by Anne Perry
Pitt moved as quickly as he could toward where he judged the shot to have come from, trying to move silently, looking down to avoid snapping sticks or getting tangled in the long, winding branches of brambles. Every now and then he glanced up, but all he could see was underbrush and tree trunks with glistening wet bark, a lot of them birch, hazel, and black poplar, and here and there a few alder.
He looked backward once. The train was out of sight, except for the engine, which was stopped a few yards short of the huge hay wagon still splayed across the track, its load now largely moved onto the embankment. From the way the whole thing listed, it seemed that one of the wheels had broken, or come off. But if it was off, somebody would have found a way to put it back on again. There were half a dozen men working to clear the track. When they did, surely the train would go, whether Pitt had returned or not? Stoker would see to that? Or the duke?
Pitt stopped and stood still. He strained to hear movement anywhere ahead of him. How long would the marksman wait? Even if he had not seen Pitt through his scope, he would likely assume his presence, or the presence of someone else coming after him. Why had he not shot at Pitt, at least when he was on the embankment? Had he been concentrating on what was going on inside the train?
Pitt could hear nothing except the steady drip of water off the branches onto the wet leaves, which by this point in March almost moldered down into the earth.
Was there any water here? Yes, a stream along the lower ground. That would be the place to hide tracks. What would a clever man do? Go to the stream, leaving footprints easy enough to follow, then walk along the bed of the stream, leaving no trace at all, and then step wherever he would leave the fewest marks. Perhaps he would even create a false trail, and go back into the water again upstream or downstream from his entry.
How did the assassin get here? How would he leave? Not by train, perhaps not by road-at least for the nearest few miles. Horseback. It was the obvious way, perhaps the only way in this part of the countryside. Faster and easier than walking.
Then where was his horse? He would have left it tied somewhere; the last thing he needed was to come back and find that it had wandered off. If Pitt could find the horse, then the man would come to him. And where was the main road from London?
He turned and started to make for the high ground himself. Perhaps it would even be a good idea to climb a sturdy tree and look around? The horse would be at some point close to the road. He increased his pace.
At the top of the next rise he selected a strong, well-grown alder. Putting his revolver in his pocket, he began to climb. It was awkward. It must have been at least twenty years since he last climbed a tree.
It took a few moments to reach a satisfactory height, where he could see at least a couple of miles in all directions. As he twisted his body the trunk swayed. Better not to risk going any higher. If it broke, it would not only send him crashing down to possible injury, it would also make a considerable noise and tell the marksman exactly where he was.
Holding the trunk hard with his left arm, he looked around as widely as he could, searching for the road in the distance. It was not hard to see. After a moment or two he could trace it from south to north, swinging away to the west eventually. Surely the marksman would have left his horse near it, for once he reached the road again, he would have escaped pursuit. No one on the train had a horse, or any way of communicating with the outside world to call for help.
Pitt climbed down carefully and set off as rapidly as he could without making noise in the direction of the road. If he was wrong, he would lose his quarry completely, but he had no way of knowing where the marksman was anyhow.
Every now and then he stopped to listen, but he heard nothing more than bird calls and the whir of wings now and then. A dog barked somewhere far in the distance a few times, and then fell silent.
He came out on the road about a mile away from the train, perhaps a little more. He kept to the trees at the side. When he had made certain of his bearings, he went back into the woods again and started moving very carefully, looking for a clearing where someone could leave a horse unseen. He had to be quick. Once the marksman had made certain of his kill, and was back here and mounted, it would be impossible for Pitt to stop him, except by shooting him. Pitt was good with a gun; he had learned from his father. But a handgun is very different from a rifle or a shotgun. He knew his chances of hitting a man astride a fast-moving horse would be pretty poor. There would be no time to even make sure he had the right person. It could be some innocent rider in the wrong place at the wrong time.
And the marksman would know all this too.
Pitt moved as rapidly as he could, sprinting through the few open patches he came to. He was deeper into the woods now. He realized it, and swerved back toward the road. The marksman would have left the horse only far enough in to be hidden from passersby.
When he found it, he almost stumbled into it: a beautiful creature, moving quietly, cropping the grass in as wide a circle as its long tethering rope allowed it. It heard him at the same moment he saw it. It raised its head and looked at him curiously.
Pitt drew breath to speak, then realized the man could be close, so he stepped silently back into the shadow of the trees. The horse lowered its head again.
