The Traitor And The Tunnel Part 26

Mary sat up straight. Organized her thoughts. "I ought to report on the a.s.signment." She gave the briefest of summaries; it hadn't, after al , been a complex or convoluted case.

Anne and Felicity listened attentively enough. "So the reason the thefts stopped wasn't because of gossip or excess caution it was because the Prince was back at Cambridge for a spel ." Anne shook her head. "Sometimes the simplest explanations are the most difficult to credit."

Mary nodded. "Yes. I spent so much time thinking about Palace politics and trying to work out the servants' schedules, when al the time it was just a spoilt child who wanted a bit more pocket money."

"Bit of a waste of time and resources, don't you think?" said Felicity, her voice a lazy drawl.

Mary spoke quickly, before Anne could become defensive. "Seen narrowly, perhaps. But my presence there combined with James Easton's helped to avert a major disaster." As she briefly narrated the story of the Earl of Wintermarch, Honoria Dalrymple and the crates of nitrocel ulose, she watched her soon-to-be-former managers.

Felicity listened with a quizzical smile that spoke of great satisfaction. Anne, more circ.u.mspect, listened with a neutral expression, head tilted at a thoughtful angle.

When Mary finished, there was perfect silence for several seconds. Then Anne said, "We were remiss in not conveying to you the background information you requested. However, I've now gathered some details that may help to explain such a bizarre series of occurrences."

Mary shifted in her chair. There wasn't time for this. She wanted only to return to the Tower, her father, her future. Yet failing to show interest now might sabotage her sudden disappearance. No, everything had to seem entirely normal if her escape plan was to work. "An explanation of Wintermarch's actions?"

"Nothing so clear-cut as an explanation; more a possible interpretation," said Felicity.

Anne bridled at such a dismissal. "The earl, as you know, has a reputation as an extremely conservative man; his voting record in the House of Lords corroborates this. I've learned that in his own circle, and in private letters, he expresses open dissatisfaction with the idea of a female monarch.

He's also strongly prejudiced against Germans and has, again, written to his intimates denigrating the royal family because of their origins. He believes them insufficiently English to reign, and even questions their loyalty to the country.

"However, Wintermarch lived abroad until roughly ten years ago, when his elder brother died. He was then forced to give up his military commission to a.s.sume the t.i.tle. Most of these remarks were made before he became earl, and thus were, I suspect, discounted by most. It's also notable that his scurrilous remarks were never accompanied by action. It seems that only when he retired and returned to England did he have time to become bored and thus dangerous."

Mary frowned. She'd not wanted to listen, but her training was sound and she absorbed the information without conscious effort. "Are you suggesting that Queen Victoria's advisers knew of the earl's remarks but simply didn't take them seriously?"

Anne tilted her head. "Or hadn't sufficient grounds to pursue them. After al , she must be wel accustomed to aristocratic t.i.ttle-tattle and backbiting."

"But his intent has changed dramatical y over the past decade. His actions were those of a zealot or a lunatic, rather than a disciplined military man."

Anne nodded. "That is the most troubling thing about today's events, now the danger has been averted: there's simply no rational explanation for his actions. I can understand his attempting regicide. I could also imagine a frightening sort of prank, designed to expose Her Majesty's vulnerability. But to construct what was truly a suicide mission goes beyond any sort of logic."

"Except," said Mary, "for the logic of the mad. Just before the Queen appeared, he faltered. He didn't seem to know what to do next, although he'd been very efficient up to that point."

Anne nodded. "It certainly sounds it. A portion of the plan was carried out with logic, but amidst utter chaos. And frankly, history shows that those who plot against a monarch are typical y unbalanced if not unhinged, then blinded by ideological fervour.

Certainly the young men who shot a pistol at Her Majesty's carriage two decades ago were declared insane." She paused. "However, we'l never know for certain. The person best positioned to know is Mrs Dalrymple."

This wasn't nearly as dissatisfying as it ought to have been, realized Mary with a glimmer of dark amus.e.m.e.nt. She would have enjoyed a thorough and rational explanation for Wintermarch's actions, but ultimately it mattered not.

