Inferno (26 page)

‘I desire you seek an audience for me, sir. There's still time.'

‘Time? Do you know the mind of the English admiral, his orders, his objectives?'

‘While he remains at anchor there is always time, Count Bernstorff. Will you now—'

‘I note your petition for an audience, and from my brother, I know something of its importance.' He gave a sad smile. ‘Yet I can do nothing – I have no idea where His Royal Highness is, you see.'

‘Sir! I find it—'

‘The Crown Prince is exercised by considerations of urgency and conceives it his duty to be everywhere there are preparations to be made. He does not see fit to inform me of his hourly movements.'

‘Then I must seek him out for myself.'

‘As you like. Although … you may wish to ponder another development.'

‘Sir?'

‘I happen to know, as it is my business to be so informed, that the French have received a substantial communication from their commander-in-chief.'

‘Bonaparte?'

Bernstorff gave a wordless bow.

‘In response to the British presence? Then it would oblige me much, sir, should you be so good as to inform me of its import.'

‘Ah, would that I could, my lord. It is more than our neutral status might stand should we trespass upon diplomatic territory …'

It was perplexing. For what reason had this broad hint been thrown out?

‘Why do you tell me of this, Count Bernstorff?'

‘We are neutrals, Lord Farndon. Should we not treat evenly with both sides? It is only right you should know matters as bear upon you.'

That wasn't the reason but he had a good idea what was.

‘I thank you for your civility, Count. I'm obliged.'

B
ack at the Amalienborg Palace Renzi took stock. This was an unpleasant turn of events.

Bonaparte was notorious for his personal interventions that could in a stroke extinguish an empire or place a brother on a throne. It would not be coincidence that he'd think to take swift action in response to a British military threat, and it was critical its nature be known. Bernstorff himself was not about to risk his precious neutrality in underhanded prying, but had cast about for one who would have little to lose by it.

An act of espionage? It was out of the question. He didn't have any contact with agents here and, in any case, setting aside the personal danger, the risk of long-term compromise of his cover ruled it out completely.

Yet if it threatened the fleet – if it was even now sailing into the jaws of a trap – it didn't bear thinking about.

There was no alternative. He had to act.

His mind raced ahead. Bernstorff's information almost certainly came from a low-level clerk or plain backstairs
curiosity at the fuss the receipt of such a message must have provoked. The missive itself would now be somewhere in Gobineau's office – or more probably, given its significance, his inner sanctum. To get to it, read it, was a rank impossibility.

Or was it?

French diplomatic staff were famously corrupt. Talleyrand's demands of a private bribe of tens of thousands before he would even talk to American negotiators had infuriated them to the extent that it had resulted in war. Surely the sight of a letter could be bought.

But he didn't know Gobineau or others in the French legation well enough to be confident in making such an approach, and it would leave him exposed as an agent.

At the very least he could conduct a species of reconnaissance of the premises, if only to confirm for himself the impossibility of any clandestine undertaking.

But he was known. It had to be someone else, someone he trusted utterly, and there was very little time left.

He rang the silver bell and Jago noiselessly appeared. ‘M' lord?'

Renzi paused, taking in the man's close-shaven blue-black chin, his watchful dark eyes and panther-like movements. ‘We need to talk, Jago.'

‘M' lord.'

‘A little matter of the Danish staff wages and your allowance for footmen, cooks and kitchen maids. I see we are short three persons. Will your accounts reflect their absence on the wages tally?'

Jago's eyes flickered, but only once. ‘There's been expenses, m' lord. Rather than trouble you, I made bold to—'

‘Quite so. And the overplus of claret is disposed of
equitably?' It was an old ruse but it did no harm to reveal that it was known to him.

‘And with no horse fair in Copenhagen there would seem little scope for your … dealings, shall we say?'

The man remained silent, his features giving nothing away.

‘I think it time we extended our relationship, sir.'

Again, not a word.

‘You see, we both have aspects of our lives that were better left discreet, not meat for public misunderstanding.'

Jago stood still, as unblinking as a bird of prey.

‘Which it were folly to mention.'

‘M' lord.'

Renzi gave a half-smile. ‘I'll have you know I'm well satisfied with your service to me, Jago. And I can see how valuable your qualities must have been to my father for his own purposes.'

