Death On Blackheath

Chapter Seventeen

Early next morning, Pitt was sitting in his own kitchen with a cup of hot tea and fresh toast, butter and marmalade. With him were Stoker, Narraway, Vespasia, and of course Charlotte. Minnie Maude was busy making more toast, holding the slices of bread on the toasting fork as close as she could to the open door of the stove where the coals were hottest.

Narraway had already told them what he had learned about Ingrid’s death and the accusation against Bennett Kynaston, and how Dudley gained such a debt of honour by having Harold Sundstrom rescue him, possibly from death.

‘And Ailsa was his son, Anders Sundstrom’s, wife, and then widow?’ Charlotte said as it became clear to her. ‘So she is collecting Harold’s debt from Dudley?’ She frowned. ‘Is Harold dead?’

‘No,’ Narraway replied. ‘I’ve been up half the night checking various details with people I know. Harold Sundstrom is quite an important man. He was certainly alive and well a few days ago. He has a position in naval research …’ He let that last sentence hang in the air, its implication clear.

Pitt sat silent for a few minutes, turning over the pieces in his mind. ‘And Ailsa manipulated her dead husband’s brother into betraying his own country because she is a loyal Swede?’ he asked thoughtfully. ‘Or to help her first husband’s father? That seems an odd division of loyalties.’

‘And a betrayal of Bennett as well,’ Charlotte added. ‘Rosalind said that Ailsa was still so in love with him that she can’t consider marrying anyone else … but she is still having a sort of an affair with Edom Talbot.’

Vespasia’s eyebrows shot up. ‘Edom Talbot? For heaven’s sake why? She’s a beautiful woman, certainly very striking. She could easily find someone of her own social class. And I think that would matter to her.’

‘Perhaps she loves him?’ Narraway suggested.

‘No … she doesn’t!’ Charlotte said quickly. ‘She finds him …’ She struggled for a word that was exactly right.

‘Distasteful,’ Pitt supplied it for her, remembering her description of the scene she had observed.

Stoker looked puzzled, and with some embarrassment Charlotte told him what she had seen reflected in the mirrors.

Instead of disapproval, which Pitt knew she had expected, Stoker’s face reflected a degree of admiration. ‘So she is still in love with Bennett Kynaston, her late husband, she is daughter-in-law of this Swedish chap in their naval department, and is using Edom Talbot, who is close to our Prime Minister, and sometimes to Dudley Kynaston, who is giving away our naval secrets to the Swedes,’ he observed with incredulity. ‘It doesn’t make sense. Especially added to the fact that she was the one who was trying to hunt down Kitty Ryder. We’ve missed something.’

‘Rather a lot,’ Narraway said bleakly.

‘Did Ailsa know anything about Bennett and Ingrid’s death?’ Vespasia asked.

‘She had to,’ Pitt replied. ‘It was her father-in-law at the time who rescued him, at some considerable labour and cost to himself.’

Vespasia looked at him, her brow puckered in thought. ‘What was Ailsa’s surname before she married Anders Sundstrom?’

Narraway pushed his chair back and stood up. ‘I shall find out. She is still a Swedish national, living here in Britain. It will be a matter of record. May I use your telephone, Pitt?’

‘Of course,’ Pitt replied quickly. ‘It’s in the hall.’

Narraway nodded and went out immediately. They heard his footsteps along the linoleum in the passage.

No one spoke until he returned. Minnie Maude silently made another piece of toast and refilled the teapot with boiling water, the patter of Uffie’s claws on the floor behind her the only sound.

When Narraway returned, the tension in his body and the look in his face gave him away.

‘Revenge,’ he said simply. ‘Ingrid Halvarsen was her sister. She probably married Bennett Kynaston for the purpose of revenge, only before she could ruin him he died of what seems to have been natural causes. She carried her vengeance on to Dudley. After all, he was the one who rescued Bennett from what she saw as justice the first time.’

No one argued, in fact no one said anything. It all made perfect sense now.

