Pitt was filled with emotion to see Charlotte; joy just at the sight of her face, anxiety that she looked so tired. He was relieved that she was safe when she so easily might not have been, frustrated that he had no opportunity to be alone with her, even for a moment; and angry that she had been in such danger. She had acted recklessly and with no reference to his opinion or feelings. He felt painfully excluded. Narraway had been there and he had not. His reaction was childish – he was ashamed of it – but that did nothing to lessen its sharpness.
Then he looked at Narraway, and in spite of himself his anger melted. The man was exhausted. The lines in his face seemed more deeply cut, as if made with some instrument that dragged the skin down as it scored them into his cheeks. His dark eyes were bruised around the sockets and he brushed his hair back impatiently with his thin, strong hands as if it were in his way.
They glanced at each other, no one knowing who was in command. Narraway had led Special Branch for years, but it was Pitt’s job now. And yet neither of them would disregard Vespasia’s seniority.
Vespasia smiled. ‘For heaven’s sake, Thomas, don’t sit there like a schoolboy waiting for permission to speak. You are the Commander of Special Branch. What is your judgement of the situation? We will add to it, should we have something to offer.’
Pitt cleared his throat. He felt as if he were usurping Narraway’s place. Yet he was also aware that Narraway was weary and beaten, betrayed on either hand in ways that he had not foreseen, and accused of crimes where he could not prove his innocence. The situation was harsh; a little gentleness was needed in the few places where it was possible.
Carefully he repeated for Narraway what had happened from the time he and Gower had seen West murdered until he and Stoker had put together as many of the pieces as they could. He was aware that he was speaking of professional secrets in front of both Vespasia and Charlotte. It was something he had not done before, but the gravity of the situation did not allow him to exclude them. If they failed, the nature of the plot would all become desperately public in a very short time anyway. How short a time he could only guess.
When he had finished he looked at Narraway.
‘The House of Lords would be the obvious and most relevant target,’ Narraway said slowly. ‘It would be the beginning of a revolution in our lives, a very dramatic one. God only knows what might follow. The French throne is already gone. The Austro-Hungarian Empire is shaking, especially after that wretched business at Mayerling.’ He glanced at Charlotte and saw the puzzlement in her face. ‘Six years ago, in ’eighty-nine,’ he explained, ‘Crown Prince Rudolf and his mistress shot themselves in a hunting lodge. All very messy and never really understood.’ He leaned forward a little, his face resuming its gravity. ‘The other thrones of Europe are less secure than they used to be, and Russia is careering towards chaos if they don’t institute some sweeping reforms very soon. Which is almost as likely as daffodils in November. They’re all hanging on with their fingers.’
‘Not us,’ Pitt argued. ‘The Queen went through a shaky spell a few years ago, but her popularity’s returning.’
‘Which is why, if they struck here, at our hereditary privilege, the rest of Europe would have nothing with which to fight back,’ Narraway responded. ‘Think about it, Pitt. If you were a passionate socialist and you wanted to sweep away the rights of a privileged class to rule over the rest of us, where would you strike? France has no ruling nobility. Spain isn’t going to affect the rest of us any more. They used to be related to half Europe in Habsburg times, but not now. Austria? They’re crumbling anyway. Germany? Bismarck is the real power. All the great royal houses of Europe are related to Victoria, one way or another. If Victoria gets rid of her House of Lords, then it will be the beginning of the end for privilege by birth.’
‘One cannot inherit honour or morality, Victor,’ Vespasia said softly. ‘But one can learn from the cradle a sense of the past, and gratitude for its gifts. One can learn a responsibility towards the future, to guard and perhaps improve on what one has been given, and leave it whole for those who follow.’
His face was pinched as he looked at her. ‘I am speaking their words, not my own, Lady Vespasia.’ He bit his lip. ‘If we are to defeat them, we must know what they believe, and what they intend to do. If they can gain the power they will sweep away the good with the bad, because they don’t understand what it is to answer only to your conscience rather than to the voice of the people, which comes regardless whether or not they have the faintest idea what they are talking about.’
‘I’m sorry,’ she said very quietly. ‘I think perhaps I am frightened. Hysteria appals me.’
