“When they do, we’ll have little choice but to comply if we want The Two Georges back again,” Sir David Clarke said. “Our own investigations seem better at strewing corpses over the landscape than finding the missing painting.”
Bushell contemplated one corpse not currently strewn over the landscape, and what a pity that was. He declined to rise to Clarke’s bait, though, saying, “We’ve made considerable progress tracking down the Sons involved in the theft, even if we don’t yet have the painting itself. The chap who tossed a grenade at me yesterday, for instance, came from Georgestown.” He turned a mild and thoughtful eye on Sir Martin’s chief of staff. “You live in Georgestown, don’t you, Sir David?”
That pierced Clarke’s armor of affability. “I resent the insinuation, Colonel,” he said coldly.
“Am I to take that as an affirmative?” Bushell asked.
Sir Horace Bragg said, “Disunion among us gives aid and comfort to our enemies. Russian rifles, Russian gold, now Russian grenades as well - and the Russians are masters of long, deep-seated plots. The Empire would do well to worry more about the Russians.”
“So you have said these past weeks - repeatedly,” Sir Martin Luther King observed.
“I don’t think we worry enough about the Russians, either, Your Excellency,” Bushell said. Bragg gave him the first warm look he’d had from his commandant and old friend since he got to Victoria. “Thank you, Tom,” he said. A moment later, he got to his feet and took a small bottle of paracetamol tablets from his trouser pocket. “Excuse me just for a second, if you please. This miserable tooth is killing me.” He left the room.
Sir Martin Luther King turned his narrow, clever eyes toward Bushell. “It may be that you and Sir Horace are perfectly correct about the Russians, Colonel,” he said. “Nevertheless, you must know the fable of the boy who cried wolf. I am sick to death of Sir Horace’s harping on the Russians. He is as tiresome about them as he used to be about his family’s past and vanished glories. I finally had to let him know that, since those glories were based on a plantation deriving its wealth from Negro slavery, his tales did not strike the chord with me for which he might have hoped.”
“Oh, dear,” Bushell said. He glanced at Sam Stanley, who nodded. “Oh, dear,” he said again. “He does want to restore the family’s former position, for which you can hardly blame him.” He’d never thought he’d feel awkward defending Sir Horace, but he did now. Bragg had been . . . gauche was the politest word that sprang to mind.
“His remarks were, shall we say, not the most effective way of having his name placed on the Honors List Sir Martin submits annually to His Majesty the King-Emperor,” Sir David Clarke observed. Bushell wanted to resent that, but found he couldn’t, not even coming from Clarke. If Sir Horace had in mind ending his days as Baron or even Baronet Bragg, offending the man who recommended names for such titles was not the way to go about it.
Bragg came back then, cutting the thread of conversation as with a knife. “I am sorry,” he said. “I think that dentist of mine should have been a butcher instead. He promised the pain would go away in a few hours, but my guess is that he was just trying to be rid of me.” He chuckled dolefully. “Of course, the procedure hurt him not a bit.”
“You should have bitten him, sir,” Samuel Stanley said. “That would have taken care of that.”
“If I ever submit to his ministrations again, Captain, I assure you I will keep the option in mind,” Bragg answered.
“We all sympathize with Lieutenant General Bragg, I am sure,” Sir Martin Luther King said, “but we have not come together here this morning to discuss dentistry. What I want to know is, what impact have recent events in Boston had upon the likelihood of recovering The Two Georges ? I tell you frankly, gentlemen and you, Dr. Flannery, if that chance seems to me unlikely and the Sons of Liberty make their ransom demand as His Majesty Charles III is approaching Victoria Harbor, I shall have little choice but to comply.”
Kathleen Flannery said, “Your Excellency, couldn’t you ask His Majesty to postpone his visit until we’ve recovered The Two Georges one way or another? After all, if the Sons killed to steal one symbol of the unity of the Empire, mightn’t they also think of making an attempt on the King-Emperor’s life?”
“As a matter of fact, Dr. Flannery, at Sir David’s urging I sent His Majesty a telegram of this purport the other day,” Sir Martin answered. “That information, by the way, is not to leave this room.” He waited for everyone to nod before continuing, “He replied most promptly, and declined most firmly: he said he should become an object of reproach rather than admiration throughout the Empire if he let concern for his personal safety deflect him from his chosen course.”
“Oh, good show,” Bushell said softly.
As usual, Sam Stanley had a more pragmatic turn of mind. “I wish he would have made an exception, just this once,” he said. “I wouldn’t have thought any less of him for making my life easier.”
“Exactly what was in my mind,” Sir David Clarke said. “Sir Martin predicted he would refuse.” He glanced at his boss with bemused respect. He has no courage himself, so he marvels that Sir Martin recognized it in someone else, Bushell thought.
“We may take it as settled that His Majesty will depart London on the appointed day,” Sir Martin Luther King declared, “and that no one save the almighty God on high will delay him from reaching Victoria, also on the appointed day.” As he did every so often, he fell back into the cadences of the minister of the Gospel he had been.
“We may also take it as settled that we’d better have The Two Georges back by the appointed day or else we start falling on our swords,” Sir Horace Bragg said.
“That’s correct,” Sir David Clarke agreed. “We must obtain the return of the painting by the time the King-Emperor reaches us, and obtain it by whatever means prove necessary.” He talked like a bureaucrat, not a preacher, but here his meaning was perfectly clear even so. Sir Martin said, “Sub Rosa, I will tell you gentlemen - and you, of course, Dr. Flannery - that I have directed the minister of the exchequer to gather together the sum of specie the Sons of Liberty demanded in their note. If ransom becomes necessary for the return of The Two Georges , it shall be paid. I find this course odious but in the last resort unavoidable.”
“We’ll have to make sure we don’t come down to the last resort, then,” Bushell said.
“Unfortunately, while we’ve heard a great many promises to that effect, we’ve seen little that actually appears to lead toward the recovery of The Two Georges,” Clarke said.
“Did you hear that?” Bushell exclaimed. “It’s the last straw. Now he’s accusing me of talking like a politico!”
Samuel Stanley looked up at the ceiling. Sir Martin Luther King looked down at his hands. Lieutenant General Sir Horace Bragg rubbed the side of his jaw. Kathleen let out a tiny yip of laughter that might almost - have been a cough. And Sir David Clarke gaped like a netted bluegill, eyes wide and staring, mouth fallen open. Bushell had gone after him plenty of times before, but never with such genial absurdity. What was the world coming to?
Bushell didn’t quite wink at Kathleen. “Must be love,” he said.
Her expression was unreadable.
If Sir Martin had sounded like a preacher a few minutes before, Sir Horace seemed downright pontifical as he declared, “Given the new evidence Colonel Bushell and his colleagues have amassed - evidence suggesting that The Two Georges may well be somewhere here close by the capital - I firmly believe we shall yet regain it in time for it to grace His Majesty’s arrival, and that we shall do so without having to pay a single sovereign in ransom.”