"As for Honoria Dalrymple," said Anne, "hers seems to be a simple case of blind hero worship.

She adores her stepfather, would do anything to please him. She married her husband purely to do so, and that marriage was a misery. After Dalrymple died, she had time to devote to the earl once more. I doubt she's stil a danger, now that he's dead."

"Executed," murmured Mary.

Anne's brow wrinkled. "Yes. Wel , in the circ.u.mstances one could hardly be surprised. If ever a man met his just deserts..."

Mary fidgeted. She disliked this new feeling of pity that now crept in when she thought of Honoria Dalrymple. To distract herself, she asked, "But the question of proximity knowing what she did, why would the Queen elevate Mrs Dalrymple to lady-in-waiting?"

"There's an old adage," struck in Felicity, smiling slightly. "'Wise men keep their friends close but their enemies closer.' Perhaps Her Majesty found it applicable to wise women, too."

Mary wondered if she herself might ever be wise.

Right now, she felt completely adrift and unable to discern even who her friends and enemies might be.

She said the next thing that came to mind, quite at random. "Why does the secret tunnel even exist?"

"You are familiar with rumours concerning the private life of George IV," said Anne.

Mary nodded. Who was not? The Queen's uncle had been a notorious bon vivant, in every sense of the expression. An immoderate love of food and wine, a turbulent and acrimonious marriage, numerous affairs and the il egitimate children to show for them ... it was the stuff of private amus.e.m.e.nt and public outrage.

"I believe he caused the tunnel to be built in order to facilitate meetings with his mistress, Mrs Fitzherbert. Although he did not live at the Palace, he was on good terms with Queen Charlotte, his mother, and regularly visited her there. It is believed that Mrs Fitzherbert was conducted into the Palace via the river, and up the sewer."

Mary frowned. "Was such subterfuge truly necessary?"

Anne shrugged. "In the lax society of the day, likely not; I should imagine there was an element of enjoyment in the game. But Mrs Fitzherbert was a Roman Catholic. They were rumoured to have entered into a secret marriage. There may have been a desire to evade public scrutiny or perhaps even George's wife's attention from time to time.

Anything else, Mary?"

Mary's thoughts were an undisciplined whirl.

Secret tunnels, clandestine relationships, disreputable family members... There was no family in the world without its secrets. "No."

"Then what of the Beaulieu-Buckworth case?"

asked Anne. "Have you managed to uncover anything useful?"

"Ah, yes," said Felicity. "The Lascar."

Mary refused to squirm. They might suspect her more-than-general interest in Lang Jin Hai, but they would receive no confirmation from her. "Yes. The Prince of Wales now recal s enough of the night of Beaulieu-Buckworth's death to be able to state, with certainty, that Beaulieu-Buckworth was the aggressor." She was loath to mention the Lascar's surname. After al , it was also hers something that both women knew.

"Very satisfying," said Anne. "Did you a.s.sist him in remembering?"

"I did nothing that compromised my ident.i.ty as a parlour-maid," said Mary. "It was a quite unexpected return of memory."

"Wel . I'm pleased to know this case has resolved itself so favourably," said Felicity. "I must go soon I've an appointment to keep but you've now had a short while to think about your choice, Mary. While we do not wish to hurry you, we should like to know of your decision as soon as possible."

Despite Felicity's words, it was quite clear that she expected an instantaneous response. Anne, also, seemed to think this an obvious matter. And to a certain extent, this was true: their philosophies were now so different opposed, even that choosing one manager over another had become the equivalent of declaring a creed.

Mary disliked this, too. She'd had no intention of questioning them after al , it signified nothing to her but pique, combined with the need to behave normal y, made her ask, "What of my present connections? You're both aware that I'm once more in contact with James Easton. What would each of you have me do about that?" She regretted the question even before it was ful y spoken. She didn't want to think about James. If she succeeded in helping her father escape, she would never see him again. If she failed, the same would be true.

