Funeral in Blue - Anne Perry [94]
She gave him a sharp look, but there was a vestige of the old humor in it, which was what he had intended to draw from her, even though he meant every word of the remark.
They parted, Hester to make enquiries as to the best way to travel to Vienna and, with money from Callandra, to make the necessary bookings. Monk himself went to see Kristian and ask for as much guidance as he could obtain, and Callandra left to see Pendreigh and secure all the assistance he could offer.
It was now late afternoon and the fog was returning, but she was perfectly prepared to wait for him as long as necessary.
She was received by the footman with civility and told with exaggerated patience that Mr. Pendreigh was unable to receive her without an appointment. He was engaged on a case of great importance and could not be interrupted.
Callandra forced herself to be courteous, putting a smile on her face which felt like something painted on a mask. “Naturally. However, if you give him a note, which I will write, if you are good enough to lend me a pen and paper, I believe that he will wish to make time for me.”
“Madam . . .”
“Are you empowered to make family decisions for Mr. Pendreigh?” she asked, her politeness suddenly icy.
“Well . . .”
“I thought not. Be so good as to oblige me and I shall write to him, and he can decide as he will.”
The pen and paper were forthcoming, and she wrote a brief note:
My dear Mr. Pendreigh,
I am about to dispatch William Monk to Vienna to trace all possible leads in the matter which concerns us both. This must be done with the greatest haste, for reasons you will appreciate as well as I.
Unfortunately, I have no friends in that city, and am therefore unable to call upon assistance for him myself. Therefore, if you have any advice or practical help to offer, I should be most profoundly grateful for it. I am in the outer room of your offices, and await your reply, in order to carry it to Monk before he departs tonight.
Yours most sincerely,
Callandra Daviot
The response was immediate. A very startled footman returned and conducted her to the study, where Pendreigh rose to his feet, coming around the desk to greet her. He had obviously dismissed another matter in order to see her again. There were papers all over his magnificent walnut desk. The room smelled of cigar smoke, almost dizzying Callandra with old memories of her husband and his friends, long evenings of argument and conversation, talk of war and medicine and the lunacy of politicians.
But that was the past. The present crowded in, dismissing everything else.
“So, Monk has agreed to go to Vienna?” he said eagerly. “That is the best news I have heard in . . . days! I am loath to think it could be Niemann, but what other explanation is there? Runcorn assures me it is not debt,” he said, glossing over the euphemism. “And since apparently it cannot be Allardyce, it seems the only explanation left.” His face was tense, his eyes hot blue, as if emotions burned behind them he could neither hide nor share, but they seemed to consume him from within. “Lady Callandra, my daughter was an extraordinary woman.” His voice shook a little. “If Monk can learn the details of her time in Vienna, of those who loved her, and perhaps envied her, he may well find the key to what happened in Acton Street. She was a woman of the kind of brilliance, a fire that arouses—”
“He will need help.” She cut across his emotions gently, and only because time did not allow them. “Someone who knows the city and can interpret for him so that he can find the people he needs and ask what he has to in language precise and subtle enough for the answers to have meaning.”
“Yes, yes, of course,” he agreed with slight self-consciousness for his emotion. “Naturally. I shall write to the British ambassador. He is a friend of mine, not close, but we have done each other favors in the past. He will not hesitate to provide someone to assist. I daresay he will have friends who were there thirteen