When the Devil Drives (33 page)

‘The whole thing is a nightmare.' He spoke with heavy simplicity, the statue sagging into a human being aware of his age. ‘Try to imagine it from the other side, Miss Lane. We hear that these rumours are circulating. We know very well that they are untrue, but any attempt to deny them officially would make some people more ready to believe them. Worse than that, any convincing attempt at denial would involve a grave insult to interests that must not under any circumstances be insulted. Do you understand what I'm saying?'

‘Diplomatic interests?'

A nod. ‘It was obvious, from the expense and complexity of the deception, that more than individual interests were involved,' he said.

‘So are we talking about Austria or Russia?' I said.

His shoulders went back and he glared at me. ‘Did you expect me to answer that?'

‘Probably not. But we can say that these are people who'd do anything to prevent a marriage between the Saxe Coburg family and the Queen of England?'

His silence, and the slightest nod of the head said that yes, we could. I waited. The next thing he said was entirely unexpected.

‘You know, I have a daughter about your age.'

How in the world was I supposed to interpret that? As a rebuke to me for meddling in things that shouldn't concern young women? As a remark to himself, trying to place me and decide how much to trust me? Perhaps that, because he seemed to come to a decision and started talking again.

‘It's hardly surprising if other countries are nervous. Look at the facts: the Saxe Coburgs' uncle Leopold is already king of the Belgians, has said a polite no thank-you to the offer of the Greek throne because he was waiting for bigger fish, and ever since his nephews were born he's been scheming how best to place them. He's planning that Ernest shall marry King Louis Philippe's daughter, which takes care of France but naturally England's the great prize. That needed luck as well as scheming. We have a situation in which the wealth and influence of the greatest empire in the world will come into the Saxe Coburg web because of a twenty-year-old girl's liking for a pair of blue eyes.'

And Peggy and Janet, who'd probably never given a thought to foreign politics in their young lives, had been killed by them.

‘You sound as if you're justifying whoever's been plotting this,' I said.

‘Of course I'm not. I'm only trying to make you understand what you've become involved in.'

I was about to say that it wasn't my fault I'd become involved, then I thought it probably was. In any case, I did not need to defend myself to this man.

‘I understand some things better than the Foreign Office,' I said. ‘You had no idea about the ice barge or the poor girls' bodies being kept in store, had you?' I opened the table drawer and took out the notes I'd made. ‘These are the dates that matter.' I picked up one of Mrs Martley's knitting needles and used the blunt end of it as a pointer to guide him down my list.

Sir Francis wrinkled his forehead.

‘That was pure fiction,' I explained to him. ‘There never was a Dora Tilbury. She was no more than a device by the plotters to recruit me as one of their rumour-spreaders. The man who pretended to be her fiancé said she'd vanished on the 10th, possibly because that was a significant date for them. So-called Dora Tilbury was Peggy Brown, who'd been seized and killed that day in Limehouse. I dare say she was loaded straight onto the ice barge, then they picked up Janet Priest's body further up the canal.'

I pointed out the next dates on my list.

‘I suppose everybody in court circles will have known about that visit well in advance?' I said.

‘Oh yes. These things are not done on impulse.'

‘And some of them will have known that Prince Ernest stayed on in London that evening for a private visit when most of the others went back to Windsor?'

Sir Francis jumped in his chair. ‘How did you know that?'

‘I guessed. But it's true, isn't it?

‘That visit was entirely innocent,' he said. ‘His Highness simply wished to have dinner with some friends in London without the formality of a royal occasion.' He sounded rattled now, as if wondering what else I intended to throw at him.

‘As it happens, I believe you,' I said. ‘But you'd have to be somebody close to court to know about that.'

Another nod, then he tried to recover ground by changing the subject.

‘I still don't understand why these people consulted you about a fictitious girl.'

‘They could hardly consult me about the real Peggy. Limehouse was too close to the centre of the plot. Besides, my clients tend to come from the professional and upper classes.'

‘So the man who called himself Mr Clyde was just in your line?'

A shrewd question. Did he guess that the man had interested me for his own sake? I tried not to let anything show on my face.

‘Yes, as I was just in his line. It was all very well spreading rumours among journalists on the penny papers. They needed them to be talked about at dinner tables, not just in the servants' quarters, and they believed that I might be useful. As I said, I don't suppose I was the only one.'

‘Far from it. You might be surprised how far the fire's been spreading.'

I waited, hoping he'd give more details. None.

‘Once Mr Clyde had met me, I think he decided that I could be more useful than most,' I said. (Or had he guessed my interest and exploited it? Quite possibly.) ‘So he used me as one of his key witnesses. He arranged things so that I saw for myself that Prince Ernest was making a private visit to Kensington on the evening of Tuesday 22nd October.'

‘Again, an entirely innocent one.'

‘And again, one known only to those close to court circles. But Mr Clyde knew about it. He made sure I was there to set eyes on the prince and hoped I'd remember that when the so-called Dora Tilbury's body was discovered on the other side of the park early the next morning. With that ring on her finger.'

‘Ah yes, that ring,' he said.

Again, the silence drew out. This man hadn't risen to eminence in the Foreign Office by being chatty.

‘The woman I knew as the contessa had a bull's head ring,' I said.

He saw he'd have to respond before he got anything else from me and spoke reluctantly. ‘At Dresden, Prince Ernest belonged to a club of young military officers and the more aristocratic sort of student. They called themselves the Cretans. It was a drinking club, a little rowdy perhaps but no worse than others of its kind. Certainly not of the appalling and perverted nature that the authors of this plot would have people believe.'