Charlotte was the first to speak. ‘So she wanted to have an exquisite revenge, the disgrace as well as the ruin,’ she said slowly. ‘I suppose she meant to get Dudley in beyond any way of extricating himself, and then she would have exposed him?’

‘Would have?’ Vespasia said quickly. ‘Surely she still will do?’

‘We must prevent that!’ Pitt responded. ‘It would do immeasurable damage to us. We would lose all respect, or credibility. Even our own navy would have no belief in us. Our allies, enemies-’

‘We understand,’ Narraway cut him off. ‘She is having an affair with Talbot, but does not like him. Therefore she has another reason for it. Does it have anything to do with the information going from Kynaston to Sundstrom?’

‘What do we know about Talbot?’ Pitt asked, speaking to himself as much as anyone else. He tried to put his personal dislike of the man out of his mind; his feelings were irrelevant, as was the fact that Talbot disliked him. He was surprised that it was Vespasia who answered.

‘An ambitious man, who desires to belong to Society, which will always see him as an outsider. Unfortunately he has allowed it to make him bitter …’

Stoker looked at her quickly, but was too aware of his own status to make any remark. Pitt knew he was seeing her as someone exquisitely privileged who had never known exclusion from anything, let alone Society itself.

She caught his glance. ‘I am not approving of it, Mr Stoker, merely observing it as possibly relevant to Mr Talbot’s behaviour. It may not be something you have thought of, but most women understand Society’s exclusions. Some of us even wish to have a vote as to which Government we live under, but that possibility does not seem to lie in the near future, regardless of our means, or intelligence.’

She had spoken quite gently, but Stoker blushed scarlet. Clearly he had never given the matter any thought; it was simply a part of life, and had always been so. He lifted his chin a little higher and swallowed hard.

‘I’m sorry,’ he said, looking directly at her. ‘You are right. I never thought of that.’

She smiled back at him. ‘At least since the Married Women’s Property Act, I may own my own clothes.’

He stared at her in amazement.

She gave a wry, slight laugh. ‘You are too young to remember. I mention it only to persuade you that I do understand the anger at what one perceives to be totally unfair. I have some sympathy with Mr Talbot. He is probably more intelligent and more able than many who will always be his superiors, not because of ability, or honour, but the circumstances of both. The tragedy is that he may have allowed that resentment to rob him of the positions within his reach. No matter how understandable it is, anger is still a poison, albeit one that works slowly, eating away at the judgement, at mercy and eventually at life.’ She suddenly became aware that everyone was looking at her, and coloured very faintly.

Pitt was the first to speak, in order to fill in the silence. He saw Vespasia in a new light, perhaps more vulnerable than she had ever allowed herself to appear before. He had taken it for granted that all doors were open to her. Now that he considered it, clearly they were not. She was well-born and wealthy, perhaps. More importantly, she was still truly beautiful even now; but she was still a woman. His admiration for her, even love, had allowed him to forget that. But it would be tactless to say so now.

‘Then it seems extremely likely that Talbot is the one also seeking a kind of revenge by selling the secrets of the establishment that has denied him, on a prejudice he finds intolerable,’ he observed.

Charlotte drew in her breath as if to speak, then let it out again in silence.

‘Do you disagree?’ Pitt asked.

They all looked at her, waiting.

Now she had no choice. ‘I agree that it is almost certainly Talbot,’ she answered. ‘But I think revenge could have waited, and it will satisfy him little. To succeed would have been far better. I think his more urgent motive may have been money.’

‘Money?’ Narraway repeated. ‘Do you know something of his affairs?’

She smiled at him. ‘I’ve seen how he dresses, and I know what such suits cost Thomas. And shirts! Talbot has gold cuff links. I’ve noticed several different pairs. And shoes. And I’ve seen where he dines. I could feed my family for a week on the cost of one of his cigars. And I dare say some of the nice little trinkets that Ailsa wears were gifts from him. Whatever other arrangements lie between them, he desires her physically, and to court a woman like her, one needs to give gifts, flowers, to ride in carriages, dine at the nicest and most fashionable places. Possibly he has to compete with Dudley Kynaston, who has wealth, position and considerable good looks. He is also charming, and socially at ease. In fact his only disadvantage is that he is already married. And, since she does not love him — in fact she hates him — that is no disadvantage at all to her.’

