Treachery at Lancaster Gate

Chapter 7

Emily was dressed in cream and gold, colors she did not often wear, but this gown was the height of sophistication, slender, rich, and up to the minute in its styling, especially about the shoulders. She knew it flattered her even before she left her dressing room, but admiration from a number of men, and a burning curiosity from women, reaffirmed this to her now as she and Jack were attending yet another party where the edges of politics and vast business empires interacted.

Again, of course, Sir Donald Parsons, Josiah Abercorn, Godfrey Duncannon, and many others were gathered. Another major clause in the contract had been successfully negotiated and they were here both to celebrate and to prepare for the next step. It was beginning to look possible that soon they might complete enough of it to take a few days’ break from negotiations, maybe even go to the country in time for New Year’s.

Emily was at the edge of a conversation, half listening. Her eyes were on Godfrey Duncannon, elegant, courteous, always appearing to be interested. She wondered how he achieved it. He must have been bored almost to sleep, and yet he was smiling at everyone, nodding now and then as if he approved.

Where was Cecily? No doubt listening dutifully to someone. Emily’s eyes swept around the room, trying to recall what color Cecily was wearing. She saw a figure in a bronze and black gown, striking, almost wintry, but beautiful. Her dark head was bent, the light of the chandelier striking fire from the jewels in her hair.

She straightened up, and Emily realized it was Cecily. As Cecily turned away from the people she was with, Emily saw the tension in her face. Was it Emily’s imagination, or was Cecily even more troubled than before? Why? Something to do with her son, or her husband? Or possibly it was something completely different.

Emily was drawn back into the conversation around her.

“How interesting,” she lied smoothly. She had no idea what they were discussing, but that seemed an innocuous enough thing to say. Everybody wanted to be thought interesting.

Still she glanced at Cecily when she could. Once she observed her talking to Josiah Abercorn and watched them discreetly for some moments. Abercorn was immaculately dressed, with almost too much care, as he had been each time she had seen him. There was no ease in it. She knew nothing to his discredit and yet she understood exactly why Cecily stood as far from him as she could without being discourteous, and why there was a rigidity to the line of her body, as if he made her uncomfortable. Was that very slight self-consciousness in him something she was aware of too? Did he have any idea? He was smiling as he spoke to her, but Emily was much too far away to have the faintest idea what the conversation might be about.

Cecily nodded agreement in the conversation, and moved a step back from Abercorn.

He gave a self-deprecating shrug, a slight gesture of one hand, and took a half-step forward, maintaining the former distance between them.

For a moment Emily thought Cecily was going to move back again, even excuse herself and walk away altogether. Was the conversation about the contract? Something she feared would hurt Godfrey? Emily already knew that Godfrey’s reputation and possibly something of his future might suffer if the contract failed now that he had so publicly allied himself with it.

Was that what Cecily was worried about? Abercorn knew the details of the contract; maybe he was warning her, and she wished to be alone to consider what it might mean to her husband. But surely Abercorn was for the contract. Or was it that his intense support came at a price? Could it be one that Godfrey was unwilling to pay?

Emily should learn more about Abercorn, for Jack’s sake if nothing else. He was instrumental in the legal drafting of the contract, she knew. And Jack had also said he was politically ambitious, and he had very considerable private means. Emily could see, however, that he lacked the grace of one born to privilege, and his arrogance was one of achievement, not of birth.

Like Cecily, Emily herself had not had to be concerned about money for a long time. But restricted circumstances-even moving to a smaller house, maintaining fewer servants, entertaining less often-were far less damaging to happiness than the feeling that one was a failure. She could remember with painful clarity how Jack had suffered when his previous hopes had been dashed. He knew it was a misjudgment, or at least in part it was. Most of Emily’s attempts to convince him otherwise only made it worse. It was the fact of loss that mattered, not always its degree.

Is that what Cecily was worried about? Not the reality of failure but the injury it did to the mind? Emily could see Duncannon, the public man now, thick, iron-gray hair gleaming as he inclined his head to listen to some diamond-tiaraed woman. He looked superbly confident.

