Buckingham Palace Gardens - Anne Perry [146]
“Thank you, sir,” Julius said gravely. “I will, of course, inform you of my wife’s funeral, and be most honored if you, and the Princess of Wales, would attend. But I cannot assume my father-in-law’s place leading the company.”
“After a decent interval, of course,” the Prince agreed. “But my dear fellow, whatever private grief may afflict us, the fate of nations does not wait.”
“It is nothing to do with grief, sir,” Julius said respectfully. “I mean that I am not willing to do it, not that I don’t have the skill, although that is certainly also possible. I do not believe it is the right thing to do. I have had time to give it much thought, and I have come to the conclusion that the African Continent should be opened up slowly, according to the will of the many different nations whose land it is. I believe that the British Empire’s role lies at sea, as it has in the past. We can ship the great wealth of these people from the ports of the Indian Ocean, the Pacific, and the Atlantic around the rest of the world. It will be more than enough power and profit for us, and leave Africa to its own people.”
The Prince stared at him as if he could not believe what he had heard. He looked hard at his face, and saw neither fear nor indecision in it, nor did he see a weakness he could use or ambition he could satisfy. He did not look at Elsa, but Pitt did. Her eyes shone with the radiance of a woman truly in love. She reminded him even more of Charlotte, and the thought was to him a sweetness he could hardly contain.
“You will regret that decision, Sorokine,” the Prince said in a hard, tight voice. He did not elaborate on it, but it was a threat, and for a moment the room was quiet and cold.
“No doubt it will have a cost,” Julius admitted. “But it is what I believe to be right, sir, and that leaves me no choice.”
Liliane moved very slightly in her chair so the rustle of her green-gold silk skirt drew attention to her. “Your Royal Highness, if I may suggest it, my father, Watson Forbes, is an even greater expert in African affairs than Mr. Dunkeld. He has retired from active interest, but in such an extraordinary circumstance as this, he may be persuaded to return, as a service to his country. If you were to ask him, sir, I cannot imagine that he would refuse you.”
The Prince’s face revealed a sudden leap of hope. “Do you think so? My dear Mrs. Quase, how perfectly excellent! How generous of you. I shall write to him immediately and have the letter delivered within the hour. Thank you so much. You have served the Crown and the Empire most nobly. Please be good enough to give me his address.”
“Of course, sir.” She rose to her feet and followed him out of the room.
“The King is dead, long live the King,” Hamilton Quase said very quietly.
CHAPTER
THIRTEEN
THAT’S NOT ENOUGH,” Pitt said. He was standing with his back to the window in the room in the Palace they had given him, and he was still granted the use of it for a few hours longer. It was early afternoon, and time was rapidly running out. Very soon Pitt and Narraway would be thanked and dismissed.
Narraway was standing by the table, facing the light. He looked tired and tense.
“Who was the woman in the box?” Pitt went on. “Who killed her, and where?”
“Well, Dunkeld didn’t kill her,” Narraway pointed out. “He never left the Palace. So either it was the carter, or whoever paid him to bring her.”
“Dunkeld hired Sadie,” Pitt continued. “He must have told her a great deal of what was to happen. So where is she now? Keeping out of sight. Which means he paid her well.” Other thoughts were swirling in Pitt’s mind. “Who would Dunkeld trust sufficiently to have him bring a box to the Palace door, with a murdered woman in it? Would he