Stoker stared at her, then at Pitt, then lowered his eyes.

‘I think you are perfectly right,’ Vespasia agreed. ‘The question is, what are we going to do about it? And I believe we may not have an unlimited amount of time in which to decide.’

‘We need proof, sir.’ Stoker looked at Pitt. ‘If he did it for revenge, I don’t know what proof there would be of that. But if Mrs Pitt is right, and it was at least partly for money, then there will be proof. Once you know what you’re looking for, there are always tracks of money changing hands, especially if it comes from another country. And if he’s spent anything above what he earns, we can find it.’

‘He implied he’d inherited money,’ Pitt recalled conversations with Talbot in Downing Street.

‘We can check that too, sir,’ Stoker said quickly. ‘I’ll do it straight away, if you wish.’

‘Yes,’ Pitt agreed, looking around the table, first to Narraway, then to Vespasia. A flicker of amusement crossed his mind that she held no office at all, official or otherwise, and yet he quite naturally sought her opinion, even in front of Narraway, who was his most trusted adviser.

He thought he saw an answering flash in her silver-grey eyes, but it was so quick he was not sure.

Narraway nodded and stood up. ‘I will look more closely at Ailsa Kynaston and her past, and other possible connections, consulting the friend I spoke to earlier. Pitt, I don’t doubt you will follow up on Dudley Kynaston and his associates, on the small possibility that we are wrong. Mr Stoker …’

‘Yes, sir?’

‘I would rather you did not give us details, but I trust you have Miss Ryder somewhere very safe indeed?’

Stoker blushed. ‘Yes, sir!’

‘And her statement in writing, and signed?’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘Witnessed?’

There was a short hesitation, less than a second. ‘Yes, sir.’

Narraway caught it. ‘But you are not sure if the witness is … unbiased?’

Stoker gulped. ‘Yes … sir.’ He had forgotten how quick Narraway was. He had worked with him for years, but had adapted his thoughts now to working with Pitt. Already Narraway belonged to the past.

Pitt felt vaguely uncomfortable for it, but there was no time to indulge emotions. Stoker had hesitated because no doubt the witness was one of his own family, his sister or her husband. He found himself smiling, but at how much care Stoker had taken, and at his rigid honesty, not any lapse of judgement.

Narraway must have seen Pitt’s face, because he did not pursue it. They parted company, each to set about their own task.

Vespasia arrived home with her mind in turmoil. This complete lack of emotional discipline was ridiculous. She was not eighteen, or anywhere near it. She could do a great deal better. As soon as she was through the door into the hallway where the long window at the top of the stairs shed sunlight like a pathway upward, she was met by her maid.

‘M’lady, Mr Carlisle called to see you. He seemed to feel it was urgent.’ She took a breath, uncertainty in her eyes. ‘I told him I didn’t know when you’d be back. It could be hours, or even all day, but he was determined to wait. So I asked him to make himself comfortable in the sitting room. I hope I didn’t overstep myself …’

Vespasia glanced at the long-case clock to her right. ‘You did exactly the right thing, thank you,’ she said ‘It is rather too early for tea; perhaps he would like something else. If so I shall ring for you. Otherwise I would prefer not to be disturbed.’

‘Yes, m’lady.’ Relieved not to have been told she was mistaken, she hurried away.

Vespasia went into the sitting room, her mind racing as to what she should say to Carlisle.

Carlisle stood up. He was immaculately dressed as usual, but he looked anxious, even distressed, and as if he had not slept.

‘I apologise for troubling you,’ he began, ‘especially at this hour in the morning, but I think the matter is urgent.’

