‘A stirring tale indeed.’ The jovial voice with its trace of a transatlantic accent them made them all jump. Mr Tibbins was surveying them with a beaming smile, his gaze flickering inquisitively from Armel to the elderly count. ‘There can be few men still alive, monsieur’ – he bowed to M. de Kersac – ‘who were part of that time of terror. And you are from Brittany, I understand? I was visiting there myself, only a few weeks ago. Ah, how many noble warriors from that beautiful province perished gallantly, continuing to fight in the royalist cause.’
‘Not only in Brittany.’ Armel de Kersac reminded him. ‘My wife’s family came from the Vendée, further to the south and there the royalists fought bitterly for many years after the Revolution. It was a sad time for all of France.’
‘Indeed it was,’ agreed the other man with a pious sigh as his eyes, alight with that unsettling, burning curiosity, darted round the group again, resting once more, for a fleeting moment, on the stooped but elegant figure of the old count. ‘I’m sure there are many tales to be told of heroism and disgrace alike, from that dark time.’
There was nothing in his words that anyone could find to object to yet somehow Charlotte felt a shiver of unease. Something lurked in his eyes; a gleam of surprised satisfaction that she thought had not been there when he first joined them. She thought he had started a little when he observed the three de Kersacs together. He stood now, at his ease, absently twirling his ebony cane as he looked down at the little girl with a paternal air.
‘What a very beautiful child, M. de Kersac.’ He addressed Marianne’s father, his tone congratulatory. ‘She does not resemble you, I think? Such luxuriant fair hair and with such notable light-blue eyes. No doubt she is the image of her mother.’
‘No.’ Armel looked puzzled but answered readily. ‘Her mother was small and dark.’
‘Ah.’ Mr Tibbins prepared to take his leave, his air now one of extreme self-satisfaction, as he nodded in friendly fashion to the assembled company. ‘I am sure then that the young lady is a throwback to a grandmother perhaps, or even, perhaps, a great-grandmother.’
It seemed an innocent enough remark, Charlotte considered later that night. So why should the elder Comte de Kersac suddenly look so bleak, his blue eyes pale and chill as he stared after the American’s retreating back?
‘Mrs Richmond?’ Some twenty minutes later Charlotte was startled to hear herself addressed by the American himself. Elaine Knightley had returned to Waterloo House to lie down, but insisted that Charlotte take advantage of the slight breeze that had arisen and enjoy herself in the fresh air. The shops, however, had proved a greater lure and she was now standing outside a milliner’s admiring a delightful but most unsuitable white straw bonnet with a spotted veil and trimmed with a large pink rose.
‘I beg your pardon, young lady.’ The surprising Mr Tibbins could exercise considerable charm when he wished and for some reason that seemed to be his present desire. ‘Pray forgive me for interrupting your reverie, but it has occurred to me that we might have some interests in common, you and I.’
Charlotte felt the blood drain from her face and in her instinctive turning away from him she glimpsed her perfectly white reflection in the milliner’s many-paned window. Fear gripped her and she had to take a deep breath before she could face him again.
‘I … do not understand you, sir.’
‘I have been maladroit.’ He was all contrition. ‘Allow me to explain myself. You must understand, Mrs Richmond, that I am engaged in an investigation which is at a very delicate stage of proceeding and that I have a proposition to put to you about which, should you choose to be less than discreet, a great many careful schemes and plans would come to naught.’
Fear dampened even Charlotte’s ever ready curiosity and she scarcely took in his words, but she managed to assume a look of polite interest while surreptitiously stepping backward to lean against the nearest wall. He did not, to be sure, seem to be threatening her with physical violence, or at least, not at this moment. He wore an animated air, one of interest and not the blandly ingenuous expression she had observed previously when he dropped his little darts in the ears of her fellow guests.
