties to the embassy or government. I stayed in Crete for about a week prior to my passage back to Constantinople. Before I left, Yorgos gave me several names and addresses of contacts, many of which my husband had known.
‘In time I learnt more about the circumstances surrounding my husband’s death and put the pieces of the jigsaw together. It seemed he was given information regarding a rebellion that was to take place on Crete. He had gone to the island to relay this information to the leader of the uprising and was on his way to meet him at his mountain base when he was murdered.
‘This was in 1770, of course, and by then the Cretans had been under Ottoman rule for more than a century. By this time most of the population had become Muslim. It was not that they believed in that particular religion, but more to escape the restrictions Christianity brought on them. Although the Christian faith was more or less tolerated by the Turks, the island’s Christian traders had an immense tax burden placed upon them. As well as taxes on their businesses they also had them on their houses, although the most hated of all these taxes was the kharatch. This was a type of tax that was, in effect, a protection racket. By 1770 discontent had become, perhaps unsurprisingly, rife among Christians in Crete, as on other Greek islands and parts of the mainland, and so when the opportunity to rise up against their oppressors was offered, it was taken with both hands, especially as their ally would be one of the Great Powers: Russia.
‘The rebellion on Crete was to be led by a wealthy merchant and ship owner called Ioannis Vlahos. He had been educated abroad – in Italy – and while there was given the nickname Daskaloyiannis, meaning ‘teacher’. On his return he had become a successful businessman and accumulated a lot of money. In the course of conducting his business he often travelled to the Black Sea. On one occasion, while there, he met the Orlov brothers: Aleksey and Grigory. Both were Russian agents working for Catherine the Great’s network of spies. They were thought to have been key conspirators in bringing her to the Russian throne by overthrowing her husband, Peter III, eight years earlier. The Emperor had then died shortly after the palace coup, in mysterious circumstances, and it was believed that Aleksey murdered him.
‘By the time Daskaloyiannis met Aleksey and his brother he was commander of the Russian naval forces. The brothers’ remit was to stir up as much trouble in the Ottoman Empire as they could. The Russians were the Turks’ sworn enemy and had been fighting them for the past two years. As well as Daskaloyiannis on Crete, the Orlov brothers also contacted leaders in the Peloponnese, on the Greek mainland (this area being chosen by the brothers as they believed it had the strongest military force at the time). Their plan was simple. There would be uprisings on the mainland and Crete, supported by the Russian navy, and this would lead to a nationwide revolt and rebellion against the Turks. The initial uprising on the mainland went ahead and when the Russian fleet appeared in nearby waters, it seemed success was at hand. Daskaloyiannis brought his forces down from the mountains into the cities on Crete, but unfortunately for him the Russians had never had any intention of sending reinforcements to help, merely to use his rebellion as a distraction from their main focu
s of the Peloponnese. Although Daskaloyiannis was initially victorious, without the promised Russian fleet to support them, his forces were quickly and brutally suppressed by the Turks and Daskaloyiannis himself was flayed to death in a square in Heraklion.
‘Through his several visits to Crete, my husband had become acquainted with Daskaloyiannis and they had become friends. When my husband found out that the Russian fleet were never intending to come to Crete to support his friend, he immediately set sail for the island to inform him. He could not entrust such vital information to anyone else and so had carried out the journey into the mountains himself, to deliver the message. This information cost him his life.’
‘So was it actually the Russians who killed him?’ asked Swann.
‘No, or at least if they were involved, it was not directly. They benefited from my husband’s death, of course, as the planned uprising in Crete went ahead and created the diversion they were hoping for to carry out their attack on the Greek mainland. The person who actually pushed my husband off that path was a local, a Cretan who had been bribed. Although he did not live long enough to benefit from his own pieces of silver, as he was one of those found in a gorge with his throat slit the following day. No, ultimately the order for my husband to be killed came from someone in the British camp. It was in their interests that the rebellion should take place and Daskaloyiannis, the leader of the rebellion, seen to have been betrayed, as it gave them leverage in any future negotiations with leaders that might have formerly conducted business with Russia. The British could say, therefore, that the Russians could not be trusted. Any conflict is good for government dealings, if it adds to your cause, which this one did: this is why my husband was betrayed and killed by his own countrymen.’
‘So do you know who gave the order?’
Harriet nodded. ‘I believe so.’
‘So why are you still alive?’ asked Swann.
‘The person does not know I am aware of their role in my husband’s death. As you point out, if they did, I would be dead.’
‘Who is it?’
Harriet smiled.
‘My dear Swann, I am not about to disclose the person’s identity. For a start, I do not want to endanger your life unnecessarily.’
‘I would suggest the fact you have even told me this story, Lady Harriet, is enough to do that.’
‘You are right and I am sorry. Only two other people knew the truth and they are both dead. I am the only one left. And now, of course, you Swann. It would therefore be better for both of us if you did not breathe a word of this to anyone.’
‘Your secret is safe with me, Lady Harriet. But can I ask you a question? If you know who was behind your husband’s murder, why do you not seek to kill him now?’
Harriet looked into the fire and prodded some dying embers with a poker.
‘I have only recently discovered this person’s identity and I do not believe it would be appropriate to kill them at this time,’ she replied. ‘At least not in the present climate. As I said earlier, there are greater issues at stake than seeking revenge for a death so many years ago. Do not be mistaken, there is not a day goes by when I do not think of my husband, mourn his loss and wish to seek retribution for what was done to him: having to live these past thirty-four years without the one true love of my life has been a kind of hell. But we are all mere players in a greater game, and to have this knowledge is enough. I will bide my time and one day will exact my vengeance. It is the same with your quest, Swann, I am certain. There are wider consequences to be considered in both our cases.’
‘What do you mean? Do you have information about my father’s killers?’
