Dorchester Terrace tp-27 Page 2

  It was Emily who had persuaded Jack to enter politics and aspire to make something of himself. Perhaps some of Emily’s hunger to affect other people’s lives had come from her observation of Charlotte and her involvement in several of Pitt’s earlier cases. To be fair, at times Emily had also helped Charlotte, with both flair and courage. The sisters had exasperated and embarrassed Pitt, driving him frantic with fear for their safety, but they had also very thoroughly earned his respect and gratitude.

  Looking at Emily now, the light from the chandeliers gleaming on her fair hair and on the diamonds around her neck, he thought back with a little nostalgia to the adventure and emotion of those times. He could no longer share information about his cases, even with Charlotte. It was a loss he felt with surprising sadness. Now his assignments were not merely confidential, but completely secret.

  Emily saw him looking at her and smiled brightly.

  “Good evening, Thomas. How are you?” she said cheerfully.

  “Well, thank you. And I can see that you are,” he responded. Emily was naturally pretty, with her golden hair and wide, dark blue eyes. More important, she knew exactly how to dress to complement the best in herself, whatever the occasion. But, perhaps because it was his job to watch people and read the emotions behind their words, he could see at once that Emily was uncharacteristically tense. Could it be that she was wary of him, too? The thought chilled him so much that he could barely gather himself enough to acknowledge Jack Radley.

  “My lord, may I introduce my brother-in-law, Thomas Pitt?” Jack said very formally, as Pitt turned automatically toward the man with whom Jack had been speaking. “Thomas, Lord Tregarron.”

  Jack did not mention Tregarron’s position. Presumably he considered the man important enough that Pitt should have been familiar with his title.

  It was then that Pitt remembered Charlotte telling him of Jack’s promotion to a position of responsibility within the government, a position that finally gave him some real power. Emily was very proud of it. So perhaps it was defensiveness, then, that he could see in her quick eyes and in the slight stiffness of her shoulders. She was not going to let Pitt’s promotion overshadow Jack’s.

  It came to Pitt suddenly: Tregarron was a minister in the Foreign Office, close to the Foreign Secretary himself.

  “How do you do, my lord?” Pitt replied, smiling. He glanced at Charlotte, and saw that she too understood Emily’s tension.

  “Lord Tregarron was telling us about some of the beautiful places he has visited,” Emily said brightly. “Especially in the Balkans. His descriptions of the Adriatic Coast are breathtaking.”

  Tregarron gave a slight shrug. He was a dark, stocky man with thick, curling hair and a highly expressive face. No one could have thought him comely, and yet the strength and vitality in him commanded attention. Pitt noticed that several women in the room kept glancing at him, then looking away.

  “That a Cornishman admires anyone else’s coast has impressed Mrs. Radley greatly,” Tregarron said with a smile. “As so it should. We have had our share of troubles in the past, between shipwreck and smuggling, but I have no time for separatists. Life should be about inclusion, not everyone running off to his own small corner and pulling up the drawbridge. Half the wars in Europe have started out of that type of fear. The other half, out of greed. Don’t you agree?” He looked directly at Pitt.

  “Liberally helped with misunderstanding,” Pitt replied. “Intentional or not.”

  “Well put, sir!” Tregarron commended him instantly. He turned to Jack. “Right, Radley? A nice distinction, don’t you think?”

  Jack signaled his approval, smiling with the easy charm he had always possessed. He was a handsome man, and wore it with grace.

  Emily shot Pitt a swift glance and there was a distinct chill in it. Pitt hoped Jack had not seen it, lest it upset him. Pitt knew he himself would dislike it if Charlotte were so defensive of him. In his experience, you do not guard anyone so closely, unless you fear they are in some way vulnerable. Did Emily doubt that Jack had the steel in his nature-or perhaps the intelligence-to fill his new post well?

  And had Tregarron chosen Jack, or had Emily used some connection of her own, from her days as Lady Ashworth, in order to obtain the position for him? Pitt could not think of anyone Emily knew who was powerful enough to do that, but then, the whole world of political debt and preferment was one he was unfamiliar with. Narraway had been excellent at figuring out the truth in this type of situation. It was a skill Pitt needed to arm himself with, and quickly.