Pitt did not have long to wait. Less than four minutes later, he heard the faint crack of a twig. A man dressed in brown and green stepped out of the shadows and walked toward the horse, which lifted its head again and blew through its nostrils, taking a step toward him.
The man had a rifle with a telescopic sight fixed to it. It was Lord Tregarron.
Pitt stepped forward, his revolver raised high, pointing at Tregarron.
“If you move any closer to the horse I will shoot you,” Pitt said very clearly. “Not to kill, but enough to hurt very much indeed.”
Tregarron froze.
Pitt moved farther out of the shadow of the trees. Tregarron had killed a man. He would inevitably learn that he had not hit Duke Alois. Could he be charged with attempted assassination? There would have to be a trial. It would inevitably expose the duke’s secret position.
Was the bargain Duke Alois had proposed still useful? It was a risk, but then it always had been.
Pitt came farther forward, angling closer to the horse so Tregarron could not get behind it and spoil his clean shot. The revolver was pointed at Tregarron’s chest.
Tregarron smiled. Pitt knew its cruel twist was out of fear.
“Failed, didn’t you?” he said with malice edging his voice. “You let Duke Alois be killed. Not likely to remain in your position much longer, especially when the Austrians tell London who he really was. You didn’t know, did you?”
“Alois?” Pitt raised his eyebrows. “Is that who you were aiming at?” He saw a moment’s doubt in Tregarron’s eyes. “I’d like to let you think you succeeded, but you’ll know soon enough that you didn’t.”
Tregarron blinked, not sure if he was being lied to or not.
“But you did kill someone,” Pitt went on. “Poor chap was one of Alois’s men. Resembled him, certainly.”
Tregarron was standing stiffly, the rifle still in his hands.
“Put it down,” Pitt told him.
“Or what? You’ll shoot me? How would you explain that? I’m out for a ride in the country. Thought I’d shoot a few rabbits. You’re a fool!”
“Good idea, shooting rabbits,” Pitt lifted the barrel of the revolver an inch higher. “Might shoot a few myself.”
“Don’t be so damn stupid!” Tregarron snapped. “You’re supposed to be on a train guarding the head of the Austrian Special Branch, not strolling through the woods shooting at small animals!”
“You’re right,” Pitt agreed. “I wasn’t shooting at small animals, I was shooting at the man who killed one of Alois’s companions. Didn’t see his face. Never realized it was one of our own Foreign Office staff.”
A little of the color drained from Tregarron’s skin. “You can
’t try me in court, even if you imagine that you could find proof. You’d create a scandal.” But his voice was hollow. “This will look like an accident: tragic, but no one’s fault.”
“Not even mine, for incompetence?” Pitt asked sarcastically. “Shouldn’t I have foreseen that we would have one of our aristocratic ministers wandering around the woods shooting at rabbits-at head height? Roosting in the trees, were they?”
The blood surged up Tregarron’s face, and his grip tightened on his rifle till his knuckles were white.
“But as it happens,” Pitt went on, “I don’t wish to try you. I have a much better idea. You will pass me your rifle, then I will take your horse and ride to the nearest public transport back to London. You will walk to wherever you wish. I will say that I did not find the man who murdered our unfortunate Austrian visitor, and in return for that favor, at whatever time I wish in the future, you will pass on certain information that I will give you to your connections in the Austrian government.”
Tregarron stared at him as if he could not believe what he had heard. Then, as he studied Pitt’s face, he realized with horror that he really meant it.
“And if I should hear-and I would hear-that you have passed it incorrectly, then you will be exposed as the traitor you are,” Pitt continued. “And your father’s treason would become equally public, as would his regrettable affair with Serafina Montserrat.”
“You filthy bastard!” Tregarron spat.
“I’m a bastard because I would rather use a traitor than shoot him in cold blood and create a scandal I could not control?” Pitt asked, the sarcasm back in his voice. “I suppose that’s a matter of opinion. Mine is that you have betrayed your country rather than allow your father’s treason to be exposed, or your mother to be embarrassed. You had better make your choice quickly. I am not going to wait.”
“And what is to force me to keep my word?” Tregarron asked.
“Fear of exposure,” Pitt replied succinctly. “Pass me the rifle.”
Slowly, as if his limbs hurt to move, Tregarron obeyed.
Pitt took the rifle, still keeping his revolver pointed at Tregarron. Then he moved very carefully to untie the horse and walk it beyond Tregarron’s line of sight before he mounted it. Slinging the rifle over his shoulder, he urged the horse into a trot along the road.
At 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.
Charlotte 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, an
d 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.”