‘When she’s taken this in, I hand over the second envelope containing the tickets to heaven and a British passport in the name of Anna Peterson and say they come with the compliments of the British government who are finding Anna and her activities a bit of a nuisance and would be glad to see the back of her. It’s that or a spell in Holloway jail. Finally, I present the second slice of something verifiable: the newspaper report.’
‘And bring yourself straight back here. That’s a clear order.’ He thought for a moment and added: ‘Make no attempt to deal face to face with Anna Petrovna. It’s our opinion and that of an alienist I’ve consulted that the woman could be dangerously deranged. Suffering a condition not unlike shell shock. She’s primed and ready to explode. She’s failed once and that may well have increased the pressure. We know her targets and I, for one, recognize that she may already have begun to associate you with the forces that gather protectively about them. Do not put yourself into her path.’
‘Sir?’ Fanshawe had a question. ‘If we’re giving this deranged criminal a British passport, what’s to stop her turning round and coming straight back into the country when she finds she’s been duped?’
‘Our border force, Fanshawe. You know their qualities. Her passport will be flagged and she’ll be arrested at the port.’
‘And that’s it. I make my farewells and walk back here,’ Lily finished.
‘Then we go on watch,’ said Bacchus with satisfaction. ‘She’ll do her packing, and leave. Either she’ll go north to Norfolk or south to Southampton. To jail or to freedom. It’s her choice.’
Joe raised his eyes to the ceiling. ‘No it’s not! No more than you would have any choice over the card you picked out of a greasy pack offered to you by a conjurer at the Palace of Varieties, Bacchus.’
‘That’s it then, sir?’ Lily asked.
‘Yes. We can all go home and get some rest while Bacchus goes to work with his forger. Seven o’clock start from here tomorrow. Best of luck, chaps! If there’s really nothing more you want to check …? No? Then you may dismiss now. Oh, Bacchus! Just a quick word if you wouldn’t mind?’ He waited until he heard the others’ footsteps going down the stairs then closed the door and turned to Bacchus, resting a congratulatory hand briefly on his shoulder. ‘I think that went well.’
Bacchus murmured something which might have been agreement.
‘What do you think of our chances?’
‘Not much. They’d have been better if we hadn’t been required to pussyfoot about. In fact, I’ve got a bad feeling about the whole thing … I just hope we can get through the preliminary pantomime without loss of life and reputation. Never underestimate the Russians, sir. We ought to remember: “Russian grain will not grow in foreign ways.” We think they’ve acclimatized, adjusted to western methods, but they haven’t.’
‘Mmm … I’ll remember that about the alien corn. Your friend Pushkin, Bacchus?’
‘No, sir. His friend Shakhovskoy.’
‘Ah! I haven’t yet had the pleasure. Just one thing – or three. The moustache, James. In view of what’s to come, perhaps …?’
Bacchus put a finger to the moustache as though surprised to find it still on his upper lip. ‘Oh … Sorry, sir. Left over from the last job. I suppose it does attract attention. I’ll get rid of it.’
‘And you mention feeling, James? Not a recommended activity in your line of work. You are perfectly clear …?’
‘My orders are precise and either have been executed or are about to be carried out. Commander.’
Joe smiled. The Branch seemed at last to be responding to a firm hand. And there was nothing better than a cry of ‘View halloo! Fox in sight!’ to get them racing off in the right direction.
‘Our target? Our “loose cannon” as the princess calls her?’
‘You know as well as I do, sir, there’s only one sure method of dealing with those rolling disasters at sea.’ He extended a hand and mimed a downwards diving motion. ‘Open a gun port and let gravity take care of the rest.’
‘Heaven forbid!’
The exclamation drew a hard glance from Bacchus. ‘We’re in the business of saving lives, sir. The right lives. Sometimes you have to make a trade. We’ve had our orders from above. And if we refuse them the matter will be … er … taken out of our hands and passed to others. The type who don’t ask questions. At least this way we still have room for manoeuvre.’
‘Yes. We’ve wangled ourselves one more throw of the dice. It might just come off … Bacchus, I want one of your men on board that liner to monitor – or if the worst should come to the worst manage – the outcome.’
‘I’d thought of that. I’ve got a ticket. Second class. Cherbourg to New York and back. That should be far enough to know what’s what. And I’ll go myself. Always wanted to see New York.’ He began to take an interest in his well-kept finger nails. ‘The constable, sir? Would you like me to manage her outcome as well?’
‘You’ve enough on your plate, man, getting yourself off to the liner. I’ve made other arrangements for Wentworth.’
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Foxton was all smiles. The princess was all smiles. She even leaned forward and pecked at each of Lily’s cheeks in welcome while she held her hands.
‘How simply delightful to see you again, my dear Lily! This is not too late – or too early – to join me in a pot of chocolate? I was just about to indulge … Good.’ She turned to the maid. ‘And we’ll have French macaroons with that, Katy.’
There was a trace of something … roses, Lily thought … in the air. The princess had smelled of nothing more than Pear’s soap when she approached. So, Lily guessed, it was reasonable to suppose that Anna Petrovna had until a moment ago been in the morning room conferring with Princess Ratziatinsky. Her hostess was in receiving mode but at leisure in a purple Circassian kaftan. Lily’s own white linen dress, borrowed at the last minute from her aunt Phyl, would pass muster, she thought. Restrained, unlikely to attract attention.
They chatted of this and that as the maid poured out the chocolate and handed macaroons and shortcake biscuits. When she bobbed and left, the princess’s tone became brisk.
‘So. You come, the commander tells me, equipped with olive branch, white flag … something of that nature?’
Lily laughed. ‘It’s more of a message in a cleft stick.’ She was determined to keep the business light. She had chosen to bring her documents with her in a battered old military messenger’s pouch she had been given by her soldier grandfather. ‘This bag,’ she said with an air of mystery, ‘was once the property of the Royal West Surrey Regiment. It carried the news of the relief of the siege of Ladysmith. It is still doing its bit.’
The princess smiled. ‘Coming to the relief of besieged ladies?’
‘Yes, that. But its main purpose is, as it always was, to serve its country. I know you understand that.’
The princess raised an eyebrow and smiled again. ‘Produce your rabbits,’ she said.
Lily was pleased to have raised both pencilled eyebrows when she handed over the photograph of the Koptyaki grave.
‘But this is …’
‘Given to me by His Royal Highness. And I am delighted to have it. If there’s anything our secret service is good at, it’s spotting secrets and decoding messages. One look at this and the interpretation was clear.’
The princess peered more closely at the picture. On the hook, Lily judged. She launched, in a confiding, excited but carrying voice, into Sandilands’ invention of Romanov survival. She noted that, by the end of her account, the princess was looking pale and disturbed, thin fingers twisting in the pearls at her throat. ‘And all escaped? Is this what your government is thinking?’ she murmured. ‘The painting had not spoken to me.’ She placed the picture on the table at her side, not offering to return it.