‘And leave him wriggling in excruciating suspense?’

‘Something like that. I agree, it sounds a bit feeble. He may not care. May just take me for a pompous fool and laugh in my face.’

Lily considered for a moment. ‘Then he would be the fool, sir. But we know that he’s not a foolish man. He is, though, hardened. It would take more than a gentlemanly ticking off from you to penetrate his armour. You’ll have to pierce him in his soft part …’

‘I beg your pardon, Wentworth?’

‘One short sharp stab is all it will take.’

Joe swallowed. ‘What exactly are you proposing?’

‘I’d say the thing that mattered most to him in the world is the ready-made family he coveted, the respect and affection the boys have for him. I’m glad they’re able to give it and it pains me to say it but sitting over here makes it possible – he’s usurped the place of their father. Snatched it without a by-your-leave, killed four men and ruined many lives to achieve his end. If he puts a foot wrong from this moment, or fails in the domestic duties he’s taken upon himself, he should be quite certain that the boys will be given the true facts of their father’s death. They love him all right – they’d be in a position to chastise him. You might have had your hands tied but you can always do a little fancy footwork. Put the boot in, sir.’ She looked at him quizzically. ‘Not sure you’re tough enough. I could do it. I will if you like.’

‘Good Lord! What a scurrilous suggestion. A decision worthy of Sir George Jardine,’ Joe said faintly. ‘Come back over this side at once.’

‘I’m out of my depth, sir,’ she said, reclaiming her place with relief. ‘Does this sort of thing happen … Has this happened …?’

‘Oh, yes. The ship of State is a cumbersome but sometimes skittish vessel. It takes many skilled hands to keep her on course. And, in stormy weather, the crew have to work together and obey the single voice of the captain.’

He watched her roll her eyes at his histrionics and grin.

‘Something amusing you, Wentworth?’

‘I was just trying to decide where my position was on this ship of yours – rolling about in the bilges or getting sick in the crow’s nest.’

‘I think I see you in the brig, Wentworth. Yes … alongside Long John Silver in manacles in the brig. And that reminds me …’ He dug about in his desk drawer. ‘Got a pen, have you? We have some pretty filthy business to conduct here tomorrow morning and you’re going to be up to your ears in it. We’ve accounted for the Morrigan but the Morana – goddess of ice and death – is still out and about and seeking a victim. And there’ll be half a dozen assorted royal lives on the line next Saturday. I need to know you’re on side.’

Chapter Thirty-Six

Bacchus and Fanshawe arrived at the ops room at eight thirty on Monday morning to find Sandilands already installed. The Commander’s face lit up at the sight of the large cardboard box Fanshawe was carrying. He didn’t try to hide his relief.

‘You’ve got it! I won’t embarrass you by asking how on earth you managed to get your hands on it, but well done!’

Bacchus grimaced. ‘Had to take a hostage for it, sir. The Home Secretary gets his granny back at noon today if she behaves herself.’

‘I expect you’ve already had a rummage around?’

‘Who could resist? Fascinating stuff. I think, with a touch of imagination, we can make something of it.’ Bacchus seemed unusually positive.

‘And my other request? Did you manage to get the tickets?’

He put an envelope down on the table. ‘No problem there. Except for the cost of course which made my eyes water. But then I thought you were most probably expecting it to be accounted for by your department. I’ve sent in the usual chit. And I have the news item you asked for.’ He took a sheet from his inside pocket and put it next to the envelope. ‘We have our forger standing by. Name of Sam Scrivener. All we need is the text of the letter and we’re off.’

‘And the postman,’ said Fanshawe. ‘Is everyone quite happy about this aspect of the scheme? I mean – couldn’t I or Bacchus or even the post office delivery man take care of that? I can’t see why we have to involve Wentworth again.’

‘I wonder whom you prefer for this duty, Fanshawe? We could send you but they’d just drag you in, subject you to heavy flirting and tell you nothing. The menace of Bacchus’s moustache would silence them. These are women who have narrowly escaped summary execution at the hands of the Bolshevik not-so-secret police. They know what it is to have a price on their heads. They know they are still, in a foreign land, pursued. They’re jittery. The princess – quite rightly – trusts no one. Especially the people’s police force – that’s you and your minions, Bacchus. I do believe she regards you as a sort of Cheka-on-a-leash. But she has declared herself ready to accept Wentworth as go-between … ambassador if you will. We’re not the only shadowy organization to keep this house under surveillance. A young girl paying a visit here is not in the least remarkable – there’s a constant stream of them passing through as you are aware. Miss Wentworth has established a relationship of sorts with them and she is, after all – and this cuts some ice with these people – the girl who danced with the Prince of Wales in such amity the other night. She would appear to be in his confidence.’

‘They’ll know by now that it was Wentworth’s interference that saved his life, sir. And thwarted them.’

‘Not them, Fanshawe. I don’t believe we’re dealing with a conspiracy. These are people who define themselves by their reverence for monarchy. The British strand may be in bad odour with one of them at the moment but they are and always will be impressed by royal favour. They accept Wentworth as a sort of chargée d’affaires, the effective and unthreatening mouthpiece of our establishment. And so, gentlemen, like it or not, she is!’

Bacchus produced the camera bag he’d slung from one shoulder. ‘Not sure what you want me to do with this?’

Joe walked over to the easel he’d installed by the window and flung back the covering sheet.

‘Lord!’ Fanshawe exclaimed, recognizing it. ‘Not that again! It’s the God-awful Russian painting. What are you doing with that daub, sir?’

‘It has its part to play in the little show I’m putting on. Hocus pocus, Fanshawe. Never disregard it. The picture belongs to Wentworth. A thoughtful gift from HRH for services rendered. I’ve examined it closely – more closely, I’d guess, than the Russian contingent have. It’s sending us a message. One that I think we can interpret in our own way and call to the attention of the princess and her coterie. Can you take a snap of it in this light with your equipment, Bacchus?’

The Branch man appeared delighted to be challenged and set about putting his camera pieces together, muttering happily of lenses and focal lengths and distances as he worked.

The preliminaries complete, the men looked at each other in satisfaction.

‘Do we have to wait for the constable or shall we set about it now and present her with a fait accompli? She is, after all, just delivering the package,’ Fanshawe wanted to know.

Joe appeared to be choosing his words. ‘The princess will interrogate her – in the most civilized way, of course. And our would-be assassin will most likely be listening in. One would hope so. I would like Wentworth to be familiar with the facts and sufficiently in command of the strategy to be able to improvise if necessary. She has to understand the importance of the offer she is about to extend to the Russians. I want her to be listening when we put it together. Wentworth is not to be regarded as cannon fodder – she’s a well-aimed bullet.’ He looked at the clock. ‘I asked her for nine … though her time-keeping seems to be a bit erratic. So …’

One minute later they heard the tap on the door.