But Cecily knew the private man, the one who might sit up alone half the night with a decanter of whisky, then go to bed alone to grieve over the broken image of what he had dreamed himself to be.

Emily looked about, wondering who she should ask about Abercorn. Someone who would be discreet, yet tell her at least something of what she needed to know, and accurately. Such people were few.

How would she explain her wish to know?

Then she remembered: Jack had told her he was thinking of inviting him to take a government office. It would be important. Nothing unfortunate was known of Abercorn, but one could not be too careful. He was not married, so the question arose, had he ever been? What was his…behavior? One did not wish details, only assurances.

She had heard such inquiries made before. She knew the questions, and knew how to phrase them.

But then why was she doing this, and not Jack himself?

The answer came to that also…Between women, my dear! We are so much more observant, don’t you think?

And far more likely to pick up the gossip that might, when unwrapped, come very close to the truth.

Now who to choose? Who would be certain not to take the nature of her inquiries straight back-or, for that matter, indirectly back-to Abercorn himself.

Of course! Lady Parsons. Emily thought not much would escape her discerning eye, even if it did not pass her carefully guarded lips.

While pretending to listen to someone’s wedding arrangements, she looked around the room and after several minutes saw Lady Parsons some distance away in a silver-gray gown that did not suit her at all. She would have been much better in a warmer color.

Walking across the room, avoiding meeting the eyes of anyone she knew too well to pass by, she considered how frank to be with Lady Parsons. The judgment should be exactly right. She must not compliment her gown. If Lady Parsons had any idea how it appeared Emily might be suspected of sarcasm, or mockery.

In the moment their glances met, Emily decided on total candor.

“Good evening, Mrs. Radley,” Lady Parsons said with a flicker of amusement in her pale blue eyes. “You look as if you have business yet to accomplish.”

Pretense would now be absurd. “Good evening, Lady Parsons,” Emily replied. “I am beginning to feel that there is always business to be done. The moment I think I have discharged it all, and am free simply to enjoy myself, something else arises.”

“Really?” Now Lady Parsons was quite openly amused. “If it is your duty to try to persuade me of the virtues of this famous contract, so I may influence my husband’s objections to it, I shall try not to be discourteous in discouraging you. But, my dear, we would be far better employed in discussing something of interest. I know what you are going to say, and I believe you know what I will reply. May we consider it accomplished, and move on?”

Emily smiled back at her without the least need to pretend. “I had already taken that liberty,” she replied. “I came for a completely different purpose.”

“How very sensible. What is it?” Lady Parsons inquired.

“A little information…”

“From me?”

“I think you will put a little less varnish on the truth than most people. And you will have made it your business to know…at least as much as is available,” Emily explained, wondering if she was being too rash, and whether Jack would be furious with her. But then she had no intention of telling him, at least not until it was necessary.

“I am intrigued,” Lady Parsons admitted. “What can it be that I know and you do not?”

“My husband is in a position to offer an advancement to Josiah Abercorn. I am concerned that his judgment may be overgenerous, but possibly it is my own prejudice speaking to me. I find myself unable to learn much about Mr. Abercorn’s life. I hear only praise for his professional acumen, and his charitable work.”

“And you wish to know more?”

“Wouldn’t you? If your husband’s reputation were involved?”

Lady Parsons’s eyes opened wide. “Indeed I would. And I would need precision in the answer…which I cannot give you. I dislike him intensely. He dislikes and is trying to discredit my husband because we are on opposing sides of the contract with the Chinese. It is for a free port there. I daresay you know? No-I see you did not!”

“Not in detail,” Emily said evasively.

Lady Parsons laughed. “Ah, my dear! Not so well fielded. Your eyes gave you away. Still-the information. Josiah Abercorn is a man of elusive background. Apparently his father died before Josiah was born. His mother remained a widow and raised him alone. A woman of unquestionable virtue, she managed to find sufficient means to give him an education. He later received a scholarship. He is undoubtedly brilliant in certain areas.”

