The Chemickal Marriage

pertinent to its fate than a blood-stuffed tick is to a cart-horse.’

‘Mr Schoepfil! No matter whose nephew –’

‘My uncle will not survive this night. You do not want me for an enemy. Step aside.’

The Duchess did not move. The soldiers behind Schoepfil stood ready. Miss Temple sought Doctor Svenson, but Svenson’s eyes met hers as if from a great distance – not cold so much as uninflected. She swallowed with dismay. Had he given up?

She went to her toes and whispered to the footmen.‘You must open the door and pull the Duchess through.’ They did not reply, but one shifted his weight nearer the iron wheel.

‘You cannot pass,’ the Duchess insisted. ‘Her Majesty is within.’

‘O she is not,’ retorted Schoepfil.

‘Mr Schoepfil, your insolence paints no good prospect for your future at court.’

Schoepfil’s eyes gleamed. The man found real delight in such contests of will, but hesitated to use force against the Duchess. However, though he would not attack, nor would he leave – and should the door open, he would push through. A soldier loosened his sword in its scabbard. The courtiers with Nordling inched backwards. Doctor Svenson looked at the floor, as if to confirm his altered heart.

What lay behind the oval door that could be so important?

That Schoepfil believed the Contessa could be within spoke to the woman having insinuated herself more deeply into the Queen’s household than anyone had suspected. If Lady Axewith had employed the Contessa as a confidante, perhaps she’d managed a similar intimacy here, with this Lord Pont-Joule or – was it possible – even with the Queen? Why else had the Duchess come to this room but to answer her own fears? At once Miss Temple saw that to allow Schoepfil’s entry – for he would take hold of whatever evidence he found – was to grant him unspeakable leverage: proof that a murderer had been granted favour by the Crown.

‘This man should be under arrest!’ Miss Temple pointed an accusing finger at Schoepfil. ‘He is a threat to Her Majesty’s person! Your duty is clear! Unless you are all cowards –’

Mr Kelling dropped his crate with a crash and reached into his topcoat. He yanked out a shining short- barrelled revolver, but no sooner had Kelling extended his arm than the weapon sprung from his hand and Kelling split the air with a shriek. Mr Nordling had pulled apart his cane and thrust its thin blade into Kelling’s wrist. The Ministry men retreated, taking no side. Schoepfil roared with rage and struck Nordling three times across the face before the courtier could bring his weapon to bear. Kelling tripped over his crate and went down, holding his wounded limb. The soldiers swept out their sabres. The courtiers leapt to Nordling’s defence and were struck repeatedly in turn. The footmen shoved Miss Temple aside and turned the iron wheel.

A shot rang out and Miss Temple flinched at the spray of plaster from the splintered ceiling. Doctor Svenson held Kelling’s revolver.

Svenson aimed at the troopers, then swung the barrel at Schoepfil. ‘The first to make a move will die … and probably the second.’ He addressed the soldiers, nodding to Schoepfil. ‘Perhaps this man is worth your lives – if so, you are welcome to come at me.’

‘You wouldn’t dare,’ called Schoepfil. ‘This is murder.’

Svenson ignored him. ‘The case, Mr Kelling. Slide it across the floor.’

‘Do nothing of the sort!’ shouted Schoepfil.

Svenson extended the pistol towards Kelling and drew back the hammer with his thumb. ‘Look at me, Mr Kelling.’

Kelling’s face was white, and he turned guiltily to his employer, who sputtered and threw up his hands. ‘Lord above, this cuts it!’ Schoepfil protested. ‘This cuts it fine!’

Kelling made to push the leather case to Svenson, but the Doctor nodded at Miss Temple. ‘Not to me. To her.’

Kelling slid the case to Miss Temple’s feet. Behind her the Duchess had passed through the oval doorway, but stood watching.

‘Of all the idiocy,’ declared Schoepfil.

Svenson returned his aim to the soldiers. ‘Lay your blades on the floor …’

But the soldiers did not move. Instead, each took a careful step away from the other, and extended their sabres, measuring the distance they would need to cut Svenson down.

‘Well, then,’ said the Doctor. ‘That’s clear enough. Anyone who wants to leave, I would suggest it. Stray shots, you know.’

‘Any man who leaves is dead,’ cried Schoepfil, a smile playing again on his lips. ‘At least to my favour.’

The Ministry men glanced at one another, but did not flee. The courtiers stood next to Nordling, who dabbed a bloody nose with his shirt-cuff. Svenson tightened his grip on the pistol. ‘Celeste, please go. Seal the door behind you.’

‘Come with me,’ she whispered.

‘Give my best wishes to Her Majesty. All of Macklenburg is at her service.’

She had not noticed Schoepfil moving – or he simply moved too quickly – but then the wooden crate was in the air. Svenson dodged and the missile smashed into the footman who had opened the door, a hammer blow that filled the air with fluttering paper and knocked the footman flat. Miss Temple jumped through the door. The Doctor’s pistol roared, three rapid shots – cries of anger and pain – but before she could see, the second footman shoved the oval door closed and spun the wheel, sealing Miss Temple and the Duchess tight.

The room was silent, not a trace of the mayhem outside piercing through. Miss Temple found a heavy iron candelabrum and wedged it hard into the door’s inner wheel. She turned to the Duchess, still stunned to immobility.

‘Is Her Majesty truly here?’

‘Of course not. These rooms belong to Lord Pont-Joule.’ The Duchess led her into a strange octagonal room whose every side held another of the oval doors.

‘They are tunnels,’ declared Miss Temple. ‘Spy tunnels to listen or watch.’

‘With so many passages carved over the years for so many different baths, Pont-Joule thought he might exploit the fact for Her Majesty’s safety.’

‘Didn’t the Contessa say Pont-Joule had been killed as well?’

‘Quelle coincidence,’ the Duchess muttered drily. Both women spun to a wrench of metal at the entry door. The obstructing candelabrum held the wheel in place.

‘It will not be long,’ said the Duchess. ‘The Contessa was Pont-Joule’s lover. If she did not pass through any guard post, and I trust Mr Schoepfil’s intelligence –’

‘I beg your pardon,’ said Miss Temple, ‘but I believe it is more than that – that her audience with the Queen was at least in part an excuse to come here, to this very room.’

‘Why? Just to escape?’

‘No. I believe Lord Pont-Joule, without his knowledge, gave her a place to hide a thing she could not keep on her person.’

‘What thing?’

Miss Temple set the leather case on a side table and snapped it open. The Duchess gasped at the shining blue glass book.

‘Good Lord … I heard whispers …’

Miss Temple quickly shut the case. ‘I do not know where Doctor Svenson found this, nor what it might contain, but the Contessa has in her possession another book, and her attempts to use it may kill us all.’

The door was jolted again.

‘Where do the tunnels go?’ asked Miss Temple.

‘They all go to the baths.’

‘No, where do they exit?’

‘They don’t. In one or two cases, there is an outlet elsewhere in the house –’

‘She needs to leave the house.’

The Duchess nodded. ‘I know. It makes no sense. Unless …’

An arm of the candelabrum snapped like a gunshot. The wheel lurched halfway round.

‘Unless what?’ demanded Miss Temple.

The Duchess indicated a door by a daybed. ‘That way leads to the spring itself –’