When I got to Gore House on Wednesday afternoon Lady Blessington was the nearest I’d ever seen her to frantic. She hurried out of the library to meet me.
‘What’s happening? Is there to be an inquest? Nobody’s telling us anything. Alfred’s dreadfully concerned. Coffee, or would you prefer sherry? I don’t even know what time it is.’
I settled for coffee. We drank it in the library and I told her about the inquest.
‘But that’s absurd. Of course the police know who he was. We told them.’
‘The police think Lesparre’s a nom de guerre,’ I said.
‘Well, it might have been for all I know. Alfred and I have been discussing it. I asked him how much he actually knew about the poor man.’
‘And how much did he know?’
‘Well, not a great deal when it came to it.’
Which pretty well confirmed my view of Count D’Orsay, though I tried not to let it show. ‘He did remember meeting Lesparre in the prince’s company?’
‘Vaguely, yes, but with quite a few other people. Of course, there always was quite a gathering around Prince Louis and it was changing all the time depending on who was in town. The prince knew he had carte blanche to bring any of his friends to my soirees. Lesparre wouldn’t have needed a particular invitation.’
‘But you didn’t talk about his background?’
‘My dear, would you? You don’t start quizzing a person about his family history the moment he’s introduced to you. Besides, there were so many of them and I daresay I picked up at once that he wasn’t going to be especially entertaining, which he wasn’t. Alfred spoke to him more than I did.’
‘And gathered much about him?’
She shook her head. ‘As far as I remember, Alfred said he had family estates near Bordeaux and his grandfather had been guillotined in the revolution, but then so many of them were. He seemed very attached to the prince.’
‘Did the prince regard him as a close friend?’
‘No. He certainly wasn’t one of the inner circle. But poor Louis is always charming to everybody.’
It struck me that poor Louis would now be exercising his charm on his gaolers and possibly in the near future on a firing squad. ‘So you’d seen this man perhaps twice before he turned up at your gates with his valet and this story about escaping from Boulogne with the papers?’
She poured more coffee. ‘My dear, you’re leading up to something, aren’t you?’
‘Has it struck you that he might have been a spy?’
She took it more calmly than I expected. ‘Yes. In fact, I discussed it with Alfred. He won’t have it, of course. Men are so tribal, don’t you find? If a man wears the right clothes, moves in the right places, is seen with the right people, then there can’t be anything wrong with him. And of course they do hate admitting they might have been deceived.’
‘Did you get as far as deciding which side he might be spying for?’
‘Oh, the French government, wouldn’t you say? They’d love to find any proof that our Foreign Office had been encouraging poor Prince Louis to do what he did, especially if Palmerston himself were involved. And of course, he and the prince did meet here now and again.’
‘Palmerston and Prince Louis talked to each other?’
‘Of course they did. There’d be little point in a salon where people didn’t. But if you’re going to ask me whether Prince Louis mentioned that he intended to invade France and Palmerston wished him luck, I’ve no notion. Not likely, I’d say, though with Pam you never know.’
‘You said Lesparre was carrying papers and some people might be embarrassed by what was in them. That was what he told you?’
‘Yes.’
‘Did you ask him who might be embarrassed?’
‘Naturally I was dying to, but it would have been rude to pry.’
At least she’d never have to make a living as a private investigator. ‘And you never actually saw the papers? I suppose Count D’Orsay told you there were only old newspapers in that satchel.’
‘Yes. I imagine whoever killed him took them away. Wouldn’t that have been the point? I’m so angry I can hardly think straight. One way or another, our hospitality has been violated. If he was a spy, somebody was imposing on us and I want to know who sent him. If he was what he claimed to be, then he’s been murdered in the cruelest way I can imagine when he was a guest under my roof, and I want to know who did it and why. And I don’t trust the police any further than I could throw that table. So what are we going to do about it?’ Her outburst made me realize that her overwrought air came from suppressed anger rather than nerves. In her style, she was a fighter.
‘I need to find the valet Bruno too. I suppose nobody’s sent to tell him.’
‘We couldn’t. I didn’t make a note of the address on that letter you delivered.’
‘How long did the valet stay here with Lesparre? Did he know about the hiding place in the loft?’
‘Three days, and yes. We were planning it, making sure Lesparre had a reasonably comfortable place to hide if he had to.’
‘Didn’t you think it odd that the valet didn’t stay here with him?’
‘The whole thing was odd. If I thought about it at all, I supposed there were still some secrets Alfred and I didn’t know about and the valet had been sent to deal with them.’
‘In three days here he could have found out quite a lot about your household. What was he like?’
‘Mrs Neal and Alfred’s valet had more to do with him than I did. Neat, quiet, respectful – what you’d expect in a valet. You’re not thinking he had something to do with this?’
‘It has to be somebody who knew the house.’
‘But why would he do it – rescue Lesparre in Boulogne and come all the way to London with him and kill him?’
