Mr. Palmer came and took the seat opposite her again.
“There is a darkness in the souls of men, Mrs. Westerman. The stimulation of it, perhaps. I know he gambles and has fought duels over trifles. Who can say?”
Crowther’s voice seemed unnaturally loud in his own head when he spoke. “He enjoys manipulating those whom he knows, or suspects, to be weaker characters than himself.”
Harriet folded her arms. “That I can believe. I found him a deeply unpleasant character, and I fear for his stepson. He was being sent to Harwich,” she added quietly. “Might Carmichael risk sending Longley to France bearing intelligence?”
“I fear for him also. I can arrange to have him pursued. Quietly,” Palmer replied with a deep sadness in his voice, then he watched Harriet with steady attention as she continued.
“So let us say we believe Fitzraven was a spy, or to some degree involved in espionage. For what reason was he killed?”
“I do not know,” Palmer said, “and I believe it is important that you find out if you can, madam. He may have thought to betray his conspirators. It may have sprung from other causes. We are putting our faith in you.”
Harriet was looking down at the floor, deep in thought. She did not appear to revel in this statement of his trust. She stroked her brow as if trying to dislodge some irritation in her brain. “Dear Lord, treachery, bedroom gossip, men of such malignancy as Carmichael and Fitzraven. My husband fought clean battles for his country.”
Mr. Palmer’s expression lost its softness and became fierce. “And some of them he won because of information that persons such as myself managed to procure for him and his fellow officers.” Crowther saw the note of rebellion in Harriet’s green eyes. Mr. Palmer saw it too perhaps, and possibly his memory of being at the sharp end of Harriet’s temper returned to him as he went on in a more conciliatory tone: “Life becomes more. . complex, the more closely we consider it. Would you not agree, Mr. Crowther?”
“Undoubtedly.”
“Wars, battles, competition for trade, struggles for liberty or control-everything is influence: networks of information, moments of confrontation or compromise. Yes, we like to believe in the grand victory nobly fought, but life delivers very little to us so tidily, no matter what our own abilities or the rightness of our cause. So, Mrs. Westerman, you must understand that such business is as much a part of war as brave officers and well-trained men. This matter with Fitzraven is sordid, but we may save the lives of our men by our actions. We are in danger of losing the colonies in America, and more important perhaps, our reputation as masters of the sea. This cannot be. Whatever we can do to prevent or lessen our losses will be bringing some happiness, saving our countrymen from treachery, defeat, poverty, shame.” He rubbed his eyes tiredly. “I have not heard from the agent who supplied Fitzraven’s name for some time. I can only hope she is well. She is a brave servant of her king.”
It seemed to Crowther that with that last remark Palmer had won his point with Harriet, for after a moment she asked in more subdued tones: “Has much damage been done already, Mr. Palmer?”
“Perhaps, and our enemies aim to do a great deal more. I wish I had some comfort to offer you. Fitzraven’s death is strange. It has drawn our attention and it may be the unraveling of whatever organization is in place before it has the chance to deal our Navy fatal blows across its back. Let us hope that is the case.”
Mrs. Wheeler knocked at the door to tell them Mr. Palmer’s carriage was waiting, then spent half an hour in calm conversation with Harriet and Mr. Crowther on neutral subjects until they thought it safe to summon their own.
3
Jocasta had a long day outside the Admiralty Office watching for Fred, and had little profit on it. She marked the man appear at midday and have some talk with two others. They held their heads low. Then they went their separate ways and in twenty minutes Fred was back inside wiping crumbs from his mouth. The sun had got as high as it could in the sky and fell shamefacedly backward in the murk. It was then Sam tapped up beside her. The days of food and rest in a warm bed had been doing him some good, but as he appeared at her side he looked pale and shivering again.
“What’s with you, lad?” Jocasta asked with a frown. Taking a grip on his chin, she tilted it up toward her. “Tell me.” She could feel the tremor in his bones.
“Nothing. Just. I haven’t seen Finn or Clayton all day, and there’s stuff being said.”
“What manner of stuff?”
“A man stopped by me where I was watching and told me all laughing to get indoors because the bogeyman was about and carrying off boys like me and eating them. Told me to watch for lights in the dark.”
She could feel that cold prickling up her neck again; she let his chin go but held his eyes. “Was he drunk?”
Sam thrust his hands into the pockets of his trousers. “Stank of gin and smoke, made me think of my dad, but. .” He looked down, digging his shoe into the muck at his feet. “Could you not ask the cards on ’em, Mrs. Bligh?” And when Jocasta sighed and folded her arms: “I mean, there’s no proof needed there. Not like Milky Boy and the lady. I just want the knowing. Please, Mrs. Bligh?”
“They don’t work neat as that, or I’d just ask them where Old Hopps has hidden his money and then go buy mysel’ a carriage, wouldn’t I?”
He put his hand out and laid it on her arm and came up close, his face all pleading. “But do them for me, and if they say I worry overmuch and all is well, then I’ll be restful. Promise.”
Jocasta gave a quick nod and pulled out the pack, then settled on the doorstep behind her. She handed the greasy cards over to the boy.
“Shuffle them up and lay down three before me.” He did so. Jocasta watched for a second or two as the cards danced in front of her, then snatched the pack off him, put the laid cards back on top and shoved them back in her pocket.
“What do they say, Mrs. Bligh?”
“Nothing. Reckon they don’t work right in the open air. But if you’re going to fret at me all night then we’ll pay a visit to Clayton’s doss down and see for ourselves he’s all right. You know where he is, do you?”
Sam got to his feet eagerly. “Yes, ma’am. In the rookeries behind Chandos Street.” He hesitated again. “But don’t you want to wait and see what Fred’s up to?”
Jocasta had already set off. “He’s bad today, he’ll be bad tomorrow and the day after too. Now awez, lad.”
It was not until Harriet had entered the coach to travel to Lord Carmichael’s evening party that she had become nervous. She had dined in the company of foreign princes, but the top rank of London society was unknown country for her. The Earl of Sussex may have asked for her help in getting his cat’s cradle back from Mrs. Service that morning, but that would be of no help to her now.
“Crowther,” she said, staring out at the passing streets, “why on earth have we come?”
Crowther was a little surprised. “To observe Lord Carmichael I believe was our intention, was it not? And to ask again about his connection to Fitzraven.”
She was silent.
“I should not have asked you to talk to him alone, Mrs. Westerman. Mr. Palmer has suspicions of the man so I must meet him. I am happier to do so when surrounded by company. We were invited for this evening, madam, and it may be useful to Mr. Palmer to know with whom Lord Carmichael associates. We should not scorn such opportunities.”
Harriet threw herself back in the carriage, threatening to undo all the good Rachel had managed with her hair, and continued to look out of the window rather miserably. Her hand went to the double strand of pearls around her neck, pulling and twisting at them. Crowther watched her for a moment.
“Mrs. Westerman, are you nervous of the company?”
Mrs. Westerman did not reply.