  He felt a sudden, powerful empathy with Jack; they were both swimming with sharks in unfamiliar seas. But Jack was used to using his charm and instinctive ability to read people. Perhaps he would manage to survive, and survive well.

  The conversation had moved from the Adriatic Coast to a discussion about the Austro-Hungarian Empire in general, and from there went on to Berlin, and finally to Paris, that city of elegance and gaiety. Pitt said little, content to listen.

  The musical interlude for the evening began. Much of its exquisite beauty was wasted on the audience, who were not so much listening as waiting in polite silence until it was over and they could resume their own conversations.

  But Charlotte heard the haunting beauty of the pieces and wished the musician could play all evening. However, she understood the rhythm of such gatherings; this break was to allow a regrouping of forces. It was a time in which to weigh what one had observed and heard, and to consider what to say next, whom to approach, and what gambit to play next.

  She was sitting beside Pitt, a hand resting lightly on one arm. She could see Emily, seated in a gold-painted chair several rows in front of her, between Lord Tregarron and Jack.

  Charlotte had known Jack’s promotion was important, but she had not realized until now how steep a climb it had truly been. And tonight she had recognized that, under Emily’s usual charming manner, lurked fear for Jack in his new position.

  Was it because Emily knew Jack too well, was aware of a fundamental weakness in him that others did not see? Or could it be that she did not know him well enough and so was unable to see the strength of will beneath his easy manner, his charisma that seemed so effortless?

  Charlotte suspected that the real truth was that, after a decade of marriage, Emily was finally realizing that she was not only in love with Jack, but that she also cared about his ability to succeed not just for what it might bring her, but also for what it could give Jack.

  Emily had been the youngest and prettiest of the three Ellison sisters, and the most single-mindedly ambitious. Sarah, the eldest, had been dead for fifteen years. Her death now seemed a lifetime ago. The fear and pain of that time had receded into a distant nightmare, one Charlotte seldom revisited. Their father had also died, about four years ago, and some time later their mother had remarried. This was another subject fraught with mixed emotions, though Charlotte had completely accepted her mother’s choice, and Emily largely so. Only their grandmother remained horrified. But then, Mariah Ellison had made a profession out of disapproving. Caroline’s second husband, Joshua Fielding, belonged to an acting troupe, was Caroline’s junior by many years, and was Jewish to boot. Caroline’s marriage to him gave Grandmama more than ample opportunity to express all her pent-up prejudices. That Caroline was thoroughly happy with Joshua only added insult to the injury.

  It made Charlotte happy to think that Emily seemed to be learning how to love in a different, more unselfish way, a way that was more protective, more mature. It meant she herself was becoming more mature. Not that the ambition was gone! It was very much present, woven into the fiber of Emily’s character.

  Charlotte also understood the defensive posture Emily had adopted earlier. Charlotte felt the same tigress-like instinct to protect Pitt; but she also knew that in his new position, there was little with which she could help. He was on far more unfamiliar ground than even Jack was; though Jack’s family had had no money, it did have aristocratic connections
in half the counties in England. Pitt was the mere son of a gamekeeper.

  But if Charlotte were to attempt to protect him, she would not signal it as clearly as Emily had done earlier. Charlotte knew Pitt would hate that! She wasn’t sure whether Jack would too.

  When the performance was over and the applause died down, the conversations resumed, and Charlotte soon found herself talking to a most unusual woman.

  She was probably in her late thirties, like Charlotte herself, but in all other ways she was quite different. She was dressed in a huge-skirted gown the color of candlelight through brandy, and she was so slender as to look fragile. The bones of her neck and shoulders appeared as if they might break if she were bumped too roughly. There were blue veins just visible beneath her milk-white skin, and her hair was so dark as to be nearly black. Her eyes were dark-lashed and heavy-lidded above her high cheekbones, her mouth soft and generous. To Charlotte it was a face that was instantly likeable. She felt the moment their eyes met that the mysterious woman had a great strength.