She opened her mouth to offer some polite excuse or other when a faint rumbling she had already remarked, suddenly sounded like thunder and she found herself grasped roughly by Mr Tibbins and pushed aside, just as a heavy handcart, laden with iron cooking pots, hurtled past them, its lumbering path halted as it crashed, cauldrons clanging on the road, accompanied by shrieks and lamentations, into a wooden stall piled high with fruit and vegetables.
The noise was indescribable, with the stall holder wailing in fear and anger, the bystanders scandalizing at the tops of their voices, and the sound of heavily booted feet as the owner of the cart clattered down the cobbled street exclaiming in horror. Even when he halted at the scene of devastation the carter did not draw breath but continued to maintain that his cart had been properly secured at the top of the hill.
‘I’ll take my Bible oath,’ he announced to all and sundry. ‘Man and boy I been bringing they pots and pans every week to Bath, and my old dad before me, and strike me dead if I ever left the brake off in my life.’ He paused as the crowd agreed loudly that this was the case, then he took up his tale once more. ‘Up on the ’ill it was. I stopped to give the time o’ day to some fellow, and God ’elp me, off down the street went my cart. The pity of it is I’ll never find out who took my brake off, there being such a press of people up there, ladies and gents too, but there was some varmints of boys I saw, and I’ll warrant they done it.’
Charlotte, meanwhile, was gasping as she tried to catch her breath. Mr Tibbins had glanced up just in time, she realized, and had thrust her aside, but in doing so he had cannoned into her, forcing the breath from her body. Well, she gasped to herself, it was a fair exchange for her life. A hasty glance at the shattered planks that had formed the stall gave her an intimation of the damage such a heavy object travelling at speed could have done to her.
‘Sir,’ she gasped. ‘Mr Tibbins, I must thank you for—’
‘Hush.’ He brushed her thanks aside. ‘I must think. Why should a cart which had been secured suddenly take wing? I suspect that the carter is correct; someone deliberately kicked off the brake, or, more likely, bent down and did it quietly, unnoticed in the crowd, and sent that cart headlong down the hill. But why? An accident – or something else?’
Charlotte was glad to sit down; her legs felt weak and when she tried to raise the brandy to her lips, her hand shook so badly that she had to set the glass down for a moment. Mr Tibbins, she observed, looked to be in a like condition. ‘Time for a little restorative,’ he had said decisively, looking up and down the street, settling on this small hotel nearby, with a public room suitable for a lady. ‘You have had a shock, Mrs Richmond, and so have I. Pray join me in a glass of brandy to calm our nerves.’ She managed a sip and then another and was comforted by the fiery warmth; it emboldened her to pose the question that was burning in her brain.
‘You spoke of something other than an accident,’ she said bluntly. ‘Was that cart aimed at you, Mr Tibbins? Was this another assault upon you?’
She was pleased that he made no pretence of not understanding her; that he did not brush aside her concerns, or play the bluff gentleman protecting a fragile woman. He stared at his glass and then returned his gaze to her own face.
‘I believe so,’ he answered. At her faint sigh, he rallied and smiled a little. ‘It was a singularly inept attempt at injury though, was it not? Such a missile as that cart must be notoriously difficult to aim precisely in any direction at all.’
She made no comment, but returned to her own earlier deliberations.
‘Was that the third attempt upon your life in the last few days, Mr Tibbins?’ she asked, keeping her voice and manner calm and composed.
Again he gratified her by accepting her intelligence without question. ‘The second attempt, certainly,’ he agreed. ‘I have racked
my brains about the accident at Salisbury but I can see no reason for anyone there to attack me. I am forced to the conclusion that it was as it appeared. An unfortunate accident resulting from a sudden surge of movement on an already overcrowded platform.’
Charlotte nodded slowly, sipping her brandy. ‘I, too, have tried to remember everything I saw,’ she told him. ‘I noticed you earlier on the platform and then lost sight of you when Mrs Knightley and I were settling ourselves in our carriage. By the time I could look out of the window there were more people boarding the train and I glimpsed you only briefly. I am quite certain, though, that you were not very near that young lady who fell, because I noticed when they lifted her that she was wearing a white straw bonnet with a rather large bright yellow flower in it, and I had definitely not seen that before.’
