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Soon after John’s departure, Toby left for the Foreign Office. As he approached the area of Whitehall, he wasn’t sure what his reception would be with Gervase Quinn. Their relationship had so far been very informal, Quinn calling on Toby for the occasional bit of translation.
He and Magnus were both uncertain what they would say if they were asked if a specific man or woman had attended one of their soirées. Some of their guests were in positions of power, or married to someone of the opposite sex, and news of their unnatural attraction might greatly damage their lives.
In this situation, however, Quinn already knew about Lord Therkenwell and Raoul Desjardins, because of the missive that had been intercepted, and perhaps the office’s own surveillance. As long as he wasn’t required to provide any other names, Toby felt on secure ground there.
But would Quinn accept their willingness to intercede in this affair, to protect both John and Raoul? From what Magnus had told him, governments tended to tread heavily on the rights of individuals when national security was at stake.
As always, he felt a thrill of connection to his country in the white stone building with its arched and pilastered balconies and Greek statues on the roof. He had been told that the use of rich decoration was intended to impress foreign visitors, and it worked for him, too.
He entered the main quadrangle, under the ornately carved ceiling of classical Greek figures, with its interlocking circular skylights. He gave his name to a porter and was despatched to Gervase Quinn’s office, a small room with a window overlooking the street.
He rapped lightly on the door frame and Quinn looked up. “Oh, good, Marsh. Have you deciphered that message? Dashed complicated.” He waved Toby to a chair across from him.
“Lord Dawson and I worked together on it.” He pulled a folded paper from his pocket and passed it across to Quinn.
“But this is today,” Quinn said, after he had read the translation.
“Indeed. We had no time to notify you before the rendezvous, so Lord Dawson and I went to the intersection of Swallow Street and Vine Street.” He leaned forward. “Before I tell you what we witnessed, may I ask how you intercepted this message? I don’t want to waste your time duplicating what you already know.”
“We have had a certain group of Frenchmen under surveillance for some time,” Quinn said. “One of our operatives has been able to monitor various pieces of correspondence.”
“Would that involve a Frenchwoman called Louise Wickes?”
Quinn looked at him closely. “You have been clever.”
“You are aware, of course, of the soirées that Lord Dawson and I host. One of our guests has been Lord Therkenwell, whose father is Earl Badgely.”
“We intercepted the message on its way to Wickes, and had it copied before it was passed on to her. You’re saying that Therkenwell was the other recipient? And that he was the one who met with Wickes?”
Toby nodded. “Wickes handed him a bauble, an earring in the girandole form. Then I followed Wickes to Piccadilly, where she hailed a carriage. I was able to discover the address she gave to the driver. Number nine New Burlington Street. We are given to understand that she works for a dressmaker there called Madame Swaebe.”
Quinn nodded. “We’ve uncovered that. Do you know any more about her?”
“Lord Dawson followed Lord Therkenwell from the rendezvous, and met up with him as they both exited the Man in the Moon Passage.” He relayed what Therkenwell had told Magnus as well as what Raoul had told John. That Georges Morvan of the French embassy had identified her as a good prospect to seduce Earl Badgely, and that she had been successful.
“You see, it is a very delicate situation,” Toby said. “A double case of blackmail. With your permission, Lord Dawson and I would like to pursue some inquiries before involving your office.”
Quinn sat back in his chair. “What kind of inquiries?”
“What can you tell me about the Earl’s involvement with the Committee for British West Africa?”
“Are you familiar with the explorer David Livingstone?” Quinn asked in return.
“In passing,” Toby said. “I don’t see what that has to do with the current situation, though.”
“Livingstone described his work using three C’s: commerce, Christianity, and civilization. There is a fourth, however, and that connects us to the group behind Madame Wickes. And that C stands for conquest. Ultimately, who will conquer the dark continent, and control the riches we know hide within?”
Toby nodded. “So the Committee for British West Africa is a veiled attempt at such?”
“Not so veiled,” Quinn said. “However their work has gone largely sub rosa. It is our belief that the French would like to know more about their operation, and seek to dissuade the powers that be—in the person of Earl Badgely—to abandon hopes of colonization and conquest, and leave the bulk of the territory to French control.”
“Hence the attempt to blackmail the Earl through first his son, and now his mistress.”
“Exactly.” Quinn steepled his hands. “The question is how the Foreign Office should proceed. The earl is a powerful man, and not one we would like to have as an enemy. Nor are we willing to expose his all too human frailties to the public.”
“All the more reason to allow Lord Dawson and me to dig around before you take any official action.”
“I can give you a very brief dossier on what we have already learned about this group,” Quinn said. “Though I don’t know what you will be able to do with it.”
Toby smiled. “As you have noted in the past, Lord Dawson and I have some connections outside polite society. It is possible we will be able to come up with a solution that would preserve reputations, while still acting in the best efforts of her majesty’s government.”
Even as he spoke those words, Toby worried that they might get in trouble protecting John when he had made himself so vulnerable to foreign efforts. Their relationship with the Foreign Office was a tentative one, and their reputations and their livelihoods rested on staying in the Office’s good graces.
There was also the question of John himself. Was he smarter than he appeared? Could he be playing himself and Magnus in support of a greater, more personal game?
He walked out, wondering how on earth he and Magnus could manage to find a solution to a problem with more thorns than a bed of roses.
