Betrayal at Lisson Grove (Treason at Lisson Grove)

“Don’t,” she said simply. “It would be far better if you were to find some suitable place, which we shall not name, and we shall meet there. A very great deal has happened since you left, but there is far more that is about to happen. I do not know what that is, except that it is of profound importance, and it may be tragically violent. But I daresay you have deduced that for yourself. I rather fear that your whole trip to Ireland was designed to take you away from London. Everything else was incidental.”

“Who’s in charge now?” he asked, the chill seeping into him, even though he was standing in a very comfortable hotel hallway, looking from left to right every few moments to make sure he was still alone and not overheard. “Charles Austwick?”

“No,” she answered, and there was a heaviness in her voice, even over the wires. “That was only temporary. Thomas is back from France. That trip was entirely abortive. He has replaced Austwick, and is now in your office, and hating it.”

Narraway was so stunned for a moment he could think of no words adequate to his emotions—certainly none that he could repeat in front of Vespasia, or Charlotte, were she close enough to hear.

“Victor!” Vespasia said sharply.

“Yes … I’m here. What … what is going on?”

“I don’t know,” she admitted. “But I have a great fear that he has been placed there precisely because he cannot possibly cope with whatever atrocity is being planned. He has no experience in this kind of leadership. He has not the deviousness nor the subtlety of judgment to make the necessary unpleasant decisions. And there is no one there whom he can trust, which at least he knows. I am afraid he is quite appallingly alone, exactly as someone has designed he should be. His remarkable record of success as a policeman, and as a solver of crimes within Special Branch jurisdiction, will justify his being placed in your position. No one will be held to blame for choosing him …”

“You mean he’s there to take the blame when this storm breaks,” Narraway said bitterly.

“Precisely.” Her voice cracked a little. “Victor, we must beat this, and I have very little idea how. I don’t even know what it is they plan, but it is something very, very wrong indeed.”

She was brave; no one he knew had ever had more courage; she was clever and still beautiful … but she was also growing old and at times very much alone. Suddenly he was aware of her vulnerability: of the friends, and even the loves she had cared for passionately, and lost. She was perhaps a decade or so older than he. Suddenly he thought of her not as a force of society, or of nature, but as a woman, as capable of loneliness as he was himself.

“Do you remember the hostelry where we met Somerset Carlisle about eight years ago? We had the most excellent lobster for luncheon?” he asked.

“Yes,” she said unhesitatingly.

“We should meet there as soon as possible,” he told her. “Bring Pitt … please.”

“I shall be there by midnight,” she replied.

He was startled. “Midnight?”

“For heaven’s sake, Victor!” she said tartly. “What do you want to do, wait until breakfast? Don’t be absurd. You had better reserve us three rooms, in case there is any of the night left for sleeping.” Then she hesitated.

He wondered why. “Lady Vespasia?”

She gave a little sigh. “I dislike being offensive, but since I assume that you escaped from … where you were, you have little money, and I daresay are in less than your usually elegant state. You had better give my name, as if you were booking it for me, and tell them that I shall settle when I arrive. Better if you do not give anyone else’s name, your own, or Thomas’s.”

“Actually Charlotte had the foresight to pack my case for me, so I have all the respectable attire I shall need,” he replied with the first flash of amusement he had felt for some time.

“She did what?” Vespasia said coolly.

“She was obliged to leave the lodgings,” he exclaimed, still with a smile. “She did not wish to abandon my luggage, so she took it with her. If you don’t know me better than that, you should at least know her!”

“Quite so,” she said more gently. “I apologize. Indeed, I also know you. I shall see you as close to midnight as I am able to make it. I am very glad you are safe, Victor.”

That meant more to him than he had expected, so much more that he found himself suddenly unable to answer. He replaced the receiver on its hook in silence.

PITT WAS AT HOME, sitting at the kitchen table beginning his supper when Minnie Maude came into the room. Her face was pink, her eyes frightened, her usually untamed hair pulled even looser and badly pinned up at one side.

“What’s the matter?” Pitt said, instantly worried as well.

Minnie Maude took a deep breath and let it out shakily. “There’s a lady ’ere ter see yer, sir. I mean a real lady, like a duchess, or summink. Wot shall I do wif’ ’er, sir?”

“Oh.” Pitt felt a wave of relief wash over him, like warmth from a fire on cold flesh. “Show her in here, and then put the kettle on again.”