‘Then you are probably right,’ she agreed, reasserting the composure for which she was so much respected, sometimes even held in awe. ‘In all the years we have known each other, I have not seen you panic.’ She sat down, so that he might also. ‘What has happened?’

His quirky face still held its usual humour, but also a shadow of pain.

‘I have had time to think very hard about what I have done in my outrage at Kynaston’s treason,’ he replied. ‘And I realise that part of my reaction was fear. We have not so very long to go before the turn of the century. Much will change. The Queen is old and, I believe, very tired.’ His own voice sounded weary as he said it. ‘She has been alone for too many years. Because it has been so long in coming, I think the new reign will be very different.’

She did not interrupt him. She had had these thoughts herself.

‘Powers are shifting,’ he went on. ‘I see shadows in many directions. Perhaps it is just they that are frightening me, but I don’t think so. We cannot afford treason now. The world political situation is growing more tense. Nevertheless, I acted …’ he looked for the right word, ‘… I acted without foreseeing some of the results of what I was doing, or how they might affect others. Pitt did not charge me, and he easily could have.’ He looked very directly at her, his eyes deeply troubled. ‘I owe him a debt that I need to repay.’

She wished very much to help him, but there were bounds she could not cross. ‘If you are looking for information, my dear, I cannot help you,’ she told him. Her voice was gentle, but there was steel in it. She could not allow him to think that she would relent.

Humour flickered across his face and vanished. ‘If you did, I would hate it more than you can imagine,’ he replied. ‘You are a fixed part in a constantly eroding universe. We have to have a Pole Star, one true north.’

She blinked rapidly to hide the tears that sprang suddenly to her eyes. ‘That is quite the oddest compliment I have ever received,’ she said a little huskily. ‘But unquestionably one of the best. What is it that I can help you with, if not information?’

‘Tell me of something I can do to help?’ he replied.

‘What could you do that they are not already doing?’ She was puzzled. Did he have something in mind, or was he searching as discreetly as it seemed?

‘Many things,’ he said with a gesture of his hands as if to encompass a vast space. ‘I am not restricted by the law. I know it quite well, but there are areas of it for which I have little regard. And if I can take risks when it suits me, I can make it suit me now.’

She looked at his face, the desperation in his eyes, and believed him. ‘Please do not steal any more corpses and put them in dramatic and important places,’ she said wryly. ‘There are other ways of attracting people’s attention.’

He gave a very little smile. ‘You must admit, there are very few that work as well!’

‘I do admit it, but I doubt any judge would dare to, whatever he actually thought. Not many of them have a lively sense of the absurd. How could they? But regardless of that,’ she continued before he could answer. ‘It will not work again for some time!’

‘Please?’ he begged. ‘Something …’

What could she tell him, without breaking Pitt’s trust?

Carlisle leaned forward a little in his chair, his face grave. ‘Kynaston is selling our country’s secrets to the Swedes, and God knows to whom they will then sell them on. Lady Vespasia, it matters too much to indulge in emotional self-protection. I don’t know why he is doing it! But I do know he is, and I imagine his sister-in-law is involved, and possibly that rather rough lover of hers, Talbot. Although I have no idea whose side he is on. Possibly his banker’s. And I apologise if I malign the man.’

‘Do you think so?’ she asked quickly. ‘That he lives beyond his means? A judgement, not merely an impression.’

He looked at her very steadily, unblinking. ‘Would you like to know? More than just out of … curiosity?’

She knew what he was asking. She hesitated only an instant. It was like jumping off a cliff into an ice-cold sea, far below you. If you hesitated, actually looked down, you would never do it.

‘Yes. I think I might like to know that very much,’ she replied. ‘I do mean know, not suppose. I suppose it already.’

He leaned forward and kissed her gently on the cheek. It was a touch of the lips, an impression of warmth, no more. Then he stood up and left. She heard his voice saying goodbye to the maid in the hallway, and thanking her for allowing him to wait for Vespasia, then the sound of the front door closing.