“But self-made,” Emily pointed out. This was something to be praised, and yet in many people’s eyes it also carried a certain stigma, an implication of awkwardness, a lack of culture. Could that be what made Abercorn tentative at times? A memory of childhood exclusion, the scholarship boy, the boy without a father, almost without a heritage.

Suddenly her slight irritation with him turned to sympathy, and a degree of respect. She had been born into the gentry and married into the aristocracy. She had carried social place only by being extremely pretty and quick-witted enough to learn how to use charm and intelligence. But confidence makes many things easy.

Lady Parsons was regarding her with interest, waiting for the next question.

“He has never married, I’m told. Is that true?” Emily said.

“So I believe.” Lady Parsons’s mouth twitched in a slight, ironic smile, not without pity. “I daresay he was not considered good enough by the parents of the young woman he considered good enough for him. Something of a dilemma…” She let the words trail, leaving Emily to finish them as she chose.

“There is still time,” Emily observed. “He looks no more than his midthirties, at the outside. Quite a suitable age for a man to marry. Perhaps he does not care to.” She imagined his childhood memories, and perhaps a sense of loss he was not yet ready to risk facing again. Some wounds ran very deep.

“Many things are possible,” Lady Parsons agreed. “I don’t care for the man myself. There is something in him that I find…closed off. But had I walked his path, perhaps I would be a good deal less sanguine myself. Have I been of assistance?”

Emily gave her the widest smile. “You have explained a great deal, and without once descending to gossip. I thank you.”

“I am delighted,” Lady Parsons responded drily. “Perhaps when this interminable contract is finished, we may go out to luncheon one day? Or possibly visit a gallery, or some such?”

“Most certainly,” Emily agreed, and turned the conversation to something quite trivial.

Emily caught up with Cecily maybe a quarter of an hour later.

“It might be over by Christmas, don’t you think?” Emily said with as much warmth as she could.

Cecily looked at her with a moment’s blankness.

“At least the main part of it,” Emily elaborated. “Just details to tidy up. Then we could take a long weekend…”

“Oh…yes,” Cecily said with a forced smile. “That would be very nice. You have a house in the country, don’t you?”

“Yes. Just a few days’ escape…” Emily did not know how to finish. She had not meant to be clumsy, but now that she had, she was looking for a way to redeem the situation.

“So have we,” Cecily murmured, avoiding Emily’s eyes. “But I’m not sure if I want to go. There seems to be…so much here…” She too stopped.

“Can I help?” Emily said gently.

Cecily looked startled. “Am I so obvious? I’m sorry. No, there is nothing anyone can do. But thank you…” She seemed about to go on, then changed her mind.

“It is your son…” Emily began, then seeing the pain in Cecily’s face and the quick stiffening of her shoulders, she wished she had not. It was intrusive, but it was too late to retreat.

“He is still grieving for Dylan,” Cecily explained. “He doesn’t say anything about this fearful bombing, but I can see the change in him when it’s mentioned. He hates the police. There’s nothing Godfrey can say to him that changes his mind.” She stared at something inside herself, her eyes blank to the color and movement around her, the swirl of dresses and glitter of jewels. It was as if she could not hear the laughter.

Emily searched for something to say, and everything that came to her mind was banal, and would only sound as if she didn’t have the slightest understanding.

“Godfrey and Alexander had another quarrel about it yesterday,” Cecily went on, her voice so quiet Emily had to concentrate to hear her. “I don’t think Alexander will come back home again for a long time.” The loss in her face was bleak and total.

“Sometimes you have to believe in your friends,” Emily said. “Even if nobody else does, and all the evidence seems to be against them. Actually, when you are young, and loyalty is passionate, especially then. I think you will have to allow him to accept reality when he is ready to, and perhaps not make any comment. The friendships of youth can be very strong. It’s all tied up with what we believe to be honor. I’m so sorry.”

“You’re right,” Cecily said with a faint smile. “It is a matter of loyalty. They were there together. Alexander escaped and Dylan didn’t. He feels as if he is alive at Dylan’s expense. Sometimes I’m terrified he’ll take his own life, as if he didn’t deserve to have it.” She searched Emily’s face, trying to see if she understood.

