prefer to have it from you rather than from the staff. Allow yourself that dignity, Miss Freemarsh. You have little enough left. And by the way, I would not let your staff go, if I were you. Employed here, they have an interest in maintaining some discretion. If they leave, it will make a great many people wonder why, and they will most certainly talk, no matter what threats you make. You are not in a good position to do anything other than maintain silence yourself. If you are not prosecuted for anything, you will be in a comfortable financial situation, and free to conduct yourself as you please.”
Her eyes widened a little.
“Who else was here?” he pressed.
“Lord Tregarron.” It was little more than a whisper.
“Why?”
“I beg your pardon?”
“Why was Lord Tregarron here? To see you, or to see Mrs. Montserrat? I assume it was both, or you would not have been so reluctant to say so.”
She cleared her throat. “Yes.”
“Why did he wish to see Mrs. Montserrat? Were they friends?”
She hesitated.
He did not ask again.
“No,” she said at last, speaking in gasps as if it caused her an almost physical pain. “His calling on her was … an excuse. I’m not certain if he was interested in me-he pretended to be-or in Aunt Serafina and her recollections.”
“He spent time talking to her?”
“Not … much. I …” She breathed in and out several times, struggling to control her emotions. “I had the feeling that he did not like her, but that he wished to hide it. But not merely from good manners, or to spare my feelings because she was my aunt.”
“Thank you,” he said sincerely. “Did he express any interest in Mr. or Mrs. Blantyre?”
“Not … more than I would expect …” She trailed off again.
“I understand. Thank you, Miss Freemarsh. I think that is all, at least for the time being. I would like to speak to Miss Tucker now.”
Tucker confirmed all that Nerissa had said, including several visits from Tregarron, over the period of the last four or five weeks.
Pitt thanked her and left. He walked back to Lisson Grove with his mind in turmoil. The heart of this case was no longer anything to do with Serafina’s death, or Adriana, but two other matters.
The first and most urgent was the question of Evan Blantyre’s loyalties. Had he given Pitt the information regarding Duke Alois out of loyalty to the Austrian Empire, which it seemed he had never lost, in spite of working for the British government? If that was so, and his betrayal of Lazar Dragovic, and the later murders of Serafina and Adriana, were to preserve the unity at the heart of Europe, then his information would be safe for Pitt to rely on. He could deal with Blantyre’s prosecution and conviction after Duke Alois had come and gone.
If, on the other hand, Blantyre had some other purpose, his information about Duke Alois was very far from reliable.
And then the other obvious question arose: After Duke Alois left, what was Pitt going to do about Blantyre? What could he do? What evidence was there? He had no doubt now that Blantyre had killed Serafina and Adriana, but he doubted that there was sufficient proof to convict a man of such prominence and high reputation.
But that would have to wait. It was two days until the duke crossed the Channel and landed in England. Murder, however tragic, would pale beside the effects of a political assassination in London.
Pitt checked in with Stoker at Lisson Grove. Then, after one or two items of urgent business, he left again and took a hansom to Blantyre’s office. In spite of his bereavement, Blantyre had chosen to continue working. Duke Alois’s visit could not be put off; there were arrangements to make and details to be attended to, and Blantyre, with his intimate and affectionate knowledge of Austria, was the best man for the job.
“Anything further?” Blantyre asked as he sat down in his large chair close to the fire. He poured whisky for both of them without bothering to ask. In spite of it being the middle of March, it was a bitter day outside, and they were both tired and cold.
“Yes,” Pitt answered, accepting the exquisite glass, but putting it down on the small table to his right without drinking from it. “I now know who killed Serafina, and why. But then so do you.” He watched Blantyre’s sensitive, haggard face and saw not a flicker in it, not even a change in his eyes.
“And who killed Mrs. Blantyre,” Pitt continued. “But again, so do you.”
This time there was a twitch of pain, which Pitt believed was perfectly real. Blantyre must have hated killing her, but had known that if he himself were to survive, then he had no alternative. Adriana would never forgive him for her father’s death, and maybe not for Serafina’s either. Even if she told no one, he would never be able to sleep again if she was in the house; perhaps not eat or drink. He would always be aware of her watching him. His mind would run riot imagining what she felt for him now and when she would lose control and erupt into action.
Pitt went on levelly. “I also know who betrayed Lazar Dragovic to the Austrians, which of course was the beginning of all this.”
“It was necessary,” Blantyre said almost conversationally. They could have been discussing the dismissal of an old but ineffectual servant.
“Perhaps you don’t understand that,” he went on. “You are a man of reason and deduction who comes to conclusions, and leaves it for others to do something about those conclusions. My father was like that. Clever. And he cared. But never enough to do anything that risked his own moral comfort.” Bitterness filled his face and all but choked his voice. “Whoever lived or died, he must always be able to sleep at night!”
Pitt did not answer.
Blantyre leaned forward in his chair, still holding the whisky glass in his hand. He looked steadily at Pitt. “The Austrian Empire lies at the heart of Europe. We have discussed this before. I tried to explain to you how complex it is, but it seems you are a ‘little Englander’ at heart. I like you, but God help you, you have no vision. You are a provincial man. Britain’s empire covers most of the globe, in patches here and there: Britain itself, Gibraltar, Malta, Egypt, Sudan, most of Africa all the way to the Cape, territories in the Middle East, India, Burma, Hong Kong, Shanghai, Borneo, the whole subcontinent of Australia, New Zealand, Canada, and islands in every ocean on Earth. The sun never sets on it.”
Pitt stirred.
Temper flared in Blantyre’s eyes. “Austria is completely different! Apart from the Austrian Netherlands, it stretches in one continuous landmass from parts of Germany in the northwest to Ukraine in the east, south to most of Romania, north again as far down the Adriatic coast as Ragusa, then west through Croatia and northern Italy into Switzerland. There are twelve main languages there, the richest, most original culture, scientific discoveries in every field of human endeavor … but it is fragile!”
His hands jerked up, and apart, as if he were encompassing some kind of explosion with his strong fingers.
“Its genius means that it is also liable to be torn apart by the very nature of the ideas it creates, the individuality of its people. The new nations of Italy and Germany, born in turmoil and still testing their strength, are tearing at the fabric of order. Italy is chaotic; it always has been.”
Pitt smiled in spite of himself.
“Germany is altogether a different matter,” Blantyre went on with intense seriousness. “It is sleek and dangerous. Its government is not chaotic; anything but. It is highly organized and militarily brilliant. It will not be contained against its will for long.”
“Germany is not part of the Austrian Empire,” Pitt pointed out. “It has a language in common, and a certain culture, but not an identity. Austria will never swallow it; it will not allow that.”
“For God’s sake, Pitt, wake up!” Blantyre was nearly shouting now. “If Austria fractures or loses control of its possessions, or if there is an uprising in the east that is successful enough to be dangerous, Vienna will have to make reprisals, or lose everything. If there is trouble in northern Italy it hardly matters, but if it is in one of the Slavic possessions, like Croatia or Serbia, then it will turn to Russia for help. They are blood brothers, and Russia will not need more than an excuse to come to their aid. And then teutonic Germany will have found the justification
