who can spare the time to go with you. You’ll have to be discreet about considering an Austrian subject possibly responsible for murder.” Her face darkened again. “I don’t know how you will be able to bring him back to London. Perhaps it doesn’t matter, if you could show that he is guilty—or even that it is extremely likely . . .” She stopped. They all knew that an acquittal for lack of proof would ruin Kristian. He would be free, but only physically. Emotionally, he would be imprisoned in suspicion for the rest of his life. It was a mark of how desperate they were that they even considered it.
Hester glanced at Callandra and then away again. Monk saw her do it, and knew how intrusive and helpless she felt. And yet he had racked his mind over what they might do, even the most ridiculous things, and nothing was better than this.
“I’ll go as soon as I’ve spoken to Kristian and you’ve written some letters of introduction for me,” he promised. “And if Pendreigh knows anyone, you are right, it might help.”
“You’ll ask about Niemann, his character, his reputation, especially with women, won’t you?” Callandra urged. “Someone is bound to know if he had a temper, if he was obsessive about Elissa. There may be stories about the past that someone will know.” Her voice was gathering speed, a semblance of conviction in her face. “If he really loved her all that time, as Kristian says, then his closest friends will be aware of it. You’ll have to be careful, of course. They won’t want to believe ill of him, and certainly not to—”
“Callandra!” he interrupted her. “I know what is necessary. I’ll do all that. I’ll even bring people back to testify, if I find anything worth telling the court. I promise.”
She colored very faintly, but she was not ashamed. The slight treading on someone else’s feelings was not even noticeable, far less did it matter. She could think of only one thing—proving that Kristian could be innocent. “I’m sorry,” she said briefly. “I wish I were coming with you, but someone must be here, apart from Pendreigh, to see to all that must be done.” She did not add “and to pay,” but they all knew it was so.
“It is very well you are not,” Monk said crisply. “I don’t need my elbow jogged every time I open my mouth.”
She gave him a sharp look, but there was a vestige of the old humor in it, which was what he had intended to draw from her, even though he meant every word of the remark.
They parted, Hester to make enquiries as to the best way to travel to Vienna and, with money from Callandra, to make the necessary bookings. Monk himself went to see Kristian and ask for as much guidance as he could obtain, and Callandra left to see Pendreigh and secure all the assistance he could offer.
It was now late afternoon and the fog was returning, but she was perfectly prepared to wait for him as long as necessary.
She was received by the footman with civility and told with exaggerated patience that Mr. Pendreigh was unable to receive her without an appointment. He was engaged on a case of great importance and could not be interrupted.
Callandra forced herself to be courteous, putting a smile on her face which felt like something painted on a mask. “Naturally. However, if you give him a note, which I will write, if you are good enough to lend me a pen and paper, I believe that he will wish to make time for me.”
“Madam . . .”
“Are you empowered to make family decisions for Mr. Pendreigh?” she asked, her politeness suddenly icy.
“Well . . .”
“I thought not. Be so good as to oblige me and I shall write to him, and he can decide as he will.”
The pen and paper were forthcoming, and she wrote a brief note:
My dear Mr. Pendreigh,
I am about to dispatch William Monk to Vienna to trace all possible leads in the matter which concerns us both. This must be done with the greatest haste, for reasons you will appreciate as well as I.
Unfortunately, I have no friends in that city, and am therefore unable to call upon assistance for him myself. Therefore, if you have any advice or practical help to offer, I should be most profoundly grateful for it. I am in the outer room of your offices, and await your reply, in order to carry it to Monk before he departs tonight.
Yours most sincerely,
Callandra Daviot
The response was immediate. A very startled footman returned and conducted her to the study, where Pendreigh rose to his feet, coming around the desk to greet her. He had obviously dismissed another matter in order to see her again. There were papers all over his magnificent walnut desk. The room smelled of cigar smoke, almost dizzying Callandra with old memories of her husband and his friends, long evenings of argument and conversation, talk of war and medicine and the lunacy of politicians.
But that was the past. The present crowded in, dismissing everything else.
“So, Monk has agreed to go to Vienna?” he said eagerly. “That is the best news I have heard in . . . days! I am loath to think it could be Niemann, but what other explanation is there? Runcorn assures me it is not debt,” he said, glossing over the euphemism. “And since apparently it cannot be Allardyce, it seems the only explanation left.” His face was tense, his eyes hot blue, as if emotions burned behind them he could neither hide nor share, but they seemed to consume him from within. “Lady Callandra, my daughter was an extraordinary woman.” His voice shook a little. “If Monk can learn the details of her time in Vienna, of those who loved her, and perhaps envied her, he may well find the key to what happened in Acton Street. She was a woman of the kind of brilliance, a fire that arouses —”
“He will need help.” She cut across his emotions gently, and only because time did not allow them. “Someone who knows the city and can interpret for him so that he can find the people he needs and ask what he has to in language precise and subtle enough for the answers to have meaning.”
“Yes, yes, of course,” he agreed with slight self-consciousness for his emotion. “Naturally. I shall write to the British ambassador. He is a friend of mine, not close, but we have done each other favors in the past. He will not hesitate to provide someone to assist. I daresay he will have friends who were there thirteen years ago and will be familiar with the circumstances of the uprising. Monk will not find it difficult. Elissa will never be forgotten.” His eyes shone, and for a moment the last few weeks were washed away. His voice was soft. “If he could bring back an account of how she was then, of her courage, her love of the people and how she inspired them to fight, to sacrifice