Emily put her hand very lightly on Cecily’s arm, a touch so soft only the warmth of her would be felt. “All of us would take the pain ourselves for those we love, most especially our children. We still try to, even when we know perfectly well that we can’t. Right from the time we first held them in our arms, all through their growing years, we pick them up when they stumble, encourage them, believe in them when no one else does, weep for them when they are hurt. The tragedy is if we don’t. No one should be unloved.”

Cecily blinked hard but the tears slid down her cheeks anyway.

“Thank you,” she said huskily. “Now I think I had better excuse myself and go and talk to someone I dislike enough to mask all my feelings from them. Please don’t chastise yourself. I feel far less alone.” And without adding anything more she turned and walked away toward a group of people deep in enthusiastic argument.

It was the following evening before Emily had the chance of speaking to Jack about any of the events at the party. After dinner, when Edward and Evangeline had left the table, the sudden silence that lay between them required some remark before it became awkward.

She was not certain how much not only Jack’s career but also his own money might rest upon the contract’s success. She did not like to ask if he had invested earlier in any of the companies that could be affected. It was highly improper for government ministers to place their own money in businesses whose profits their decisions could affect. It was more than dishonorable; it was a criminal offense.

But money invested earlier, before the issues of the contract existed, would not have been removed and reinvested. That too could be a signal to those who were clever enough to see it, of advantage to come.

For that matter, her own fortune might be involved. Both the house in the city and Ashworth Hall were entailed, and would pass to her son, Edward, who was actually titled Lord Ashworth since his father’s death. But what of the rest?

What was Jack withholding that caused the anxiety she could see in his face across the polished table? He had protected her on several occasions, from one sort or another of pain or unpleasantness. She was happy to allow him to, not because she needed it but because it was important to establish the balance of their relationship.

She had been Lady Ashworth when they met: beautiful, titled, and rich. He was handsome and charming, but the third son of a family with neither wealth nor connection to the aristocracy except of the most distant sort. What could he offer her? It did not matter in the slightest to her; she already had such things. But she quickly learned that it mattered to him. A couple of thoughtless mistakes had shown her that wounds to one’s self-belief were deep and did not heal easily. Like broken bones that had knitted at last, a change in the weather could make them ache all over again like new injuries.

“Are you still going to recommend Abercorn a government position?” she asked him.

“Yes. I think he’s a good man, and he’s going to stand for office next chance he gets…I mean when there’s a seat open, even before the next general election. Why?”

“What about Godfrey Duncannon? He wouldn’t agree with you, would he?”

A shadow crossed his face. “I work with Duncannon on this particular project; I don’t have to agree with him over everything.”

“So he doesn’t agree?” she said quickly. “But it’s more than that, Jack. The other night, at the Parsonses’, I happened to glance at Abercorn, and for an instant there was hatred in his face. I don’t mean just dislike, or a difference of opinion. They were nowhere near each other, and Abercorn looked across at Godfrey with…with a terrible expression in his eyes.”

Jack shook his head, his lips tight. “You’re probably imagining it. I daresay he was bored to death with the conversation. And what makes you certain it was Godfrey he was looking at, if he was as far away as you say? They don’t like each other. I know that. They are from very different social backgrounds. Godfrey comes from aristocracy and inherited privilege, Abercorn from relative poverty, and made his own way. There are bound to be differences. Heavens, Godfrey is for the establishment, and keeping everything the same. Abercorn is for change, and what he believes to be social justice, or at least something close to it.”

Emily wanted to argue. What she had seen was not political difference, it was hate, but she could think of no argument that Jack would listen to and believe.

“They agree on the contract,” he went on. “They are both experts on China and sea trade, in their own way. You don’t have to like someone to work with them. It’s politics, Emily, not lifetime partnership!”

She knew better than to argue any further. She changed the subject.

“Do you think we should go to the country for Christmas?” she asked, trying to keep emotion out of her voice.