His interest was caught. ‘You consider, do you, ma’am, that if she had been pushed in mistake for myself, she would have been standing close beside me? Indeed she must have done so, or there could have been no mistake.’ He looked almost disappointed as he continued, ‘Well, then, so be it. We must conclude that it was merely an unfortunate accident. That time at least.…’
He called for the waiter and took another glass of brandy, but Charlotte smiled and shook her head. ‘So you believe, sir, that the half-brick and the cart were both deliberately aimed at you?’
‘As I said just now’ – he shook his head in bewilderment – ‘both attempts were singularly inefficient as a means to murder.’ She gasped and his mood lightened at once as he grinned at her. ‘That must be considered as a motive, dear lady, but I’m inclined to think that both efforts were in the nature of a warning shot across my bows, to use the nautical language of the gallant Captain Penbury.’
Her eyes were round with astonishment. ‘But why would anyone wish to murder you, sir?’ she asked with interest. ‘I have certainly been aware that some of our fellow guests are perhaps a little annoyed at your – um, shall we say slightly intrusive curiosity? But that’s not.…’
He held up his hand to stop her, while nodding in agreement. ‘I think the time has come for me to explain certain circumstances to you. I am pretty sure I can rely upon your complete discretion else I should not venture upon such an undertaking. But I know that you have made no mention of that little contretemps yesterday and I believe I can trust you.
‘In the course of my business undertakings,’ Mr Tibbins continued. ‘I have found it politic to deal with many … ah, secondary, agents, in a surprising number of places across the globe, both in America, in Great Britain and across Europe. I have not hitherto encountered anyone whom I should wish to appoint as my agent in the Antipodes but you, my dear young lady, appear to be the ideal candidate. Shall you be returning to Australia in the near future?’
The relief was almost as frightening as the fear she had suffered when he first accosted her not long ago, before the cart came upon them, but years of practice came to her rescue and she was able to look him straight in the eye. Don’t hold on too long, Will said. An honest look is invaluable, but keep on too long and you can unsettle people. A brief manly glance – or a demurely feminine one – and you’re instantly trustworthy.
‘You want me to be your spy?’ she asked baldly, frowning at him and shook her head slowly. ‘It’s an intriguing offer, Mr Tibbins, but I have no plans to leave this country. But tell me,’ she asked, her curiosity roused, ‘what do you obtain from these agents of yours?’
He shrugged his shoulders, still looking at her with that impersonal, appraising stare. ‘I set them riddles to solve in connection with my own business and in the course of obtaining answers for me they invariably come into possession of a surprising amount of information about a vast number of individuals. Whenever I spend any time in a new town I like to discover what I can about my companions. Is it not Shakespeare who speaks of “a snapper-up of unconsidered trifles”? You could thus describe me. It is astonishing what secrets people hide and how useful those secrets can be to another person.’
In spite of herself Charlotte was interested. This man’s creed appeared to resemble that of both her stepfather and her godmother neither of whom had ever neglected an opportunity to listen to gossip, in case it came in handy.
‘Is that what you have been doing here in Bath, sir?’ she asked, then remembered something. ‘But what were you actually doing on Salisbury Station when I first saw you?’
To her surprise, his eyes narrowed in a smile of considerable satisfaction as she spoke, as if she had fulfilled his expectation, and he answered her quite candidly.
‘I had been staying at Waterloo House for a week when I received a message that someone most nearly concerned with my primary business was thought to have been seen in Salisbury so I repaired there at once. Sadly my informant was mistaken so I returned to Bath where I am happy to say I begin to make real progress.’
He was silent for a moment and Charlotte took this as her cue that he had finished speaking, so began to rise.
‘Stay one moment, Mrs Richmond, if you will be so kind?’ She resumed her seat and turned an enquiring gaze upon him, intrigued to see that he was apparently struggling with some decision.