She sat quite still for half an hour. She watched it on the mantel clock. Then she rose and went to the telephone to call Pitt. She did not panic until she found that she could not reach him.

What danger had she pushed Carlisle into? This was not some game, it was treason. If not yet murder, it could be any day. They hanged people for murder, piracy — and treason. If he were guilty then Talbot had nothing to lose by killing him.

She must steady herself. She had prompted Carlisle to go after proof of Talbot’s involvement. It was her responsibility to take care of him now. If she could not reach Pitt, then she must call Narraway. What he thought of her was irrelevant, however much it might hurt. And it would. Now, when she might be about to lose it, she realised his good opinion of her mattered more than that of anyone else, and in a different kind of way. She understood with an amazing degree of pain that she loved him.

One did not fall in love at her age. It was undignified and absurd! And yet it was also as real as the passions of youth, and deeper. There was all the past hunger and laughter and experience to add to it, and experience of pain, and the infinite sweetness of life.

She picked up the telephone and asked for Narraway’s number, her hands shaking. It seemed like minutes before she heard his voice at the other end, but it was actually barely a few seconds.

She began immediately. ‘Victor, when I arrived home I found Somerset Carlisle waiting for me, in a state of some distress …’

‘What has happened?’ he interrupted. ‘Are you all right?’

She sounded panicky. She must control it. ‘Yes, thank you, I am perfectly all right. It is not myself I am concerned for. Please listen to me.’ She could not allow him to think of her comfort now, and then find it impossible to tell him about Carlisle’s danger.

‘His distress was regarding his actions with the corpses, and the general … horror of it all,’ she continued more levelly. ‘He cares desperately about the treason. He sees a darkness coming, more than just a change. He is afraid for the future for all of us. The turn of the century will bring much that is new, shifts of power in Europe …’ Her voice was rising and beginning to sound panicky again.

She took a breath and resumed, more calmly. ‘He is afraid that time is short to stop Kynaston, and that if we delay he may escape, or whoever he is giving the secrets to may find other ways to continue. They are selling our secrets to the Swedes, who could then sell them on to … anyone-’

‘I know that, my dear,’ Narraway cut across her. ‘Time is very short. But if we do not find proof of Talbot’s involvement, there is nothing we can do. And to arrest Kynaston and not Talbot, if he is our go-between, is only half a result …’

‘Victor! Please … Carlisle seems to know that Talbot is involved. It all fits together too well for him not to. He has gone to try to find proof that Talbot has money he has not earned. He is continuously living beyond his means …’

‘Gone where?’ Narraway said with surprising calm; there was barely an edge to his voice.

‘I don’t know. I imagine to Talbot’s house, or wherever he might hope to find proof of his income …’

‘Have you told Pitt?’

‘I can’t reach him. He doesn’t answer his telephone.’

‘You said Carlisle has gone to find proof of Talbot being paid fairly large sums of money that he can’t account for?’ he repeated carefully.

‘Yes.’ She sounded steadier. ‘He knew Talbot was involved. I told him nothing.’ She hesitated. She must explain before he asked. It was acutely painful that she had behaved with such little discretion, even more so since she knew she might well do so again. Her pity for Carlisle, and her understanding of exactly what he felt, were too powerful to ignore.

‘Vespasia?’ Narraway prompted urgently.

‘Yes. I … Carlisle felt a terrible guilt over the way in which he drew Pitt into the investigation. He wants to redeem that debt, regardless of the cost to himself.’

‘We’ll deal with that later,’ he told her. ‘Right now we must consider where he may have gone. As you fear, if he is caught by Talbot himself, he will suffer nothing as simple as being arrested in the act of burglary. And worse than that, Talbot will know that we are after him. At best he will disappear, possibly to Sweden where we will not be able to reach him, and taking with him whatever else he knows. At worst, he may kill Carlisle …’

Vespasia felt herself freeze inside. She could have stopped him. She should have, however much it hurt or seemed a rebuff.

Narraway was silent on the other end of the telephone line.

She seemed to wait for ages. The ticking of the long-case clock was counting into eternity.