‘It should,’ he assured her. ‘The day there is no one left to fear it we are all lost.’ He turned to Pitt. ‘Have you any idea as to what specific plans anyone has?’
‘Very little,’ Pitt admitted. ‘But I know who the enemy is.’ He relayed to Narraway what he had told Vespasia about the different violent men who loathed each other, and yet appeared to have found a common cause.
‘Where is Her Majesty now?’ Narraway asked.
‘Osborne,’ Pitt replied. He felt his heart beating faster, harder. Other notes he had seen from various people came to mind: men’s movements that were small and discreet, but of people whose names should have given warning to whoever was reading the reports. Narraway would have seen it. ‘I believe that’s where they’ll strike. It’s the most vulnerable and most immediate place.’
Narraway looked even paler. ‘The Queen?’ He gave no exclamation, no word of anger or surprise; his emotion was too consuming. The thought of attacking Victoria herself was so shocking that all words were inadequate.
Pitt’s mind raced to the army, the police on the Isle of Wight, all the men he himself could call from other duties. Then another thought came to him: was this what they were supposed to think? What if he responded by concentrating all his resources on Osborne House, and the actual attack come somewhere else?
‘Be careful,’ Narraway said quietly. ‘If we cause public alarm it could do all the damage they need.’
‘I know.’ Pitt was aware of Charlotte and Vespasia watching him as well. ‘I know that. I also know that they have probably a large space of time in which to strike. They could wait us out, then move as soon as we have relaxed.’
‘I doubt it,’ Narraway shook his head. ‘I think it’s urgent, even immediate. The men you named here in England, together, won’t wait. You should go back to Lisson Grove and—’
‘I’m going to Osborne,’ Pitt cut across him. ‘I don’t have anyone else I can send, and if you’re right, we could already be too late.’
‘You’re going to Lisson Grove,’ Narraway repeated. ‘You are head of Special Branch, not a foot soldier to be going into battle. What happens to the operation if you are shot, captured, or simply where no one can reach you? Stop thinking like an adventurer and think like a leader. You need to find out exactly who you can trust, and you need to do it by the end of tomorrow.’ He glanced at the ormolu clock on the mantel. ‘Today,’ he corrected. ‘I’ll go to Osborne. I can at least warn the Queen’s household, perhaps find a way of holding off whatever attack there is until you can send men to relieve us.’
‘You may not be let in,’ Vespasia pointed out to him. ‘You have no standing now.’
Narraway winced. Clearly he had forgotten that aspect of his loss of office.
‘I’ll come with you,’ Vespasia said, not as an offer but as a statement. ‘I am known there. Unless I am very unfortunate, they will admit me, at least to the house. If I explain what has happened, and the danger, the butler will give me audience with the Queen. I still have to decide what to tell her once I am in her company.’
Pitt did not argue. The logic of it was only too clear. He rose to his feet. ‘Then we had better return and begin. Charlotte, you will come with me as far as Keppel Street. Narraway and Aunt Vespasia had better take the carriage and set out for the Isle of Wight.’
Vespasia looked at Pitt, then at Narraway. ‘I think a couple of hours’ sleep would be wise,’ she said firmly. ‘And then breakfast before we begin. We are going to make some very serious judgements, and perhaps fight some hard battles. We will not do it well if we are mentally or physically so much less than our best.’
Pitt wanted to argue with her, but he was exhausted. If it was in any way morally acceptable he would like to lie down for an hour or two and allow his mind to let go of everything. He couldn’t remember when he had last relaxed totally, let alone had the inner peace of knowing that Charlotte was beside him, that she was safe.
He looked at Narraway.
Narraway gave a bleak smile. ‘It’s good advice. We’ll get up at four, and leave at five.’ He glanced towards Vespasia to see that it met with her agreement.
She nodded.
‘I’m coming with you,’ Charlotte said, there was no question in her voice, just a simple statement. She turned to Pitt. ‘I’m sorry. It is not a question of not wanting to be left out, or of any idea that I am indispensable. But I can’t let Aunt Vespasia travel alone. It would be remarked on, for a start. Surely the servants at Osborne would consider it very odd?’
