Текст книги "The Blood Royal"

Автор книги: Barbara Cleverly

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Текущая страница: 25 (всего у книги 27 страниц)

Chapter Thirty-Seven

The Branch men went off, muttering of arrangements to make, plates to develop and arms to twist and promising to return at eleven to pick up the text of the letter. Joe was left behind to supervise Lily. He occupied himself with agitatedly sifting through the Romanov relics, glancing every thirty seconds at the constable who was calmly reading her way through a pile of correspondence. Had she any idea how infuriating she was being?

Finally, she looked up at him. ‘Sir? Am I allowed to use my own knowledge? I mean, if Tatiana really were alive, she’d make some mention of the place she’s been living in for the last few years, wouldn’t she? She might even say something to tempt our Anna … her Anna … to pack up and go over to find her.’

‘Sounds reasonable. What do you know of San Francisco, Wentworth?’

‘Not much. But probably more than Anna Petrovna knows. At least I read the popular magazines, sir.’

‘Go to it, Wentworth. But keep it brief. You can say too much, you know. We don’t want to gild the lily.’

‘Then I’m ready to have a shot at it. Will you pass me a sheet of writing paper? And Sam might be instructed to set it out on his page as closely as he can to my effort.’

‘He’ll be using some American writing paper we’ve supplied him with.’ Sandilands took a sheet from his briefcase. ‘Here’s one. Use this for practice. The heading should be … let’s call her …um … Miss Theresa Robinson, care of the British Consul-General, One Sansome Street, San Francisco. Off you go!’

He knew he was being annoying but he couldn’t restrain himself from prowling about the room as she wrote, passing behind her and making her flinch when he tried to sneak a look at her production.

My dearest, darling Anna! he read before she put an arm over it like an embarrassed schoolgirl. A further patrol revealed: I may not sign my name but – you said it! – ‘by my hair shall you know me!’ Less lustrous than it once was – the sunshine out here is unkind to complexion and hair!

After a bit of pen-chewing she followed with: I had thought you dead. And now word comes to me that you live! And are safe among friends. I have news of my brother and sisters, though I know you will be sad to hear that my parents have succumbed to old age and disease. At least they died together.

After a few sighs: I have before me as I write a photograph that has travelled half the world with me. I look at it every day. Taken in the shade of a tree in the summer time. Yalta? 1916? You will remember! You are beside me, gazing with commendable attention at our handsome French master who, I think I remember, is trying to drum the subjunctive into our skulls. Attention? I think there is something more in your look, Anna! I have news of Pierre also.

‘Wentworth, how do you know …?’

‘It says so on the back. In pencil in an English clerkly hand. Bacchus? The girls are identified, along with “Pierre Gilliard, Fr. Master”.’

‘Keep it short, Wentworth. Every single letter is a work of art for our chap, remember.’

She finished with a rush. If I thought a command would influence you, I would say: ‘Come! At once!’ But I now beg you, dearest Anna, to come to me and complete my happiness. And here in this delightful place I know I have the means to make yours. Leave that drab and violent continent to its death-throes and sail into the sunshine! We are waiting with our arms outstretched! Silent, upon a peak – in Darien! Your devoted friend, T.

Joe snatched it from her the moment she had blotted it. ‘Good!’ he said. ‘That would get me rushing for the boat!’ And, thoughtfully, ‘That’s a neat bit about her brother. It wasn’t in my briefing. Is this a case of “Miss thinks she knows best”? I believe it is. But does it add up? You don’t say that he’s alive or that he’s dead. Just enough to sow doubt. There are rumours about – strong ones, especially in Romanov circles – that the whole family was spirited away. And the promise of a warm welcome over the ocean may well be ultimately persuasive when our girl considers the alternative we have on offer for her here in London.’

