The Chemickal Marriage

‘I already have.’

The Contessa burst into a raucous laugh. The door opened and two grenadiers peered in, alarmed by the sound of the blow, but now confused by her laughter and the Doctor’s shame-red face. The Contessa waved them away and, docile to hauteur, they went. She laid two fingers on her cheek. ‘My lord.’

‘Whatever you have to say, madam, say it.’

‘Not until you kneel.’ She raised her eyebrows. Svenson sighed and did so, reaching to shift the beer mug.

‘I’ll have that. If you’re not drinking.’ She took another long pull. ‘I’ve been in the baths. No wonder her skin comes off in strips.’

‘Immersion dehydrates the flesh,’ observed Svenson. ‘So does alcohol.’

‘Not beer, surely.’ She offered him the mug. He shook his head, and the Contessa tipped back the rest.

‘Those soldiers will not wait forever. And Schoepfil not at all.’

‘Nor Bronque. Do you know Bronque?’ She gave him the mug, which he set down with annoyance. When he looked back she held a tightly wrapped piece of silk, plucked, while his gaze was diverted, from between her breasts. She tossed it to him, like a treat for a lapdog.

‘I stole that from Celeste Temple. The handkerchief belongs to Robert Vandaariff.’

Svenson unwrapped the silk: a blue glass spur.

‘I have seen these before. At Raaxfall – and in the square –’

‘Everyone has seen them,’ she said. ‘Why give it to her?’

Svenson glanced quickly to the door. ‘It must be different.’

‘I have not time to investigate, but had I the time I do not think I would, as it was given to Celeste precisely before her delivery to me.’

‘I am your enemy just as much as Miss Temple –’

Svenson began to stand. She caught his belt. ‘Of course you are, lord – what does a woman have to do?’

‘To do, madam? To do?’

She bit back whatever tart reply she was about to make and met his eyes. The moment stretched. ‘You’re not afraid of me, are you?’

‘Of course not.’

‘No. You’re afraid of yourself.’

Svenson pursed his lips, shrugged. She relaxed her grip on his belt, and gently arched her wrist so her four fingers slipped inside the Doctor’s trousers.

‘Do you recall,’ she asked, the back of her fingers slipping into his woollen undersuit, ‘our first meeting? When we first spoke?’

Svenson’s body tensed. ‘The St Royale Hotel. I sought the Prince.’

‘And I told you where he was.’

‘Because doing so amused you. You later consigned me to death for the same reason.’

‘But you did not die.’ She studied him closely, warily. Her hand slowly slipped deeper, until her nails just traced his groin, then just as suddenly withdrew. She sat back in the chair. Her manner became brisk.

‘Robert Vandaariff has exchanged Cardinal Chang, who was mine, for Celeste Temple, who was his. Now Celeste – and you – are guests of Drusus Schoepfil –’

‘As are you.’

The Contessa let this pass as immaterial. ‘She must be freed.’

He spoke bitterly. ‘Because the child has died?’

‘What child?’

‘Francesca Trapping! And since Celeste is the other person with knowledge of your horrid book – and thus the Comte – you require her, to sacrifice her as well, to defeat him!’

‘The child is dead?’

‘You sent her to me!’ he said savagely. ‘You sent us to Mrs Kraft! What else could happen?’

The Contessa sighed. ‘I did not know.’

‘Did you care?’

‘About what?’

‘About her!’

The Contessa caught sharp hold of Svenson’s chin and pulled his face to hers.

‘Of course I didn’t!’ she hissed. ‘She was an odious and unnaturally born cast-off. She was doomed, like every girl born to ruin. The world cannot withstand them grown. Their kind makes the world pay.’

She stood, forcing Svenson back onto his heels.

‘I regret you bore the burden. And Madelaine Kraft?’

His mouth was dry. ‘Restored.’

‘Superb. If you survive, you may visit every brainless victim of Oskar’s books and make a fortune reclaiming their precious minds. A grateful nation, lacking such a bounty of overlords, will grovel at your feet.’

‘Did you know it could be done?’

She swept to the door. ‘I do now, don’t I?’

Doctor Svenson held up the handkerchief. ‘And what of this?’

The Contessa lifted her dress and kicked the door. ‘It’s yours now, Doctor. Isn’t that enough for you?’

The grenadier only just dodged from her path. He frowned with jealous disapproval at Svenson, still on the floor, and hurried after her.

Svenson paused to help the Duchess back through the oval door. Kelling had collected his papers. The footmen and the wounded soldiers had been taken away. Mr Nordling had returned with a dozen men of the court, and, though their presence had caused the Ministry men to retire – and then to join their number – Schoepfil paid them no mind. He told Kelling to be quick and sneered at Svenson’s kindness.

‘You must answer, sir,’ called Nordling, sword cane in hand. ‘You have transgressed, most gravely – and the person of Her Grace –’

‘Let him pass, Mr Nordling.’ The Duchess squeezed the Doctor’s hand as she pulled away.

‘Of course I’ll pass!’ cried Schoepfil. ‘I’ll leave the man who tries to stop me in tears!’

The Duchess spoke to the room. ‘That girl, the colonial with the Chinese name – she said the realm was under attack. The realm.’

‘O stuff,’ muttered Schoepfil. ‘On and on …’

‘Robert Vandaariff is Our Majesty’s enemy. I do not know who is strong enough to stand against him – hush, Mr Nordling, your loyalty is noted – save perhaps these criminals. Mr Schoepfil, and this Italian murderess –’

‘And that German spy,’ observed Schoepfil, ‘awaiting the noose in two lands.’

The Duchess looked to Svenson with dismay.

‘No tale is completely true, Your Grace. What can be done, will be.’ Svenson tipped his head. ‘And then – only then – will I consent to hang.’

‘Leather-skinned valise,’ growled Schoepfil. ‘Interfering sheepdog. Did you see the hairs on her chin? In her ears? Less a duchess than a horse blanket.’ He pounded on the ceiling and shouted to the coachman. ‘Run them down! There is a curfew! They are in the wrong!’

They had extracted themselves from the Therm? without issue, swift passage assured by the same duchess Schoepfil now hotly condemned.

‘To call you a criminal, sir,’ added Kelling. ‘And in such company.’

‘She will answer, Mr Kelling. Every last one will answer for every last thing. I have friends.’ Schoepfil sniffed at Svenson, who sat next to the crate of papers. ‘The way of the world, after all. Chemical equivalencies. Do you understand my meaning?’

‘Alchemy?’

‘You disapprove!’ Schoepfil laughed. ‘The fact is, so do I! And yet – and yet!’ He