‘Possibly because somebody was paying him. When you think about it, isn’t it suspicious that he and Lesparre escaped from Boulogne when everybody else was captured?’
‘I don’t know what to think, and that’s the truth.’
I asked her to excuse me, intending to join Amos at the stables.
‘Before you go, there’s somebody I’d be glad if you’d speak to first,’ she said. ‘I’m sure you’ll think it’s a plot, but I assure you it isn’t. He happened to be visiting in any case to talk about a book he’s writing, but when you were announced I banished him to the drawing room. He says you were so angry with him the last time you met that he’s quite scared to face you.’
My heart sank. ‘Mr Disraeli?’
She nodded. ‘Oh dear, the expression on your face. What has he done?’
The answer, though I didn’t tell her, was that he’d tried to recruit me to spy on people the government thought of as radical troublemakers and I thought of as friends.
‘Whatever it was, he’s terribly contrite,’ she said. ‘He said there was obviously a misunderstanding and it was probably his fault, and he would like to set matters right with you.’ I wanted to refuse, but her hand was on my arm, her eyes looking into mine with just that hint of humour along with concern that made her so hard to resist. ‘My dear, as far as I’m concerned you can scorch him again if he deserves it, but at least let the poor man speak to you. Meanwhile, I’ll go and find Alfred and ask him if he can remember any more about the valet.’
So I gave in. She rang for a footman and I followed him to the small drawing room. When the door opened, Disraeli was sitting on a sofa reading a book. He was on his feet immediately, smiling as if my arrival had made his day complete.
‘Miss Lane, what a very pleasant surprise.’
He was dressed quite quietly for an afternoon visit, a gold chain round his neck with what looked like an ancient seal hanging from it, only three rings on his fingers, waistcoat of copper and burgundy damask. I held on to my bad temper, resisting the lift of spirits I’d so often felt in his presence.
‘Hardly a surprise,’ I said.
‘Truly, I didn’t know you’d be visiting. I’ve been hoping to see you for weeks to set matters right between us, but nobody seemed to know where you were.’
‘In the country. Saving a political agitator from being hanged.’
‘I’m sure he deserved it. Saving, I mean. You thought I meant the reverse, didn’t you? I’m sorry you have such a low opinion of me.’ He was quoting back at me part of something I’d said when we quarrelled. And yes, he had put me off balance, making me mistake his meaning. Worse, his smile was so open and friendly that I could feel myself wanting to respond to it. ‘Lady Blessington tells me that you’ve very kindly been supporting her through this bad business. She says she doesn’t know what she’d do without you.’
‘Lady Blessington has many friends.’ I was trying hard to keep things formal, but could hear my voice softening.
‘But not many so resourceful. She’s keeping a brave face on it, as ever, but it is worrying her very much.’
He sounded sincere and I’d no doubt that he was, at least as far as Lady Blessington was concerned. But he was a politician with every breath he took and was skilfully moving the conversation on from our disagreement to a subject he hoped I couldn’t resist.
‘I hope you’ve been able to advise her,’ I said.
‘Probably less effectively than you.’ Humility was rare with him. He must be trying very hard to win me over.
‘I doubt that,’ I said. ‘After all, you’re in a much better position to know what worries government ministers. At least, that was the impression I had the last time we met.’ It was a mistake to battle with him and I knew it as soon as I’d spoken, but scornful silence has never been my forte. He looked hurt.
‘May we forget that unfortunate conversation? It seems I offended you, and I’m sorry. We might at least declare a truce for the sake of helping a mutual friend.’
Had he and Lady Blessington discussed his approach in advance? I could hardly fight against both of them.
‘Truce?’ he invited.
‘Truce, then,’ I said, not very graciously. ‘So what is worrying the foreign office? And please don’t give me that quizzical look. Somebody’s been interfering with an inquest. Either the coroner had his instructions or the police have been complicit in hiding things from him.’
He sighed. ‘The fact is I simply don’t know what’s happening.’ This was something new. Mr Disraeli’s whole career was based on knowing what was happening. Although he was still only an MP, with the longed-for ministerial post not achieved, he had a reputation that went far beyond the House of Commons for knowing the people who mattered and the details of any great event, at home or abroad. He might sometimes exaggerate the extent of his knowledge, but I’d seen enough examples of it to know much was well based.
‘Do you think the Foreign Secretary gave any encouragement to Louis Napoleon?’
‘I don’t know. He wouldn’t have been doing his job if he hadn’t kept on cordial terms with him. Louis was still a player in the game until he threw it all away in this crude attempt at Boulogne. The man’s uncontrollable. He nearly managed to drown my wife and me on a river picnic by rowing us straight into a mudbank out of sheer over-confidence in himself. She was furious. If he’d had the patience to bide his time, with France so unstable, there was always a chance that the Napoleon name would work magic.’
‘Would Palmerston have put anything in writing to him?’
‘Good heavens, no. I’m no admirer of our dear foreign secretary, but he’s not a complete fool.’