He took a deep breath and came to a decision. ‘Yes! Wentworth, we’ll go along with your scenario. If she’s convinced by this, Anna Petrovna’s reason to stay on plotting mischief over here is removed at a stroke. If only … What do you say to appropriating one of those lockets? There’s one containing a wisp of the Tsarevich’s hair.’

‘No, sir. That would be overplaying it. She wouldn’t send something so precious across in the post or even the diplomatic bag. Wouldn’t feel she needed to. This is Her Imperial Highness writing. Enough for anyone to be told, in her handwriting of course, that she survives. She wouldn’t expect to have to supply proof or answer questions. I think you’re right – it should be understated … no one’s impressed by a gilded lily. We should keep it … tantalizing.’

‘This reference to the French master … Assuming too much, do you think?’

‘Take a look at the photograph again. Our dark-haired beauty is casting what I’d interpret as a decidedly languishing look at the tutor. Whatever she has on her mind, it’s not French grammar. And it’s a pretty safe bet anyway. There weren’t many men under forty and over fourteen in the lives of these girls at this point and Pierre Gilliard was a well-set-up fellow. Every girl falls in love with her French master. Done it myself.’

‘It’s a bit of a risk. We’ll have to see what Bacchus thinks of it. I think we have time for a little rehearsal.’

Bacchus read the sheet and then read it again. He opened his mouth to comment and closed it. Finally, he said, ‘This will do. I note the change of plan. In the Wentworth version the Tsarevich very likely survives also. Another prince saved. That’s two in a week. Well done, miss! But what’s this here about Darien? Will she be familiar with Keats?’

‘I think everyone knows this line … the poet’s vision of the conquistadors standing on a height above the bay, rendered speechless by their first sight of the Pacific Ocean. I noticed that the girls liked to scatter literary references about.’

‘Now, can we get through the final briefing for Miss Wentworth’s performance tomorrow morning?’ Joe suggested, and without waiting for a response he launched himself into the task. ‘The constable presents herself at St Katharine’s Square at nine sharp. The princess, fully briefed by then, receives her. With a bit of luck, Anna Petrovna will be lurking behind a door listening in. Now, all Russians like a mystery, I observe. So we offer one. The photograph of the painting, Bacchus? Ah, thank you. Still damp? I’ll be careful. You know what you are to say about this first offering, Wentworth?’

‘Yes, sir. I suggest that there is a hidden message in it. The grave is empty. There is no attempt to convey butchery, none at all. There are simply – no corpses. The inference the observer is meant to draw is that the family has escaped this burial pit. And gone … where?’

‘Right. You plant the question and then supply an answer. This is our first slice of realia.’

‘Ah. Well, next comes the bully-beef filling. I offer the letter purportedly from Tatiana. The princess remarks that it has been opened. I say – of course! All communications from our consulates are screened and the interesting ones examined. I say that she will realize, as did our secret service, that this is a letter of some importance. It contains a shattering piece of information that the British government is honour-bound to keep from being broadcast. The first thought was to suppress the letter but wiser counsel prevailed in the present circumstances. I say that with heavy emphasis. I hand the letter over and she reads it, exclaiming the while.’

‘Yes, remember to leave plenty of reaction time for the princess. Remember that she is Anna Petrovna’s anchor in an unsafe world. Our girl will place much faith in her advice.’

‘When she’s taken this in, I hand over the second envelope containing the tickets to heaven and a British passport in the name of Anna Peterson and say they come with the compliments of the British government who are finding Anna and her activities a bit of a nuisance and would be glad to see the back of her. It’s that or a spell in Holloway jail. Finally, I present the second slice of something verifiable: the newspaper report.’

‘And bring yourself straight back here. That’s a clear order.’ He thought for a moment and added: ‘Make no attempt to deal face to face with Anna Petrovna. It’s our opinion and that of an alienist I’ve consulted that the woman could be dangerously deranged. Suffering a condition not unlike shell shock. She’s primed and ready to explode. She’s failed once and that may well have increased the pressure. We know her targets and I, for one, recognize that she may already have begun to associate you with the forces that gather protectively about them. Do not put yourself into her path.’

