Death at Dawn - Caro Peacock [99]
‘Have you?’
‘A lady of my acquaintance was most insistent that I should attend.’ He glanced towards one of the political salon hostesses, the copper-haired woman. ‘She said it would be useful to my career to meet our new monarch as soon as possible.’
‘You were expecting to find the queen here?’
‘I believed that was being hinted. I’ve stolen time from my election campaign. I confess I am wondering why.’
‘You do not know Sir Herbert well?’
‘Only by reputation.’ He did not sound as if he admired him. ‘Are you a friend of the family, may I ask?’
I nodded. Any other way of explaining my presence would have been too complicated. I could see he was trying to judge my importance. My place at the far end of the table argued against it; on the other hand a man with an eye for jewellery could hardly have missed the value of Celia’s opals.
‘What did the old lady want with you so urgently?’
So he was sharp-eyed, as well as impudent.
‘That was Mrs Beedle,’ I said. ‘Our hostess’s mother.’
A waiter was ladling turtle soup into our plates, the rich smell of it mingling with hot candlewax and tuberoses.
‘What did she mean about your not letting her down? Are you accustomed to letting people down?’
‘I hope not.’
I must have put more feeling into that than I intended, because he gave a sharp sideways glance. I took a small spoonful of soup and sipped. I’d never tasted turtle before. It was meaty rather than fishy, almost overpoweringly so. The combination of tastes, smells and his questions was making my head spin.
‘So you write novels,’ I said, trying to take refuge in the small talk I’d prepared.
‘Yes.’
It did not seem to please him. He was looking intently towards the top of the table.
‘And you’re in the midst of an election campaign?’
His eyes came back to me.
‘In a few weeks’ time I shall be the Member of Parliament for Maidstone. You haven’t forgotten there must be a general election when a new monarch comes to the throne?’
I had forgotten. Too much had happened in the past few weeks for me to care about elections.
‘You are sure of being elected?’
‘Quite sure.’
A Tory, presumably, since he was on Sir Herbert’s guest list. I was sorry about that. The waiters cleared the soup plates away and served turbot. I drank cool white wine. By rights, with the change of courses, I should have turned to converse with my neighbour on the other side, but the canon seemed happily occupied with his fish. I noticed there was an empty place opposite him, and that the woman next to it looked put out at not being provided with a second gentleman. After all the trouble taken with the table plan, this struck me as odd, but I had little time to think about it.
‘Are you in Sir Herbert Mandeville’s confidence?’
This time there was undisguised urgency in Mr Disraeli’s question. Neither of us was eating.
‘No.’ At least I could answer that truthfully.
‘Do you know if he’s on particularly friendly terms with Kilkeel?’
A shiver ran up my spine.
‘Why do you ask?’
‘I know of the man, also by reputation.’
‘So what is Lord Kilkeel’s reputation?’
He gave me a considering look.
‘As one of the greatest rogues who ever graced the Bar.’
‘Oh.’
‘That surprises you? Offends you perhaps? Are you connected in some way with him?’
‘No!’ I couldn’t help saying it so loudly that the canon glanced up from his fish. Then, more calmly I hoped: ‘So he’s a lawyer. In what way is he a rogue?’
‘He’s a constitutional lawyer, probably the best of his generation. Even his enemies have to admit his intellect. He’s also the greatest political turncoat of our times. Whatever party is in or out, Kilkeel always has the ear of the men who matter. It’s a question of knowing where all the bodies are buried.’
‘Bodies?’
‘You look alarmed. I speak metaphorically, of course. Any government