Death at Dawn - Caro Peacock [122]
‘No.’
‘Do you not trust me?’
‘I hardly know you, but I think I trust you on my own account. I can’t speak for her, though.’
‘Do you believe her story?’
He asked the question as if my opinion had some value.
‘Yes. Do you believe me?’
He didn’t answer at once. Then, ‘Yes, Miss Lane. I think I do. It explains something that has been puzzling me since last night.’
‘What’s that?’
‘Why Kilkeel and Mandeville didn’t produce their trump card. I think most of us had an impression that something was intended to happen last night. The stage was set, yet the trumpets never sounded, the clouds never parted and Jupiter never appeared. We were all left looking at each other and the unprepossessing Mr Brighton, wondering why we’d been invited.’
‘What will happen now, do you think?’
‘I rather suspect that, unless Mandeville manages to produce something tonight, they’ve missed the tide. Mandeville will lick his wounds and so-called Brighton will be packed back to whatever Continental spa town or lodging house they brought him out of.’
‘And Kilkeel?’
‘Oh, there’s always some new villainy for the likes of Kilkeel.’
‘They’ve killed two people at least. They’ve committed treason, haven’t they?’
He looked down at the mignonette and quoted: ‘Treason doth never prosper, what’s the reason?’
‘For if it prosper, none dare call it treason.’ I finished the quote for him and added, ‘But it is treason. Surely somebody could do something?’
‘Bring them to trial? You need witnesses for that, not hearsay. As for treason, has Mandeville yet said publicly that he believes Brighton to be the rightful King of England?’
‘Not as far as I know.’
‘I’m quite sure he hasn’t. Kilkeel’s far too cunning for that.’
‘Surely if the government were to ask questions, they’d find evidence,’ I said.
‘Quite possibly. Then that evidence would have to be tried in court, the whole story would be made public and, however unfounded it proved to be, whatever the verdict was, you may be sure that there’d be the usual assortment of mischief-makers and malcontents who would take to the streets for the rights of poor disinherited King Harold. If you were in government, is that what you’d want?’
‘So you can’t do anything? Nothing will happen to them?’
He said slowly, ‘If I put some of the story around in the right way in the right places, I believe I can get them laughed at.’
‘Laughed at!’
‘Never under-estimate ridicule, Miss Lane. To an ambitious man, it can be more dangerous than bullets.’
‘It won’t get justice for my father or Mrs Beedle.’
‘Justice is a different matter. Believe me, Miss Lane, if I could supply that for you, I’d do it very willingly.’
‘Try, at least. Please try.’
He nodded slowly. ‘You have a right to ask. What I can do, I shall.’
Up to that point, he’d spoken like a man very conscious of the effect of his words, but that promise was made simply and quietly. I thanked him and turned to go. There was no sign of Betty and the children, and the garden and terrace were filling up with guests out for an afternoon stroll.
‘Where shall I find you in future?’ he said.
I hesitated, not wanting to tell him I had neither future nor home.
‘I don’t suppose you’ll be staying as governess to the Mandevilles, will you?’
‘No.’
‘Where then?’
He sounded impatient.
‘You might write to me care of Mr Daniel Suter, addressed to any musical theatre in London. It should find me sooner or later.’
He raised an eyebrow.
‘It might be simpler for you to write to me, at the House of Commons.’
I could tell he enjoyed saying it.
I went slowly upstairs, not sorry that I’d taken the decision to trust him, but disappointed it had brought me so little. I checked my room and found Mrs Martley sleeping again, with the shawl wrapped tightly round her. Downstairs, Betty had given the children their slates and pencils to keep them occupied and was making tea.
‘There, didn’t I tell you,’ she said, nudging me with her elbow.
‘Tell me what?’
‘That you’d make a conquest. I saw you and the young gentleman with your heads together.’
‘I assure