‘Sir?’ Fanshawe had a question. ‘If we’re giving this deranged criminal a British passport, what’s to stop her turning round and coming straight back into the country when she finds she’s been duped?’

‘Our border force, Fanshawe. You know their qualities. Her passport will be flagged and she’ll be arrested at the port.’

‘And that’s it. I make my farewells and walk back here,’ Lily finished.

‘Then we go on watch,’ said Bacchus with satisfaction. ‘She’ll do her packing, and leave. Either she’ll go north to Norfolk or south to Southampton. To jail or to freedom. It’s her choice.’

Joe raised his eyes to the ceiling. ‘No it’s not! No more than you would have any choice over the card you picked out of a greasy pack offered to you by a conjurer at the Palace of Varieties, Bacchus.’

‘That’s it then, sir?’ Lily asked.

‘Yes. We can all go home and get some rest while Bacchus goes to work with his forger. Seven o’clock start from here tomorrow. Best of luck, chaps! If there’s really nothing more you want to check …? No? Then you may dismiss now. Oh, Bacchus! Just a quick word if you wouldn’t mind?’ He waited until he heard the others’ footsteps going down the stairs then closed the door and turned to Bacchus, resting a congratulatory hand briefly on his shoulder. ‘I think that went well.’

Bacchus murmured something which might have been agreement.

‘What do you think of our chances?’

‘Not much. They’d have been better if we hadn’t been required to pussyfoot about. In fact, I’ve got a bad feeling about the whole thing … I just hope we can get through the preliminary pantomime without loss of life and reputation. Never underestimate the Russians, sir. We ought to remember: “Russian grain will not grow in foreign ways.” We think they’ve acclimatized, adjusted to western methods, but they haven’t.’

‘Mmm … I’ll remember that about the alien corn. Your friend Pushkin, Bacchus?’

‘No, sir. His friend Shakhovskoy.’

‘Ah! I haven’t yet had the pleasure. Just one thing – or three. The moustache, James. In view of what’s to come, perhaps …?’

Bacchus put a finger to the moustache as though surprised to find it still on his upper lip. ‘Oh … Sorry, sir. Left over from the last job. I suppose it does attract attention. I’ll get rid of it.’

‘And you mention feeling, James? Not a recommended activity in your line of work. You are perfectly clear …?’

‘My orders are precise and either have been executed or are about to be carried out. Commander.’

Joe smiled. The Branch seemed at last to be responding to a firm hand. And there was nothing better than a cry of ‘View halloo! Fox in sight!’ to get them racing off in the right direction.

‘Our target? Our “loose cannon” as the princess calls her?’

‘You know as well as I do, sir, there’s only one sure method of dealing with those rolling disasters at sea.’ He extended a hand and mimed a downwards diving motion. ‘Open a gun port and let gravity take care of the rest.’

‘Heaven forbid!’

The exclamation drew a hard glance from Bacchus. ‘We’re in the business of saving lives, sir. The right lives. Sometimes you have to make a trade. We’ve had our orders from above. And if we refuse them the matter will be … er … taken out of our hands and passed to others. The type who don’t ask questions. At least this way we still have room for manoeuvre.’

‘Yes. We’ve wangled ourselves one more throw of the dice. It might just come off … Bacchus, I want one of your men on board that liner to monitor – or if the worst should come to the worst manage – the outcome.’

‘I’d thought of that. I’ve got a ticket. Second class. Cherbourg to New York and back. That should be far enough to know what’s what. And I’ll go myself. Always wanted to see New York.’ He began to take an interest in his well-kept finger nails. ‘The constable, sir? Would you like me to manage her outcome as well?’

‘You’ve enough on your plate, man, getting yourself off to the liner. I’ve made other arrangements for Wentworth.’