  She introduced herself as Adriana Blantyre. Her voice was very low, just a trifle husky, and she spoke with an accent so slight that Charlotte had to strain her ears to make certain she had really heard it.

  Adriana’s husband was tall and dark, and he too had a remarkable face. At a glance he was handsome, yet there was far more to him than a mere balance or regularity of feature. Once Charlotte had met his eyes, she kept looking back at him because of their intelligence, and the fierceness of his emotion. There was a grace in the way he stood, but no ease. She felt Pitt watching her curiously as she looked at the man, and yet she did not stop herself.

  Evan Blantyre was an ex-diplomat, particularly interested in the eastern Mediterranean.

  “A marvelous place, the Mediterranean,” he said, facing Charlotte, and yet speaking almost to himself. “Part of Europe, and yet at the gateway to a world far older, and civilizations that prefigure ours and from which we are sprung.”

  “Such as Greece?” Charlotte asked, not having to feign interest. “And maybe Egypt?”

  “Byzantium, Macedonia, and before that Troy,” he elaborated. “The world of Homer, imagination and memory at the root of our thoughts, and the concepts from which they rise.”

  Charlotte could not let him go unchallenged, not because she disbelieved him but because there was an arrogance in him that she was compelled to probe.

  “Really? I would have thought Judea was the place at the root of our thoughts,” she argued.

  He smiled widely, seizing on her interest. “Judea certainly, for the roots of faith, but not of thought, or, if you prefer, philosophy, the love of wisdom rather than commanded belief. I chose my words with care, Mrs. Pitt.”

  Now she knew exactly what he meant, and that he had been deliberately baiting her, but she also saw that there was intense conviction behind what he said. There was no pretense in the passion of his voice.

  She smiled at him. “I see. And which of our modern civilizations carry the torch of that philosophy now?” It was a challenge, and she meant him to answer.

  “Ah.” Now he was ignoring the others in their group. “What an interesting question. Not Germany, all brightly polished and looking for something brave and brash to do. Not really France, although it has a uniquely piquant sophistication. Italy has sown the seeds of much glory, yet it is forever quarrelling within itself.” He made a rueful and elegant gesture.

  “And us?” Charlotte asked him, her tone a little sharper than she had meant it to be.

  “Adventurers,” he replied without hesitation. “And shopkeepers to the world.”

  “So no present-day heirs?” she said, with sudden disappointment.

  “Austro-Hungary,” he replied too quickly to conceal his own feelings. “It has inherited the mantle of the old Holy Roman Empire that bound Europe into one Christian unity after the fall of Rome itself.”

  Charlotte was startled. “Austria? But it is ramshackle, all but falling apart, isn’t it? Unless all we are told of it is nonsense?”

  Now he was amused, and he allowed her to see it. There was warmth in his smile, but also a bright and hard irony.

  “I thought I was baiting you, Mrs. Pitt, and I find instead that you are baiting me.” He turned to Pitt. “I underestimated your wife, sir. Someone mentioned that you are head of Special Branch. If that is indeed true, then I should have known better than to imagine that you would choose a wife purely for her looks, however charming.”

  Pitt was smiling now too. “I was not head of Special Branch at the time,” he replied. “But I was ambitious, and hungry enough to reach for the best with no idea of my own limitations.”

  “Excellent!” Blantyre applauded him. “Never allow your dreams to be limited. You should aim for the stars. Live and die with your arms outstretched and your eyes seeking the next goal.”

  “Evan, you are talking nonsense,” Adriana said quietly, looking first at Charlotte, then at Pitt, judging their reactions. “Aren’t you ever afraid people will believe you?”

  “Do you believe me, Mrs. Pitt?” Blantyre inquired, his eyes wide, still challenging.

  Charlotte looked at him directly. She was quite sure of her answer.

  “I’m sorry, Mr. Blantyre, because I don’t think you mean me to, but yes, I do believe you.”