‘If I knew anything, and I do not, I could not divulge it to you even if I wanted to. There are things you cannot possibly be aware of and it is in your best interests that it stays that way.’
‘What if you die before this man?’
‘That is a good point, but I have prepared for that eventuality.’
Harriet stood up and went over to a bookshelf. Here she retrieved a key which was hidden inside a panel and then moved across to a small table near a far wall. She unlocked a drawer in the table, removed an envelope, and then returned to again sit opposite Swann. She held up the envelope.
‘All the evidence I have discovered over the years is gathered together in a folder and deposited in the vault of my legal representatives in London. Their name and address is written on a sheet of paper in this envelope, along with special instructions that will allow the folder to be handed over to the possessor of this envelope in the event of my death.’
‘What is to stop anyone finding this envelope and retrieving the folder now?’
‘My legal firm have been given strict instructions that the folder is only to be given to the person with this envelope after they have definite confirmation of my death. So, in the event of my death, you know where the envelope is, if you so wish to retrieve it.’
Swann nodded.
‘Consider it done, Lady Harriet.’
‘Thank you, Swann. This is partly why I have told you the story. I was hoping to find someone I could rely on and the opportunity presented itself tonight.’
‘One thing I do not understand though …’ began Swann but before he could continue there was a loud knocking on the library door. Lady Harriet stood up and went over to open it; outside stood one of her male servants.
‘I am sorry to trouble you Lady Harriet, but I believe you would wish to know the news immediately. We have been informed that one of your dinner guests has been killed.’
CHAPTER TWENTY
Bath, Wednesday 28th March, 1804
The events of tonight have left me as shaken as those of yesterday evening and the encounter with Kirby, perhaps even more so; the announcement of a wedding date for Mary and Lockhart, the conversation with Huntley, Harriet’s story surrounding her husband’s death and, of course, another murder. I have a strong feeling that everything that happened tonight is in some way connected.
I will focus on Huntley and his unguarded comment first. He talked with authority at having seen Mary’s portraiture work and yet to my knowledge has not met her before tonight – despite what I said at the dinner to Harriet, I did not actually introduce them at the exhibition – and there is no feasible way he would have visited our house to view her sketchbook. I can only think, therefore, that it is the portrait of the Scarred Man that he has seen as this is the only portrait Mary has completed which is in the ‘public domain’. But where and when?
Given this is the case then, where would he have seen it? Possibly when George and Bridges were showing it around, as part of my investigation. But then how would he link it to Mary? Even if he was told the portrait had been given to them by me, he has never met her or seen any of her other work. It must be assumed therefore that Huntley has seen the portrait of the Scarred Man elsewhere: but how? I have never shown the original to anyone and the only copy Mary made of it is the one I gave to George and Bridges.
The most likely answer is very disagreeable though, as it can only be assumed that Mary, at some time, made a second copy and gave it to a third party – a person she trusted and who also knows Huntley. Given Harriet’s reaction to Huntley’s unguarded comment, I am inclined to think that she is this person. But why would Mary do this? One can only surmise that Harriet requested it, but then how did she know about the portrait in the first place? Did Mary tell her, or did she somehow discover it through her network of spies on the city streets, in the same way that Wicks found out about it? Whatever the truth is, and given what I have deduced, I will assume there exists another copy of the portrait of which Harriet is in possession.
But to what end would Harriet request a copy of the Scarred Man’s portrait? Given what she said this evening about the search for my father’s killers – ‘It is the same with your quest, Swann. There are wider consequences to be considered in both our cases,’ – it must be assumed she was lying when she said she did not know anything.
And given this, it can be assumed that Harriet knows the whereabouts of the Scarred Man and that he therefore must be under surveillance. But why? Is he somehow involved in issues of national security? And after what Huntley whispered to me as we were about to go into the card room, it seems likely that, along with Harriet, Huntley is also working for the Alien Office, or is somehow otherwise connected to my aunt’s network of spies.
I do not intend to ask Mary about the second copy of the portrait immediately. Instead I will act on Huntley’s information regarding the Scarred Man and will search the back streets of the Avon Street district for him on Saturday night and all of Sunday, if necessary. I will also inform George and Bridges so they can report back with any relevant information.
At this point I have to ask where Lockhart fits in to all this? From what I understand from Harriet, the wedding date has been set because of ‘something greater’; but can I trust Harriet when she says her intention is to stop the wedding going ahead? If she has lied to me about not knowing anything with regard to my father’s killers and has requested a copy of the Scarred Man’s portrait from Mary behind my back, then I have to tread carefully in any future dealings with her. And the story she told me about her husband’s death, is this true? Was someone connected to the British Government ultimately responsible for his death? And what of the envelope she showed me, did it really contain her legal firm’s address?
I realise that I have not even thought of the school deaths and the latest developments in the case. I am also aware I still have to conduct my research into Sappho before my visit with Anne tomorrow. With regard to my visit to Frome, it was good to meet Thomas Bunn and I have learnt several things about the town that I did not know beforehand, but Miss Leigh’s sister did not have much to offer in terms of information relating to the case; if anything, it was her husband who contributed the greater share; implying Miss Leigh was attracted to her own sex. I will bear this revelation in mind when I am at the school tomorrow, although given the latest death this evening – that of John Bolton – the reason for going there again may now be obsolete. If Bolton was the murderer, then the case is closed. Am I supposed to believe that it was by sheer coincidence that he was attacked and killed by highwaymen on his way to Harriet’s dinner party tonight? But still, there is something about him which plays on my mind, a familiarity to his name, although I am certain I have not met him previously. If the Sappho research does not take too much of my time, I will look back through my notebooks to see if there is anything in them that will shed light on the mystery of John Bolton.
The Circle of Sappho Page 14