Chapter Thirty-Eight

Foxton was all smiles. The princess was all smiles. She even leaned forward and pecked at each of Lily’s cheeks in welcome while she held her hands.

‘How simply delightful to see you again, my dear Lily! This is not too late – or too early – to join me in a pot of chocolate? I was just about to indulge … Good.’ She turned to the maid. ‘And we’ll have French macaroons with that, Katy.’

There was a trace of something … roses, Lily thought … in the air. The princess had smelled of nothing more than Pear’s soap when she approached. So, Lily guessed, it was reasonable to suppose that Anna Petrovna had until a moment ago been in the morning room conferring with Princess Ratziatinsky. Her hostess was in receiving mode but at leisure in a purple Circassian kaftan. Lily’s own white linen dress, borrowed at the last minute from her aunt Phyl, would pass muster, she thought. Restrained, unlikely to attract attention.

They chatted of this and that as the maid poured out the chocolate and handed macaroons and shortcake biscuits. When she bobbed and left, the princess’s tone became brisk.

‘So. You come, the commander tells me, equipped with olive branch, white flag … something of that nature?’

Lily laughed. ‘It’s more of a message in a cleft stick.’ She was determined to keep the business light. She had chosen to bring her documents with her in a battered old military messenger’s pouch she had been given by her soldier grandfather. ‘This bag,’ she said with an air of mystery, ‘was once the property of the Royal West Surrey Regiment. It carried the news of the relief of the siege of Ladysmith. It is still doing its bit.’

The princess smiled. ‘Coming to the relief of besieged ladies?’

‘Yes, that. But its main purpose is, as it always was, to serve its country. I know you understand that.’

The princess raised an eyebrow and smiled again. ‘Produce your rabbits,’ she said.

Lily was pleased to have raised both pencilled eyebrows when she handed over the photograph of the Koptyaki grave.

‘But this is …’

‘Given to me by His Royal Highness. And I am delighted to have it. If there’s anything our secret service is good at, it’s spotting secrets and decoding messages. One look at this and the interpretation was clear.’

The princess peered more closely at the picture. On the hook, Lily judged. She launched, in a confiding, excited but carrying voice, into Sandilands’ invention of Romanov survival. She noted that, by the end of her account, the princess was looking pale and disturbed, thin fingers twisting in the pearls at her throat. ‘And all escaped? Is this what your government is thinking?’ she murmured. ‘The painting had not spoken to me.’ She placed the picture on the table at her side, not offering to return it.

Lily dived into the bag again and took out the Californian letter.

‘For Anna? But this has been opened,’ the princess objected, before correcting herself. ‘Ah. Yes, of course … it would have been opened.’

She listened carefully to Lily’s prepared explanation and nodded her understanding. Unfolding the letter itself, she gasped as the lock of hair became visible. Mastering her emotion, she read the letter and read it again. She held it to the light and examined the watermark. With a quivering hand she extracted a slender skein of hairs from the thick lock and wound it round a finger, tears gathering in her eyes. Then she replaced the letter in its envelope. This also came in for scrutiny.

‘We haven’t finished yet,’ said Lily. ‘Here’s a news cutting explaining the letter. Perhaps you saw this? Tatiana has been indiscreet, clearly. Distance from the centre of things leads to lack of concentration. Our consul is aware and taking steps. But in San Francisco she remains for the foreseeable future. Last exhibit: a passage to San Francisco for Anna Petrovna.’

Lily talked on, delivering her rehearsed speeches, reacting to the princess’s sharp questions when they came. She gave information when she could, admitted ignorance where an answer was outside her brief or her invention. And the moment came for her departure.

‘You may keep all these items. Except for the bag I brought them in. My grandfather was badly wounded carrying it between General Buller and Spion Kop,’ she said. ‘I like to think those are his bloodstains. I would not want to lose it.’

The princess shuddered delicately and gestured to Lily to take it back.