‘I suppose Lady Blessington’s told you about those papers he was carrying. Have you any idea what they might be?’
‘A bluff, possibly. If the prince’s supporters can make Louis Philippe’s government believe they’ve still got cards to play it might make them think twice about bringing him to trial.’
‘If it’s a bluff, somebody took it seriously.’ In spite of the truce, I sensed he was keeping something from me. ‘You really have no idea?’
‘I’ll make inquiries, if you like – delicately, of course.’
‘Of course. Tell me, did you meet Lesparre here or anywhere else before the Boulogne business?’
‘Not that I can remember.’
‘Does it seem odd to you that he should come to Lady Blessington for help on such slight acquaintance?’
He gave me one of those droll looks from under his eyelids. ‘Are you and I thinking the same thing?’
‘Probably. Just how deeply was Count D’Orsay involved in the Boulogne business?’
He said nothing but his hand with its heavy rings rose horizontally to the level of his cravat: up to his neck.
‘Does Lady Blessington know that?’
A shake of the head.
‘So if Louis Philippe’s government were looking for more evidence for the trial …?’
I waited and eventually he finished the sentence: ‘They might have thought it worthwhile to introduce a spy under his roof, yes.’
‘Which doesn’t explain why somebody took a lot of trouble to kill him and take the papers,’ I said. ‘Unless D’Orsay …’
He laughed. ‘Can you imagine D’Orsay doing anything half so crude? Oriental poison in a Venetian wine glass, perhaps. Deadly scuffles in lofts, no.’
‘And D’Orsay doesn’t have the kind of friends who can influence an inquest,’ I said. ‘Which brings us back to somebody at a high level in our own government. If Lesparre really did have important papers, what were they and who would be embarrassed by them? As I said, you’re better placed to find out about that than I am.’ We’d come full circle. I sensed that his eagerness to talk to me had more to do with getting information than giving it. I might have said so, but the door opened and Lady Blessington walked in, followed by Count D’Orsay. She looked at our faces. ‘So you two are reconciled. I’m very glad.’
‘Entirely,’ said Disraeli.
I said nothing. She sank down into an armchair and signed to me to sit down opposite her.
‘I’ve been talking to Alfred. He really can’t remember much about Bruno.’
Count D’Orsay’s Apollonian forehead was wrinkled with the effort of trying. Knowledge of acquaintances’ valets was a lot to expect. ‘I didn’t see very much of him,’ he said. ‘When they arrived, it struck me that he seemed a little more familiar in his manner with Lesparre than was quite appropriate, but then the two of them had been through a lot together.’
‘Did Bruno speak English?’
‘Yes, very well.’
‘Was it Lesparre’s suggestion that he should go and stay with his Italian friends?’
‘I think it was agreed between them. A man hardly needs a valet when all he has are a suit of borrowed clothes and three shirts.’
‘Would he go up and see Lesparre in the loft?’
‘As far as I remember, there were no alarms while he was here, but he’d naturally have helped set everything up. It’s a valet’s business to see that his gentleman’s made as comfortable as possible in all circumstances.’
‘What did Bruno look like?’
‘Below average height, neat in appearance, very short glossy brown hair, like a cap. In his early thirties, probably. Moved well, as if he’d been trained as a fencer or dancing master. Appearance spoilt by a nasty wound across his left cheek, like a sword cut, but Lesparre said he’d fallen against something when they were escaping from the steamer. It will leave a scar.’ He ran his fingers over his own smooth cheek in sympathy.
‘You could draw him for Miss Lane,’ Lady Blessington said. ‘You know how good you are at likenesses.’
I thought of Amos and his ferrets. ‘Can you remember anything at all about him that might help us find him, what he likes or where he might go?’
More brow wrinkling. ‘Clothes. Of course that’s most of a valet’s work, but I think he liked good clothes for himself. When he and Lesparre arrived here they had nothing but what they stood up in and a couple of spare shirts. Their shoes were falling to pieces, especially the valet’s. I suppose they’d had to do a lot of walking. I gave Lesparre the run of my spare wardrobes and when I came back, both he and the valet had kitted themselves out. I meant it for Lesparre, of course, but I didn’t grudge the valet. He’d chosen a pretty good pair of my shoes, nearly new. Sheer vanity because they were obviously two sizes too small for him and the seams would be splitting in no time. I don’t suppose that helps at all.’
I thought not, but didn’t say so. We left him and Disraeli together. As Lady Blessington and I left I noticed Ronson in the corridor with a box of new candles to replace the ones that had burned low in their sconces. He kept his face turned away from us, as any servant would in a task meant to be invisible to the gentry, but I noticed that he looked cleaner and calmer.
‘I’m so glad that you and Mr Disraeli are reconciled,’ Lady Blessington said. ‘I do hate it when my friends are at odds.’
Were we reconciled? It would have been cruel to disappoint her, but I still thought Disraeli was keeping something from me, and I resented it.