‘I believe I can trust to your discretion, my dear young lady,’ he said in a quiet tone far removed from the jocular, teasing familiarity of his address to his fellow guests at Waterloo House. ‘I am rarely mistaken in a character and I believe you to be a woman of resource and intelligence, possessed of an enquiring mind, sharply observant and able to make rapid judgements concerning situations and persons who might pose a threat to you.’
He paused for a moment and Charlotte stared at him in astonishment. He smiled and continued, ‘Have you ever heard of Pinkerton’s Detective Agency in the United States of America?’ When she shook her head, mystified, he nodded and began to explain. ‘It is a private organization, very similar in aim to the forces of law and order, but it is privately managed. I spent more than twenty years in the service of the law of this country, firstly as a young Bow Street Runner and remained with them when they combined with the Metropolitan Police Force, ending up as one of Sir Robert Peel’s famous Bobbies.’
‘You are a policeman? An English policeman?’ Charlotte prayed that he had not heard her sharp inward breath and that her colour had not altered.
‘I was a policeman,’ he corrected her. ‘And yes, I am English by birth. As to the police I can honestly say that I was an excellent policeman, as all my superiors save one told me so.’
‘And what of that one, sir?’ She had control of herself once more and summoned up a smile that combined slight amusement with scepticism.
‘Ah, that one, my dear.’ He twinkled at her. ‘That was rather unfortunate. The one dissenter to the chorus of praise they lavished upon me was the husband of a rather jolly lady who enjoyed flirting with danger – and with me.’ He pursed his lips and looked rueful. ‘Sadly the gentleman held an exalted position and he urged me to consider my future in the force. Suffice it to say that my resignation was the safest option, but I did not wish to abandon my life of investigation and when I heard of the new investigation agency started by Pinkerton in America some few years ago, it seemed an excellent idea. I was already in that country as I had earlier made the trip across the Atlantic Ocean to seek my fortune and had succeeded in a modest fashion, but I still hankered after a life as a thief catcher so I visited Allan Pinkerton to observe his methods. Pinkerton offered me a job almost on the spot and I have prospered exceedingly with his organization. Nowadays I am a specialist regarding this part of the world so I am frequently to be found in both England and in Europe. And, as I previously informed you, I have agents reporting to me from all across the globe.’
She drew in a deep breath and stared at him with open interest. ‘And you would like me to become one of your detective agents, Mr Tibbins?’
He nodded. ‘Detection has a fine long provenance, Mrs Richmond,’ he informed her. ‘Besides the famous Bow Street Runners, there
was an age old tradition of thief taking, where a private individual could employ the services of the thief taker to seek recompense for some wrong. That, in essence, is what my employers offer. It can be profitable and satisfying in equal measures.’
She was fascinated and forgot to be afraid of him. ‘And you enjoy the hunt, sir?’ she asked.
‘I bear malice to no man, or indeed woman,’ he said. ‘What I do possess is an inordinate amount of curiosity towards my fellow creatures and in the course of my police work I observed many cases of injustice and far too many felons escaping from their just deserts so the work I do now is immensely satisfying. Too satisfying, some might say, for I confess I take a mischievous delight in teasing and unsettling suspects; such methods can bring rapid results, you see.’
He grinned suddenly and raised an eyebrow. ‘You, my dear lady,’ he said lightly, ‘would be astonished at the thoroughness of my investigations. When I was commissioned by a client who now deems it safer to reside in America than in his native country, to seek out a certain person, I discovered that the same person was expected to visit Bath at this time and to reside at Waterloo House. Naturally I made a reservation for myself at the same establishment, arriving a little prior to my quarry. Once here I set about portraying myself as a gentleman of leisure, interested in old buildings and in history, and taking note of everything out of the ordinary. In short, I play the part of an enthusiastic and talkative tourist from the New World and as such I am received with warmth and a certain amount of patronage.
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