Coming to the end of the exchange, the princess walked to the bell-pull to summon Foxton. Lily was puzzled to see that she did not actually tug hard enough to make contact. A few moments later: ‘Foxton? Curse the man! Where can he be? I’ll show you out myself.’

At the front door and out of earshot of any listener, the princess grasped Lily’s hand and spoke urgently. ‘You have done your best. And now it’s up to me to do mine. You must understand that our loyalties are like railway lines … they are going in the same direction but they never actually converge. Disaster if they did!’ She smiled. ‘I have many irons in the fire – you know that. I trade with this side and that, trying to keep a balance, but my loyalties are always with my people. And Anna is very dear to me. I would move heaven and earth to protect her and achieve her happiness … if that is still possible. I have been making my own quiet arrangements to resolve our problem. But I see I must put on a burst of speed to keep up with Sandilands. He is moving faster than I would have wished.’

Her voice became more sombre. ‘I cannot promise I shall succeed. Great hatred runs deep and, once under way, gathers momentum and powers itself. It is not easily diverted from its course. In fact, I know of only one thing strong enough to counter it. An equally great love!’ Her face lit up with youthful mischief as she added: ‘What was the date of the sailing? So soon! I must make a telephone call to Paris without delay!’

Lily knew she was walking unsteadily, and put it down to euphoria. She took a deep breath of fresh morning air, hitched the leather bag more firmly on to her shoulder, set her eyes on the end of the elegant row of houses and made for the Thames.

It had gone better than she had expected. And faster – hastened by the princess’s understanding and anticipation. Passing the conversation anxiously in review, she couldn’t recollect a slip. She prepared to entertain Sandilands with her account. There were no taxis about to speed her journey but there was really no hurry and it was only a mile or so from Kensington to Westminster. She had time enough to stroll along down Birdcage Walk on her way back to the Yard. There was nothing more she could do. It was out of her hands and into Bacchus’s. The thought brought relief.

She passed Buckingham Palace, and wasted several minutes mingling with the crowd watching the guard change. She was skirting St James’s Park when the hairs on the back of her neck gave her warning. By the time she entered Great George Street with the Thames sparkling ahead of her, she was sure she was being followed. One of Bacchus’s men? With an unprofessional rush of mischief, Lily decided to flush him out. No shoelace business – these men would scorn such a ploy. The street was relatively empty. He should be easy to spot. She stopped abruptly and looked behind her.

A young woman in a cream linen walking suit was striding out in the opposite direction. Across the road, a nursemaid was pushing a baby in a pram into the park to visit the duck pond. A vicar in a black homburg hat had stopped to shake a rattle and coo to entertain this youngest member of his flock. Two men, walking purposefully, bowler hatted both of them and practically invisible on the London streets, caught her eye. One of these? Lily waited until they were within yards of her and she was sure of receiving an unprepared reaction, then stood in the middle of the pavement and nonchalantly lifted her skirt. She bent over and proceeded to straighten her stocking and adjust her garter. Whichever man she caught staring at her leg she reckoned would be an innocent city gent, the one looking hastily aside at the architecture would be Bacchus’s man.

To her confusion, both men stared and hurried by. One uttered a ‘Faugh!’ of disgust, the other turned and objected: ‘I say, miss! This is Westminster! The Wellington Barracks are a hundred yards back down the road. You’ve missed it.’ He pointed helpfully.

Lily was still shaking with silent laughter when her arm was seized from behind and clamped tightly to the side of a tall woman striding out towards the Thames. Lily had to scamper along to avoid being swept off her feet, such was the onward rush, the iron grip on her arm.

Cream-coloured linen, no gloves, no handbag. She’d left home in a hurry. But she’d snatched the time to pull on a cloche hat in natural straw. A waft of Attar of Roses confirmed Lily’s identification.

‘Anna?’ she murmured. ‘Anna Petrovna, is this you?’