He hesitated, watching her, trying to read how much it mattered to her.

She did not want to be too obvious. Condescension could deliver the deepest cut of all, like a fine razor. You did not even know how deep it was until you couldn’t stop the bleeding.

“I think it would be rather nice to have it here, for a change,” she went on. His failure to answer told her more than he knew. “Perhaps we should invite Charlotte and Thomas over for dinner? We haven’t done that for ages. If Thomas can come, of course? This horrible bombing at Lancaster Gate is taking all his time.”

“On condition we don’t talk about it,” Jack said with a smile.

“For heaven’s sake!” she exclaimed. “He wouldn’t even think of it. I imagine he dislikes it a lot more than you do. Besides, he’s not allowed to talk about his work. It’s not like it was when he was in the police.”

Jack leaned back a little in his chair. “I know that. And I think it would be an excellent idea. Frankly, I would prefer not to spend a day traveling, and be out of touch with any developments in this contract. But I owe Duncannon every support.”

“Of course,” she agreed. “It’s quite a relief, really. It’s going to be cold, and possibly even snowing. It would be nice not to have to go anywhere. I’ll tell the staff. And tomorrow I’ll invite Charlotte. I hope I haven’t left it too late. It does look a bit last minute, doesn’t it?”

“Yes,” he agreed with a smile.

She stood up and walked around to his chair. She put both hands on his shoulders and gently kissed his cheek. “Well, if they can’t come, it will just be us. I would be very happy with that, too.” She felt the tension ease out of him. He said nothing, but put his hand up to cover hers.

Emily went to see Charlotte, as she had promised. Normally neither of them would stop in the middle of the afternoon for tea. It was a meal no one really needed, but it was a nice excuse to sit and talk. Charlotte had baked fresh mince pies.

“My favorite Christmas food,” Emily said as she sat down at the kitchen table.

“Better than roast goose or Christmas pudding?” Charlotte said with much surprise.

Emily did not bother to answer. Even with silver sixpences in the pudding and brandy butter on top, it still did not beat hot mince pies.

She had rehearsed in her mind a dozen times what she would say, but it never sounded as she wished it to. Underneath their differences in taste, social position into which they had married, and the entire styles of their lives, they knew each other too well.

“Jack doesn’t discuss this contract very much, but I know it is extraordinarily important…” Emily began.

“Are you afraid it’s not going to be ratified? Or that it’s not what it is purported to be?” Charlotte asked.

“You don’t give me any room to come at it sideways, do you!” Emily protested with a slight smile.

“Your tea will get cold…” Charlotte’s meaning was obvious, but she said it gently, and pushed the plate of mince pies over toward Emily’s side of the table.

Emily took one and bit into it. It was exquisite, sweet and sharp, and its pastry melted in her mouth.

“I don’t actually know what I’m afraid of,” she confessed. “On the face of it, it’s foolproof. But Jack was so hurt the last time. I mean…”

“I know what you mean. There may not be such a thing as an honest politician, but there are degrees. Is it Godfrey Duncannon you distrust, or the people behind him?”

“I think it’s the circumstances,” Emily replied, finishing the mince pie. “Cecily told me that Alexander’s closest friend was Dylan Lezant, a young man who was hanged for murdering a passerby when he was arrested during a major drug purchase. Alexander is convinced Dylan was innocent, and he can’t or won’t let the matter rest. He believes the police are corrupt…that they let the real killer go and planted false evidence to implicate Dylan.”

“If he’s still in great pain, and on opium-as I understand from Thomas-is it not possible that he is a little mad?” Charlotte said softly.

“I don’t know…maybe…”

They sat in silence for a moment. Emily took another pie.

Charlotte took one too. “He’s a young man, Emily.” She went on with the thread, following it all the way. “If he feels an injustice has been done and his friend was an innocent man, hanged for a crime he did not commit, if he has any decency at all, he must have tried to save him. It’s too late now, but won’t he try to clear his name, at least?”