Of course she was right. Pitt should have thought of it himself. It was a large omission on his part that he had not. ‘Of course,’ he agreed. ‘Now let’s retire while we still have a couple of hours left.’
When they were upstairs and the door closed Charlotte looked at him with gentleness and intense apology. ‘I’m sorry . . .’ she began.
‘Be quiet,’ he answered. ‘Let’s just be together, while we can.’
She walked into his arms and held him close. He was so tired that he was almost asleep on his feet. Moments later, when they lay down, he was dimly aware that she was still holding him.
In the morning Pitt left to return to Lisson Grove. Charlotte, Vespasia and Narraway took the coach south along the main road to the nearest railway station to catch the next train to Southampton, and from there the ferry to the Isle of Wight.
‘If nothing is happening yet we may have a little trouble in gaining an audience with the Queen,’ Narraway said when they were sitting in a private compartment in the train. The soothing rattle of the wheels over the rails rhythmically clattered at every joint. ‘But if the enemy are there already, we will have to think of a better way of getting inside.’
‘Can we purchase a black Gladstone bag in Southampton?’ Charlotte suggested. ‘With a few bottles and powders from an apothecary, Victor could pose as a doctor. I shall be his nurse.’ She glanced at Vespasia. ‘Or your lady’s maid. I have no skills in either, but am sufficiently plainly dressed to pass, at least briefly.’
Vespasia considered for only a moment. ‘An excellent idea,’ she agreed. ‘But we should get you a plainer gown, and an apron. A good white one, without ornament, should serve for either calling. I think Victor’s nurse would be better. The staff will be very familiar with lady’s maids; nurses they might know less. Do you agree, Victor?’
There was a flash of amusement in his eyes. ‘Of course. We will arrange it all as soon as we arrive at the station.’
‘You think we are late already, don’t you?’ Charlotte said to him.
He made no pretence. ‘Yes. If I were they, I would have acted by now.’
An hour and a half later they approached the spacious, comfortable house in which Queen Victoria had chosen to spend so many years of her life, particularly since the death of Prince Albert. Osborne seemed to offer her a comfort she found nowhere else in the more magnificent castles and palaces that were also hers.
The house looked totally at peace in the fitful spring sun. Most of the trees were in leaf, in a clean, almost gleaming translucency. The grass was vivid green. There was blossom on the blackthorn and the may was in heavy bud.
Osborne was set in the gently rolling parkland that one would expect of any family mansion of the extremely wealthy. Much of the land was wooded, but also there were wide, well-kept sweeps of grass, which gave it a feeling of great space and light. The house had been designed by Prince Albert himself, who had clearly much admired the opulent elegance of the Italian villas. It had two magnificent square towers, which were flat-topped, and tall windows on all sides. The main building copied the same squared lines, and the sunlight seemed to reflect on glass in every aspect. One could only imagine the beauty of the inside.
Their carriage pulled up and they alighted, thanking the driver and paying him.
‘You’ll be wanting me to wait,’ the cabby said with a nod. ‘You can look, but that’s all. Her Majesty’s in residence. You don’t get no closer than this.’
Vespasia paid him generously. ‘No, thank you.You may leave us.’
He shrugged and obeyed, turning his vehicle round and muttering to the horse about tourists with no sense.
‘There is nothing for us to wait for either,’ Narraway said ruefully. ‘I can’t tell anything from the outside, can you? It all looks just as I imagine it should do. There’s even a gardener at work over there.’ He did not point but inclined his head.
Charlotte glanced in the direction he indicated and saw a man bent over a hoe, his attention apparently on the ground. The scene looked rural and pleasantly domestic. Some of the anxiety inside her eased. Perhaps they had been more frightened than necessary. They were in time. Now they must avoid looking foolish, not only for the sake of pride, but so that when they gave the warning the royal household staff would take them seriously. Anyway, it would not be long before Pitt would send reinforcements who were trained for just this sort of duty, and the danger would be past.
Unless, of course, they were mistaken, and the blow would strike somewhere else.Was this yet another brilliant diversion?
Narraway forced himself to smile in the sunlight. ‘I feel a trifle ridiculous carrying this case now.’