That this centred on procuring, horse-races, questionable market dealings and political skulduggery was neither here nor there. The man was no stranger to discreet arranging and this was precisely what Renzi needed. ‘I believe we have an understanding. Should your affairs be conducted prudently, with discretion, and are not injurious to the estate, I see no reason why you should be troubled.'

‘M' lord.' There was a slight bow but no change in expression.

‘In return, there are from time to time small matters in my affairs of a confidential nature that it would oblige me exceedingly should you feel able to assist. Your consideration with respect to my privacy will be understood and, naturally, an honorarium will be involved.'

Renzi had no concerns that Jago would take advantage: there had been every opportunity from blackmail to extortion
in his dealings with his father but none had even been hinted at.

So now they knew where they stood.

‘I understands, m' lord. There's a service you desire at all?'

With a gratifying lack of curiosity, Jago heard Renzi specify that a knowledge of the French mission was needed, a feel for its internal layout, staff numbers and where Gobineau, Comte de Mirabeau, might be expected to have his being.

It was an outrageous request but Renzi was relying on Jago's base cunning and gift of cajolery.

Before nightfall he was back and handed Renzi a rough sketched floor plan.

The legation lay not far away in the Bredgade, a small but grandiose mansion in the usual diplomatic style of discreet seclusion. Three storeys, Gobineau's little sanctum at the end of a passageway on the middle floor with other working offices on each side. Guards, but bored and lazy. Most offices closed at four and Gobineau's was no exception – saving that on occasion he might be entertaining a lady and was not to be disturbed.

It was not impossible but was crazily fraught. Renzi could turn his back on the whole thing but … ‘I want to be left inside Gobineau's office for twenty minutes. Suggestions?'

Jago didn't turn a hair. ‘M' lord, I advise as you goes delivering. Can get you in b' the servants' hall. After that …'

‘Key of his office?'

‘Gen'rally can get a lend of one from a cleaning gent for a rub o' silver.'

‘Do it. There's no time to lose. I'll be going in tonight.'

‘M' lord?'

‘Yes?'

‘If you pardons m' boldness, m' lord, but you ain't a knowing cove in these matters. Y' needs a partner, like, who looks out f 'r you while you does the … gets on with it. If 'n you needs one, why, m' lord, I done it before, knows the lay.'

‘That's handsome in you, Jago.'

Renzi wondered whether he should let him know something of what was at stake but discarded the idea. Whether he was willing to do it for loyalty or personal gain, additional motivation would not be needed.

A
s darkness set in and the streets changed their aspect, they prepared. Jago had returned with a key and two threadbare sets of bearer livery, which they now put on.

There was little point in delay – any deliveries in the small hours would be suspect. As soon as Jago was able to report that the light in Gobineau's window had died they slipped out, Renzi with a cloth over a small hamper and Jago with three bottles in a basket.

Down a dark passage beside the mansion they found the back door. A lounging servant looked up and simply held out a hand. Jago found the necessary and they were in. Through a clattering scullery with the kitchen hands giving not a bit of notice to yet another delivery for the master, they found the gloomy servants' back stairs.

It was going brilliantly – too well?

Puffing at the unaccustomed exercise, they mounted the stairs, and there was the second-floor door. Hefting their burdens they passed into a long passageway, at the end of which was their goal. It was dim, only every fourth sconce
alight, but sufficient to show a guard sauntering along and another, closer, sitting sprawled on a cane chair in an alcove, his hat over his eyes.

Renzi stepped forward confidently, Jago behind. As he went to pass the dozing guard a foot suddenly shot across his path.

‘
Qui va là?
' the man snarled, tipping back his hat.

Lifting the key and letting it dangle significantly, Renzi gave a supercilious smile and waited with heavy patience.

The foot was reluctantly withdrawn and the hat slid back. They moved past the other who held aside to let them by.

And they were at the door.

Making play of stationing his lesser assistant outside, Renzi fumbled the key into the lock and let himself in, heart thumping.

An Argand lamp in one corner was still burning, the wick at its lowest. He turned it up, grateful for the golden light but aware that the occupant must be intending to return at some point.

He had unknown minutes to find the message.