“Yes, Cecily said he has tried repeatedly to do that. But bombing the house in Lancaster Gate isn’t going to help!”

“Special Branch will have to look into his possible involvement if they don’t find anyone else guilty of it. I understand people who know about bombs can make them quite easily, using dynamite, which is tightly controlled but can be stolen, from quarries or when it’s used for demolition.”

“You think Alexander Duncannon would have broken into a quarry’s storehouse and stolen dynamite?” Emily said incredulously.

“No, I think it’s more likely someone else stole it and sold it on. Does Alexander spend his time in his parents’ home in the city, or in the country? Or has he his own apartment and live on his private means, attending parties, or whatever amuses him?”

“He has his own place,” Emily agreed quietly. It was all becoming dreadfully clear as a possibility. Was this what Cecily feared? “And he keeps some odd company.”

“Most young gentlemen with time to spare do,” Charlotte pointed out. “Which you know as well as I do. Some of them have a few very strange ideas. Some are aggressive, a great deal more are idealistic, longing for reform, for greater fairness, freedom…however they see that.”

“But his family…” Emily began.

“Have you ever listened to Aunt Vespasia tell you about fighting on the barricades of the revolutions that swept Europe in ’48?” Charlotte asked earnestly. “It was a noble cause. They nearly won…in some places.”

“Yes, I know,” Emily said quietly, looking down at the crumbs on her plate. “And then the repression clamped down again like an iron lid, and, if anything, it was worse than before.”

“We need the young to believe that they will one day succeed,” Charlotte said urgently. “If they have no dreams, no passion to change the injustice and create something better, then we are as good as dead. It doesn’t matter whether it’s political freedom across Europe, or fairer pay for people in hard and dangerous jobs, or women’s rights to their own property, or against disease, usury…bad plumbing…or anything you like. We have to care. Alexander Duncannon isn’t wicked because he wants to fight against police corruption, but if he’s guilty of the Lancaster Gate bombing, that’s a totally different thing. Is that what his mother is afraid of?”

“Yes, I think so,” Emily answered. “Is it impossible?”

Charlotte took a breath to answer, and then let it out again silently.

Emily waited.

At last Charlotte smiled, picking her words carefully, and reluctantly.

“I think Thomas is afraid that there is some pretty deep corruption, at least where those particular men are concerned. He doesn’t want to investigate it, but he’s going to have to. The trouble is, as soon as he starts it will become clear what he’s doing, and why. There’s going to be anger and, worse than that, fear. Suspicion can make people do all sorts of stupid things.”

“What are you thinking?” Emily was uncertain, her imagination darting in several directions. “Lies? Blaming others, innocent people? Thomas isn’t in any danger, is he? They wouldn’t try to-” She saw Charlotte’s face and stopped herself, but it was too late.

“I don’t think so,” Charlotte said slowly. “Of course it’s possible, especially when the people who are the victims could also be part of the crime. Nobody wants to believe it, but when we’re frightened we can act without thought. We lash out at the people who are telling us what we don’t want to know.”

Emily wanted to say something helpful, but no words would come. There was no point in suggesting the corruption could be slight. It was the fear of it, the possibility, that was poisonous.

Charlotte sat up straight. “We are way ahead of any reality. We still have time to find out who the bomber is, and deal with him. Even if it’s Alexander Duncannon. Actually, it does seem more likely that someone who is against this contract, for whatever reason, probably financial, is trying to make it look like Alexander, so as to discredit his father. Apparently the success of the negotiations depends a great deal upon him.”

“That’s what Jack says,” Emily agreed. “He’s not only gifted but he has all the right contacts. People like him, and trust him, and the trust is what matters. Alexander being even suspected, never mind charged, might affect that pretty badly.”

“We don’t have a really good alternative theory of who is behind the bombing,” Charlotte said unhappily, “except police corruption of who knows what quality. I think Thomas is going to find this far more painful than he expects. I’ve watched him…I can see it in his face. Emily, I’m frightened too. It’s the destruction of things we’ve believed in all the time I can remember.”

Emily did not argue; there was no denial to be made.