‘There’s less likely to be anything damning in the house,’ Narraway said at last. ‘Far more likely to be in his bank. I wonder if Carlisle will have thought of that.’

‘But we can’t gain access to anything in his bank,’ she said reluctantly. ‘I don’t even know if Thomas could …?’

‘Not easily,’ he replied. ‘Probably not at all, unless he thought of a really imaginative lie … but then that seems to be what Carlisle is rather gifted at.’ There was a slight trace of amusement in his voice, not just anger. ‘We must find out where Talbot banks. That may take a little while, but it will have for Carlisle as well. Please stay-’

She cut across him, something she would never ordinarily do. ‘Victor, he is a social climber. It is intensely important to him to belong. He will be at the most exclusive bank there is.’ She named her own bank.

She heard his sigh of relief. ‘Yes, of course he will. Thank you. Do you think Carlisle will have thought of that?’

‘Yes.’ She had no doubt at all. It was a deep instinctive knowledge Carlisle would share. ‘I’ll meet you there,’ she added.

‘No! Vespasia!’ His voice was sharp. ‘It could be unpleasant …’

‘I don’t doubt it,’ she agreed. ‘But Carlisle will listen to me more than to you.’ And, before he could argue any further, she replaced the earpiece on its hook, cutting the connection.

Nearly an hour later she and Narraway stood in the manager’s office of the most prestigious bank in London — and, of course where she was known and respected. Narraway was not, but because of his previous position as head of Special Branch, and now a member of the House of Lords, he was known by repute.

The manager was an exquisitely dressed, aquiline-faced man in his early sixties. He concealed his nervousness behind a mask of propriety, but Vespasia could see that he was trying desperately to salvage the bank’s reputation out of a disaster he could barely comprehend.

‘But he was a Member of Parliament!’ he said yet again. ‘He said it was state business of the utmost importance. A constituent of his was involved in a financial transaction that could start a war, if it were not dealt with immediately. He proved his identity to me, beyond any doubt. And, apart from that, I know him by sight anyway. He banks with us! Has done for years. You must be … mistaken, my lady.’

Narraway glanced at the manager, then at Vespasia, but did not interrupt.

‘Permit me to guess, Sir William,’ she said with a very faint smile. ‘Mr Carlisle wished to know if Mr Edom Talbot had received regular and very substantial payments from Sweden over the last year or so.’

His eyebrows shot up.

‘Yes! Yes, indeed. He said they were fraudulent and could involve Mr Talbot, and even the Prime Minister himself, in an appalling scandal, if his fears were well-founded. I assured him they were perfectly legitimate, and the funds were all accounted for.’

‘But spent,’ she said drily.

‘Of course.’ His face was bleak. ‘It was his money, quite legally obtained. All the paperwork was in order, I assure you. The money was transferred in the usual way …’

‘From a Mr Harold Sundstrom?’ she asked.

Sir William paled. ‘Yes, although perhaps I should not disclose that, except that Mr Sundstrom is a reputable gentleman in the Swedish naval establishment. We checked. There was nothing questionable about any part of the transactions. Were it anyone other than a man of Mr Carlisle’s position I should have discounted his fear entirely.’

‘But you didn’t,’ Narraway spoke at last. ‘Did you show him the proof he asked for?’

‘I did not. I merely gave him my word that all the papers were in order, and that the amounts were roughly what he estimated,’ Sir William said stiffly. ‘He wished to see them, but he accepted my assurance.’

Narraway’s face was grim, his jaw tight. ‘And you informed Mr Talbot that the enquiry had been made?’

‘Of course. I telephoned him at Downing Street. He was extremely distressed. Which made me conclude that he was afraid Mr Carlisle’s fears were well-grounded. Mr Talbot has somehow been the victim of an international fraud. I have no idea what it is, but-’

‘I have,’ Narraway said instantly. ‘If you do not wish to have the bank complicit in treason, Sir William, you will keep all these papers in your safe and allow no one else whatever to see or touch them. And I mean anyone! Including Mr Talbot. Special Branch will come for them as soon as they can obtain the appropriate warrants. Do you understand me?’