‘And yet somebody among them knew enough about the prince's background to have heard about the Cretans?'

‘Evidently.'

‘So why did the contessa have the ring?' I said.

‘It's not impossible that she had it from the prince. Or perhaps she didn't, and you were intended to notice it.'

‘But she was angry when I saw it.'

‘Or had been told to seem angry.'

It was like fighting with mist. I went back to my list of dates. At least I could be certain of those.

‘So you see, two visits to London by Prince Ernest, and two bodies wearing that ring found early the next morning. Who's to say that Prince Ernest didn't stay in London and meet some of his bloodthirsty old friends from the Cretan Club?'

‘I've told you that the Cretan Club was only . . . oh, I see.'

‘Yes. It's not a matter of the facts, is it? It's what people could be made to believe. When I began to see the connections, I was more than halfway to believing it myself. It was the ice that made me see what was happening.'

‘I still don't understand entirely.' For once, he sounded almost humble.

‘They had to have the girls' bodies available for when they were needed,' I said. ‘Clearly, the plotters couldn't influence the prince's programme, but they were close enough to court circles to know about it some time in advance. To exploit that, they needed to keep the victims on ice, quite literally. If there really had been a Cretan Club picking up girls in the devil's chariot and killing them, there'd be no reason for storing them. The logic was that the murderers wanted the bodies to be discovered on particular dates.'

‘Of yes, we'd got that far,' he said.

‘But not the rest?'

‘No.'

Now he'd admitted that, I could afford to be generous.

‘It wasn't entirely my own work. I have a friend who was trying to track the devil's chariot for his own reasons. He nearly got killed.'

I was scared for Amos, still at Windsor and following his clue of the nicked hoof. I wanted to be back with him.

‘So now they've shifted the game to Windsor,' I said. ‘As you say, the body at the Copper Horse can't be kept quiet. The word was already going round town when I left there yesterday.'

He nodded. This time it came close to being an admission of defeat. ‘I take it that you haven't seen the latest court circular,' he said.

‘No.'

‘Prince Ernest has been taken ill. He will not be leaving the castle for some days.'

I stared at him. ‘Because you're worried that there may be some public demonstration against him?'

‘Possibly that. But until we know where so-called Mr Clyde is and what they're planning next, we can't take any risks. They know that time's running out for them so they'll want to bring things to a head.'

‘Why is time running out?'

‘Because if they are to have a hope of preventing this engagement, they have to do it before it's publicly announced.'

I thought of Mrs Martley and the guinea pigs.

‘But it's as good as announced anyway. The whole country seems to know about it.'

‘A royal engagement's not official until the queen announces it to her privy councillors. Until that happens, it's no more than a rumour that can be denied.'

‘So you're implying that if the rumours about Prince Ernest are fixed in the public mind, even if they're not true, his brother's engagement might be called off?' I said.

‘I'm sure the queen would know her duty.' A pause, then in more human tones, almost pleading: ‘And you're sure you don't know where the man Clyde has gone?'

‘No, but in your place I'd ask some questions around the White Lion at Egham.'

He stood up. ‘I hope you'll understand, Miss Lane, that you're to say nothing to anybody about this?'

‘Why not? I'd have thought you wanted the true story known. Wouldn't that be the simplest way?'

He actually shuddered, as if the idea of a simple way offended him. ‘Because you wouldn't be believed. If what you've told me is to be of any use, then we must use it in our own way.'

‘Because you'll be believed and I won't be?'

Another nod. The human, weary man I'd glimpsed was turning back to stone.

‘So what am I to do in the meantime?' I said.

‘I understand that you have an invitation to stay with Mr and Mrs Talbot. I'm sure that would be best.'

‘Until when?'

‘Until you hear from me. Until then, I'll wish you good day.'

I led the way downstairs. Mr Calloway was waiting by the yard gate.

‘You'll see Miss Lane safely back to her friends,' Sir Francis said to him.

‘Thank you, but I shall stay here,' I said.

He gave a glance at Calloway, as if to ask him if he couldn't control this woman. Calloway risked another downward step on the ladder of promotion by giving me a droll sideways look.

‘Is there anything at all I can do for you, Miss Lane?'

‘Thank you, no.'

‘I hope we may meet again.'

They walked together through the gateway. Calloway raised his hat to me as they went. Sir Francis didn't. When they'd gone, I went upstairs, collected some sovereigns from my reserve and put on my cloak and bonnet. A coach back to Egham was leaving at three o'clock from Water Street, off Fleet Street. If I hurried and found a cab, I could just catch it. All I wanted now was to get to Amos.

TWENTY-TWO

I
got down from the stage in the yard of the Red Lion just after five o'clock in the rainy dusk. The landlord greeted me in the doorway.

‘Your maid's upstairs in your room. We've kept the fire going.'

I asked him to have tea sent up. Tabby was hunched in an armchair by the fire.

‘Thought you were never coming.'

She seemed unusually depressed in spirits. My bonnet and cloak were wet because the only place I'd been able to get on the coach at the last minute was an outside one. I spread them on a chair by the fire.

‘Didn't Mr Legge tell you I was going to London?'

‘Oh, he told me all right. Didn't say when you'd be back, though.'

‘That was because he didn't know. Where is he?'

‘Dunno.'

‘He must have said.'

‘He was in too much of a hurry. He came yesterday and said I was to stay here and wait for you. Anything I wanted, I was to send down for and he'd settle up when he got back.'