  “Bravo!” he said quietly. “I have found a sparring partner worth my efforts.” He turned to Pitt. “Does your position involve dealing with the Balkans, Mr. Pitt?”

  Pitt glanced at Jack and Emily-who had now moved farther away and were engaged in conversation elsewhere-then back at Blantyre.

  “With anyone whose activities might threaten the peace or safety of Britain,” he replied, the levity wiped from his face.

  Blantyre’s eyebrows rose. “Even if in northern Italy, or Croatia? In Vienna itself?”

  “No,” Pitt told him, keeping his expression agreeable, as if they were playing a parlor game of no consequence. “Only on British soil. Farther afield would be Mr. Radley’s concern. As I’m sure you know.”

  “Of course.” Blantyre nodded. “That must be challenging for you, to know when you can act, and when you must leave the action to someone else. Or am I being unsophisticated? Is it actually more a matter of how you do a thing rather than what you do?”

  Pitt smiled without answering.

  “Does your search for information ever take you abroad?” Blantyre continued, completely unperturbed. “You would love Vienna. The quickness of wit, and the music. There is so much music there that is new, innovative in concept, challenging to the mind. I daresay they are musicians you have never heard of, but you will. Above all, there is a breadth of thought in a score of subjects: philosophy, science, social mores, psychology, the very fundamentals of how the human mind works. There is an intellectual imagination there that will very soon lead the world in some areas.”

  He gave a slight mocking shrug, as if to deny the heat of his feelings. “And of course there is the traditional as well.” He turned to look at Adriana. “Do you remember dancing all night to Mr. Strauss’s music? Our feet ached, the dawn was paling the sky, and yet if the orchestra had played into the daylight hours, we could not have kept still.”

  The memory was there in Adriana’s eyes, but Charlotte was certain she also saw a shadow cross her face.

  “Of course I do,” Adriana answered. “No one who has waltzed in Vienna ever completely forgets it.”

  Charlotte looked at her, fascinated by the romance of dancing to the music of the Waltz King. “You actually danced when Mr. Strauss conducted the orchestra?” she asked with awe.

  “Indeed,” Blantyre responded. “No one else can give music quite the same magic. It makes one feel as if one must dance forever. We watched the moon rise over the Danube, and talked all night with the most amazing people: princes, philosophers, artists, and scientists.”

  “Have you met the emperor Franz Josef?” Charlotte pursued. “They say he is very conservative. Is that
true?” She told herself it was to keep the conversation innocuous, but she was caught up in this dream portait of Vienna, the new inventions and new ideas of society. It was a world she herself would never see, but-at least as Blantyre had told it-Vienna was the heart of Europe. It was the place of the genesis of new ideas that would spread throughout the whole continent one day, and beyond.

  “Yes, I have, and it is true.” Blantyre was smiling but the emotion in his face was intense. There was a passion in him that was urgent, electric.

  “A grim man, with a devil on his shoulder,” he went on, watching her face as closely as she was watching his. “A contradiction of a man. More disciplined than anyone else I know. He sleeps on an army bed and rises at some ungodly hour long before dawn. And yet he fell madly in love with Elisabeth, seven years younger than himself, sister of the woman his father wished him to marry.”

  “The empress Elisabeth?” Charlotte said with even sharper interest. There was a vitality in Blantyre that intrigued her. She was unsure whether he spoke with such intensity merely to entertain, or possibly to impress, or whether his passion for his subject was really so fierce that he had no control over it.

  “The very same,” Blantyre agreed. “He overrode all opposition. He would not be denied.” Now the admiration in his face was undisguised. “They married, and by the time she was twenty-one she had given birth to her third child, her only son.”

  “A strange mixture of rigidity and romance,” she said thoughtfully. “Are they happy?”

  She felt Pitt’s hand touching her arm, but it was too late to withdraw the remark. She glanced at Adriana and saw in her eyes an emotion she could not read at all: a brilliance, a pain, and something she was trying very hard to conceal. Becoming aware of Charlotte’s gaze on her, she looked away.