‘Yes, sir, of course I do!’ Sir William said stiffly.

Narraway smiled. ‘Thank you. The Nation will be obliged to you, although very possibly they will never know it. But I will make it my business to see that the Prime Minister does.’ He took Vespasia by the arm. ‘Good day, sir.’

Outside on the pavement in the wind and the sun, Vespasia let out a sigh of relief, and turned to Narraway.

He was smiling. ‘Thank you,’ he said quietly. ‘Thank God for Talbot’s social aspirations, poor devil.’ Then his face shadowed again. ‘But I wish Sir William had not told him. I suppose it was inevitable. We had better try Pitt again. Talbot may well run, and I have no means to stop him.’ He took her by the arm and began to walk quickly. ‘We had better find a telephone.’

She hated to say it, but honesty prevailed. ‘You will move faster without me, Victor. Please go … Talbot will not only escape, he may take Ailsa with him, and leave Kynaston to take all the blame.’

‘Which would be a hell of a mess,’ he agreed without slackening his pace at all. ‘Or worse than that, he could stop them himself, even kill them if necessary, and emerge as the hero.’

‘How on earth could he do that, with the money in his name?’ she asked. She had to run a step or two to keep up, although he still had her by the arm and it was more than a trifle undignified.

‘Say that it was part of a plan to stop Kynaston,’ he answered.

‘What about Ailsa? She doesn’t love him!’ she protested.

‘Then he might very well have to get rid of her too,’ he agreed. ‘Perhaps that is what he has gone to do, rather than to the bank, whether he now knows we are on to Ailsa. It is only his word against Kynaston’s, and it is Kynaston who stole the secrets.’

She was too out of breath to argue, even if she had had something useful to say.

They swung round a corner and, after glancing in both directions, he started across the street, still holding her arm. They had reached the discreet entrance to a gentleman’s club, and he stopped abruptly, forcing her to halt.

‘They won’t let me in,’ she told him. ‘Don’t waste time arguing with them, use the telephone and call Thomas. If you can’t get him then try Stoker.’

He hesitated.

‘For heaven’s sake, Victor, get on with it!’ she ordered him.

Without any warning at all he put both arms around her and kissed her firmly on the lips, with intense gentleness, as if he would have made it longer and deeper had time allowed. Then he turned and strode up the steps and in through the door, allowing it to slam after him.

Vespasia stood on the steps, stunned and burning with a sudden and completely overwhelming warmth, her imagination soaring.

He returned ten minutes later, his step light, his face shining with relief.

‘You spoke to Thomas?’ she said, moving towards him. ‘He will go after Talbot?’

‘Yes, with Stoker.’ He put his hands on her arms, holding her so that she faced him. ‘It was very good advice — “get on with it!”’ He repeated his words in exactly the tone that she had used earlier. ‘One should have the courage of one’s convictions, win or lose. Vespasia, will you marry me?’

She was speechless. They were standing in the middle of the street. It was as unromantic as it was possible to be. And yet she had no doubts at all. They should be thinking of Talbot, and whether he would kill Ailsa or not, of Kynaston’s treason and the appalling damage a trial would do. Yet she knew without hesitation that the most important thing in her life was that Narraway loved her, not only as a friend, but in the same intense and passionate way that she loved him.

‘Yes, I will,’ she replied. ‘But quietly, if you please. Not in the middle of the street.’

Such an intense happiness filled his face that two men passing by hesitated and looked at him, then at each other, but Narraway was completely unaware of it.

‘I shall live the rest of my life so that you never regret it,’ he said earnestly.

‘I had not considered the possibility,’ she replied with a smile. ‘Time is sweet enough not to waste any of it in less than the very best way.’ She touched the side of his cheek with her fingers, a tender and intimate gesture. ‘Now may we please get out of the public thoroughfare, where we are causing something of a spectacle?’