The Chemickal Marriage

‘Are you any different?’

‘I never had to seek,’ she replied tartly.

‘Is this about Miss Temple?’ Chang asked. ‘You mention the Indies –’

‘She is from the Indies. To her, we are the Dreamland – if more vaguely apprehended. But her obvious dissatisfaction here makes my point. One avoids Africa, Cardinal, because Africa will unfailingly disappoint. New horizons are always seen through one’s old set of eyes.’

‘But you are a traveller. When were you last in Venice? Or wherever you called home?’

‘I am home every minute of the day.’

Chang bit off his reply. For the first time in his experience, the Contessa di Lacquer-Sforza was behaving like a conventionally galling woman.

‘You are frightened,’ he said.

‘Of Oskar Veilandt? Cardinal, I am tired. And hungry.’ The tone underscoring this last made perfectly clear that the Contessa was not talking of her dinner. ‘Why, are you afraid?’

‘Not for myself.’

‘Pah. You are exactly as noble as a cart-horse.’ She plucked the shoulder of Chang’s scarlet coat. ‘Did you actually murder a priest?’

‘I did not need to.’

‘Are you willing to murder Oskar?’

‘Of course.’

‘And if he promises to save your life?’

‘I would not believe him. My life is forfeit – and along with me, how many others? The city? The nation?’

‘When I am dead, Cardinal, cities and nations can go hang.’

Chang saw she was smiling and immediately became wary. ‘Have we arrived?’

‘Near enough … we are certainly observed.’

Chang saw only the same well-tended streets. ‘Observed by whom?’

‘To answer that is the reason I am here. I was not asked to accompany you – merely to deliver you to their hands.’

‘If you had simply sent me off, I might not have cooperated.’

‘If you were going to abandon Miss Temple, you would have done so earlier, when you could have pummelled Jack Pfaff raw. No, apart from the splendour of your company, I have come to see who else does Oskar’s bidding.’

‘And is this the house of someone you know?’

She looked at him quizzically, and then nodded towards a white-painted mansion at the end of the street. ‘I thought you had been here. It was where he worked on Angelique.’

Chang sighed, recalling too vividly the abandoned greenhouse and its bloodstained bed. ‘I did not realize we had walked so far. The house is improved – from the rear it looked a shambles.’

‘Vandaariff money. And he is a resurrectionist.’

‘What stops them from shooting us dead in the street?’

‘How do you ever manage to feed yourself? If there are two people Robert Vandaariff is more keen to preserve than ourselves, I cannot name them. No, whoever he has charged will emerge, and then I will better know my enemies.’

‘At which point you will saunter away? Why not take you as well, if he desires you so ardently?’

‘Well, that is Oskar. I would end his life the first chance I had, but he will ever postpone. He has pretensions to theatre.’

‘Like the Chemickal Marriage?’

She did not answer, for the white door of the mansion opened and a dozen green-coated soldiers poured forth. Behind them came a man whose Ministry-black topcoat belied his young face and fair hair. He stabbed an arm at the Contessa.

‘That woman is wanted by the Crown! Seize her!’

Four soldiers broke forward. Chang only raised his hands.

The Contessa’s nostrils flared with rage. ‘I will cut off that man’s –’ But then the soldiers had seized her arms.

‘The pride – the pride of it!’ Harcourt’s voice shook. ‘Truly, madam, are you so brazen? So arrogant to think no one might withstand you?’

‘Release her.’

Foison stood far away in the open door, but his voice stopped the soldiers cold. Harcourt stamped up the steps like a schoolboy.

‘I beg your pardon! I am Deputy to the Privy Council – and this woman – this woman –’

‘Release her.’

‘Do you know Mr Foison?’ Chang ventured.

‘I had hoped he would be elsewhere,’ replied the Contessa. ‘But now I prize him above all other minions.’

It was clear that Harcourt was terrified of Foison, but the young man had enough pride – at least for his office – to stand firm. ‘This woman is a murderer, a spy, a saboteur –’

‘There is an arrangement,’ Foison corrected him, menacingly calm. ‘If that woman steps through these doors – I do hope you understand me – you will answer for Lord Vandaariff’s displeasure.’

Harcourt wavered. ‘But – but surely she may be brought in – or if not brought in – surely remanded to the Marcelline –’

‘No.’

Harcourt wavered and in the silence his authority gave way. The Contessa gently extracted herself from the soldiers. Harcourt wheeled to her, his slim hands balled to fists.

‘It is not finished, madam! You will be taken – you will be hanged!’

The Contessa whispered to Chang, ‘Au revoir. Remember your pledge.’

‘Remember yours.’

‘Celeste Temple will be delivered to Doctor Svenson.’

‘Alive.’

The Contessa laughed. ‘Stickler.’ She dipped her head and walked away.

Chang knew she was lying, and that Celeste would be delivered to whomever the Contessa found most advantageous, or – in the absence of any advantage at all – to a grave. It made managing his mission now all the more vital. He noted with satisfaction a bruise below Foison’s eye.

Foison relieved Chang of his stick, tugged it open and studied the blade. Chang gestured at her receding figure. ‘If only my stick were half as deadly.’

One corner of Foison’s mouth twitched to acknowledge the remark. Ignoring Harcourt, Foison nodded to the soldiers and Chang was escorted inside.

The renovations were not limited to the exterior. The carpets had been piled against a wall, and the floorboards were slippery with plaster dust. Harcourt disappeared with Foison deeper into the house. Despite a slammed door, their muffled argument reached Chang where he waited. He turned to his nearest guard.

‘A soldier cannot love taking orders from a rich man’s secretary – especially a man like that. An Asiatic.’

‘Aren’t you a Chinaman yourself?’

‘That’s why I know.’

The soldier peered more closely at Chang. ‘Are you a Chinaman?’

Foison reappeared, still carrying Chang’s stick. ‘Hold his arms. Search him.’

The findings were presented to Foison, arrayed on the green-coat’s open palms like a tray: razor, money,