Or Vespasia? Or anyone? Above all these, what would he learn about himself? How would it change him from who he was now? Was Blantyre right that his inner comfort was what he cared about most, in the end?
He was walking rapidly, not certain where he was going. He was less than half a mile from the part of the Foreign Office where Jack worked. There were no secrets left about Blantyre. Pitt knew the worst. But the resolution as to what to do was lost in the turmoil of his own mind.
Vespasia knew from the moment Victor Narraway came into her sitting room that he had serious news. His face was pinched with anxiety, and he looked cold, even though it was a comparatively mild evening.
Without realizing she was doing so, she rose to greet him.
“What is it, Victor? What has happened?”
His hands were chill when he took hers, briefly, but she did not pull away.
“I have learned something further about Serafina, which I am afraid may be more serious than I had supposed. Tregarron visited Dorchester Terrace several times. I thought at first it was primarily to see Nerissa …”
“Nerissa?” For an instant she wanted to laugh at the idea, then the impulse died. “Really? It seems an eccentric idea. Are you sure?”
“No, I’m not sure. Men do sometimes have the oddest tastes in affairs. But now I believe that Nerissa was the excuse and Serafina the reason.”
“She was at least a generation older than he, and there is no proof, in fact, not even a suggestion, that they knew each other,” she pointed out.
“But his father knew Serafina,” Narraway said grimly, watching her face. “Very well.”
“Oh. Oh, dear. Yes, I see. And you are assuming that perhaps Serafina was indiscreet about that too. Or perhaps others were able to deduce that the present Lord Tregarron was visiting for fear of her saying something unfortunate. Who is he protecting, though? His father’s reputation? Is his mother still alive?”
“Yes. She is very old, but apparently quite clear in her mind.” His expression was sad and gentle. “What a devil of a burden it is to know so many secrets. How much safer it would be to understand nothing, to see all manner of things before you, and never add it up so you perceive the meaning.”
It was not necessary for either of them to say more. Each carried his or her own burden of knowledge, differently gained but perhaps equally heavy.
They sat by the fire for a few more moments, then he rose and wished her good night.
But when he left, going out into the mild, blustery wind, Vespasia remained sitting beside the last of the fire, thinking about what he had said. Of course Tregarron would rather his mother never heard of her husband’s affair with Serafina, on the assumption that she did not already know. But it did not seem a sufficient motive for Tregarron to make quite so many visits to see Serafina; surely there was something else, possibly something about that affair uglier and more dangerous than just unfaithfulness?
She must make her own inquiries. The day after tomorrow Duke Alois Habsburg would land in Dover. There was no time to spare for subtlety. It was not a thought she wished to face, but she knew who she must ask for this possibly dangerous piece of knowledge. She had reached the point where the price of evasion would be greater than that of asking.
Vespasia alighted in Cavendish Square the next morning at a quarter to ten. It had been a long time-over two decades-since she had last seen Bishop Magnus Collier. He was a little older than she, and had retired several years earlier.
The footman who answered the door had no idea who she was. She offered her card, telling him that she was an old acquaintance and the matter was of extreme urgency.
He looked doubtful.
“His lordship would not be amused should you leave me standing on the step in the street,” she said coldly.
He invited her in and, in a manner no more than civil, showed her to a morning room where the fire was not yet lit. It was fifteen very cool minutes before he returned, pink-faced, and conducted her into the bishop’s study. There, the fire was burning well, and the warmth in the air wrapped around her comfortingly.
She accepted the offer of tea, and occupied herself looking at the rows of bookshelves. Many of the titles she was familiar with from long ago, though they were works she had never read herself. She found the writings of most of the very early Church fathers more than a trifle pompous.
She heard the door open and close and turned to find Bishop Collier standing just inside, a curious smile on his lean face. He was very thin, and far grayer than when they had last met, but the warmth in his eyes had not changed.
“All my life it has been a pleasure to see you,” he said quietly. “But I am concerned that you say it is a matter of such urgency. It must be, to bring you here, after our last parting. What can I do to help?”
“I’m sorry,” she said softly, and she meant it. The impossible feelings they had once had for each other were no longer there, but it had still been wise for them to decide not to meet again. They had to consider the perceptions of the outside world.
He gestured toward the chairs near the fire and they both sat. She arranged her skirts with a practiced hand, in a single, graceful movement.
“Perhaps you read that Serafina Montserrat died recently?” she began.
“Time is catching up with us rather more rapidly than I expected,” he said ruefully. “But perhaps that is its nature, and ours is to be taken by surprise by what was utterly predictable. But I’m sure you did not come to discuss the nature of time and its peculiar elastic qualities. I hope her passing was easy. She was a remarkable woman. She would have faced death with courage. I would be surprised if it had the temerity to inconvenience her overmuch.”
Vespasia smiled in spite of herself. She was reminded sharply of what it was in him that she had liked so much, and why they had decided to stay apart.
“I think it was simply a matter of going to sleep and not waking again,” she replied. “The part of it that brings me here is that the sleep was the result of having been given a massive overdose of laudanum.”
All the light vanished from his face. He leaned forward a little. “Are you saying that it was given to her without her knowledge, or that she took it herself, intending to die? I find the latter very difficult to believe.”
“No, that isn’t what I am saying. She rambled in her mind, sometimes forgot what year it was, or to whom she was speaking, which caused her profound anxiety. She was worried she would accidentally let slip a confidence that could do much damage.” She recalled the terror on Serafina’s face with acute pain. “She did make such slips, and she was murdered because of it.”
He shook his head. “Are you certain beyond doubt?”
“Yes. But that is not why I have come. My concern is with one of the secrets she let slip, and the damage it could cause now.”
“What can I do to help?” He looked puzzled.
“The secret concerns an affair she had very many years ago, with the late Lord Tregarron.” She stopped, seeing the change in his face, the sudden darkness. It would be impossible now for him to deny that he was bitterly aware of what it was she was going to ask.
“I cannot repeat to you things that were told to me in confidence,” he said. “Surely you know better than to ask?”
“There is a very slight deviousness in you, Magnus,” she said with a curve of her lips that was almost a smile. “Anything Tregarron might have told you may be confidential, although the man has been dead for years. What Serafina told you, though, I doubt was in the nature of confession. Is keeping confidence about an old affair really so very important that we can allow it to cost a man his life now? And, if the worst comes to pass, it may be more than one life at stake.”
“Surely you are exaggerating?” he demurred, but there was no conviction in his eyes.
This time she did smile. “You are not built for deceit, Magnus.”
“What is it that you imagine I am hiding, Vespasia?” he asked.
“A truth that is a great deal uglier than a mere indiscretion,” she replied.
“He was married,” he pointed out reasonably. “It was a betrayal of his vows to his wife.”