The question startled neither manager. They glanced at each other and after a brief pause, Anne spoke. "My dear, the coincidences that have brought you and Mr Easton into proximity are startlingly frequent. I would propose creating an adequate and realistic explanation the journalistic ruse you used was good for the time being, but insufficient in the long run before once more severing this tie. I realize this might be awkward, but it's essential to the preservation of your cover. I might even recommend some internal work, for a short time, until we can properly a.s.sess the threat Mr Easton represents to your work."

A smile hovered about Felicity's lips. She looked like a chess master about to checkmate her opponent. "And I, my dear, believe that handled properly, Mr Easton represents nothing like a threat either to you, or to my organization. Quite the reverse: if you fol ow me to this new agency, my dear, I should be most grateful for your a.s.sistance in recruiting Mr Easton to our ranks. I believe he has the right apt.i.tude for work such as ours. It would be a pleasure to invite him to join us."

The choices couldn't have been more divergent.

Both women waited, their serene att.i.tudes and expressions belied by the tension in the room, so thick it felt like a change in air pressure. At last, Mary said, "Thank you. I'l inform you of my decision once it's made." She paused. Then, to further the fiction of her dilemma, she asked, "Miss Treleaven, may I continue to occupy my room here at the Academy until further notice?"

Anne nodded, perhaps deflated by Mary's delay.

"You are welcome to your room, Mary, for as long as you continue to be a member of the Agency."

Ah and if she chose Felicity, she'd be at Felicity's mercy for lodgings, as wel ? Suddenly, Mary couldn't leave the office fast enough.

Felicity, however, was quicker. "Take my card,"

she said to Mary. "You may contact me at any time by leaving a message at this address."

"Thank you," said Mary automatical y. She slipped the card into her reticule without a glance.

"Oh!" Anne leapt up. "I nearly forgot."

Mary stared with fascination as Anne rummaged through the heaps of papers on her desk. She'd never before seen Anne scrabble. It was rather like witnessing a vicar curse.

"Here." Anne pa.s.sed her a square envelope. "It arrived just before I found you." She paused and added, "By special messenger."

Mary could see that much: there was no stamp on the envelope. It felt stiff between her fingers, the creamy paper thick and expensive. She could see Felicity tilting her head for a better view of the seal on the back. Mary had no desire to share this with anybody. "Thank you," she said once again, and inclined her head in an ambiguous farewel gesture.

"Good-day." It was a meaningless commonplace until now. As the words left her lips, they sounded like both a mockery and a lie.

Both felt entirely appropriate.

Thirty-three.

Thursday evening Limehouse She had an idea of what the envelope contained: the seal depicted a crown with the letter R, for Regina, across it. But she feared the delay had already been too long. If she could evade Anne and Felicity's probing, she could certainly let this envelope wait, too. And so she stuffed it into her reticule and made haste to Limehouse, where she had certain arrangements in mind. After some preliminary exploration, she took lodgings in a quiet house, paying a week's rent in advance and giving her name as El en Tan, a clerical worker soon to be joined by her invalid father.

The landlady accepted her explanation without question, her attention riveted by the three black-haired children playing by the fire. It was a decent place to go to ground, thought Mary: meals included, a landlady sorely in need of income while her husband was at sea, perhaps a shade of solidarity from a woman married to a Lascar. The woman's lack of curiosity lent hope, as did her sharp-nosed interest in Mary's money. Mary might have to guard her purse while they stayed here, but such avarice would be to their advantage: even if their landlady heard of the inevitable man-hunt, they stood a good chance of paying her off. While far from safe, it was as good as anything Mary had imagined.

There was little else to prepare, just now. Much would depend on what Lang said to her today, and when a guard of negotiable morals would be on duty.

There was no point in delaying further, and yet Mary found herself much more nervous returning to the Tower than she had been leaving the Agency and organizing a safe house by the docks. She took more time than necessary in procuring her little vials of laudanum, debating how many to buy and when might be best to start weaning Lang from the drug.

Eventual y, however, there was nothing else to do and the time was critical. It was getting towards dusk, after which point she'd never gain access to Lang.

A different guard manned the entrance and he questioned her closely and inspected her reticule with care. Mary was glad she'd taken the time to distribute that sheaf of pound notes not to mention the laudanum in the lining of her bag and about her person. Final y, however, she found herself circling up to the top of Cradle Tower. She now understood her trepidation and wondered at her own stupidity.

It wasn't just about Lang's fate whether he chose hope or fatalism, life or death but about her own, too. Such an irony to think that her fate would be decided here, by a near-stranger, rather than by herself. It made everything both easier and more difficult.

Up here, it was the same guard as yesterday. She would have to work out their schedules, if Lang was to escape. As she appeared in the doorway, the turnkey unlocked the cel door, rather as though this was part of a routine. In a sense, it was she'd come three days in a row. He even left her a tal ow candle to light the way. He then retreated to the window by the staircase where, Mary now observed, he rather looked forward to the opportunity for an il icit pipe. A useful thing to know.

She entered the room, candle in hand, nervous but prepared. "Good evening. How are you feeling today?"

No response from the lump beneath the blanket only a faint crackling sound.

"Mr Lang?"

That spa.r.s.e clattering again, and then a faint whimper.

"Hel o?" She peeled back the blanket with caution.

What she saw caused her to gasp, her stomach to turn over. That rattling sound was Lang Jin Hai trying to breathe, each pained gasp making the fluid rattle in his chest. His hair was soaked with sweat, clinging to his skul in streaks. His skin, even by candlelight, had a grey-green pal or. And his eyes rol ed in their sockets, ghastly and unseeing.

She bolted into the larger room, her voice high and sharp with fright. "You, guard! Cal a physician!"

The guard blinked, curls of tobacco swirling lazily about his head. "You al right, miss?"

"I'm fine, but the prisoner is dying. For pity's sake, cal a doctor, now! You must have one somewhere in this hel -hole."

The guard blinked again, as though she was speaking gibberish. "A doctor, miss?"

"This instant. Please!"

He seemed to move at a fraction of his usual sluggard's pace, but eventual y he levered himself up and could be heard lumbering down the stairs. She considered charging after him and going for help herself she would be so much faster yet she couldn't bear to leave Lang to suffer alone. Her medical training was rudimentary, but even she could see that he hadn't long to live. A few hours?

Perhaps a few days, if he was an exceptional y hardy and stubborn soul.

She mopped his brow with her handkerchief while the occasional tear splashed the rotting straw pailla.s.se. This was always to have been Lang's fate, she admitted now. Ever since she'd seen that jagged cut, she'd been afraid of it. Denied it. Hoped against fate. But blood-poisoning was almost inevitable in an injury like his, left to fester untreated for days. And he was a frail man, his body older than his years.

Had the escape plan merely been an elaborate way to avoid thinking about her future? A deception that cushioned her unwanted knowledge that things were not entirely right at the Agency? Or perhaps merely a desperate romance built on the discovery of family? A father who'd reappeared only to vanish once more.

She knelt beside the mattress and took his parchment-thin hand. They were entirely alone now.

No guard idling at ten paces, no future to fear. She drew a breath and said, very softly, "Father."

His bruised eyelids trembled, struggling against their own weight. His eyes, when they opened, were those of Frankenstein's monster jaundice-yel ow, crazed with veins of red. But they were stil her eyes, too. He blinked once, very slowly.

She focused on keeping her voice steady.

"Father."

Another of those rattling breaths a wrenching attempt, she realized, to clear his chest. He was too weak to cough. "Mary."

She opened a vial of laudanum and held it to his lips, cradling his head gently as he swal owed its bitter contents little by little.

After a second smal bottle of the tincture, his breathing eased and a little of his agony seemed to fade.

"Father, I came for you. Are you sure you don't want to run away?"

The faintest of smiles stretched his lips an enormous effort, she was sure. "Tomorrow."

She was crying now, utterly unable to stop the tears streaming down her cheeks. "Father, look."