The Russian White, page 17
Chapter Thirty
“We don’t have much time gentlemen.”
The Chief strode into the study, slammed the door, and joined Hood and Buffrey by the fire, where they sat in high-backed leather chairs and cradled glasses of brandy.
“We need to begin the questioning.” He flopped into a vacant chair and rested his head against the soft upholstery. “I suggest we interrogate them individually. One of us questions one of them. Make notes, the Russians are bound to lie, but parts of their story may be consistent, and it’s that that we need to work on. We need information, and fast, before their disappearance is discovered.”
“Well that won’t take long.” Hood swirled his brandy in lazy circles. “The Russian Ambassador’s wife is rather a conspicuous figure at present.”
“And if we have enough leads to begin a search,” The Chief continued. “I want to be able to conduct it without a fuss. We will lose that advantage when the story breaks.”
“Exactly.” Buffrey’s voice shrilled with fear. “And how are you going to explain that when it happens? What crazy lies are you going to invent to cover this mess?”
The Chief closed his eyes. Why was their support so fractious? He hoped, with perseverance, and a little luck, that time would teach them the soundness of his actions, but the struggle needed to achieve that happy result seemed insurmountable.
“I am going to announce that I have put the Ambassador’s wife under house arrest.”
“And escalate the crisis in the Holy Lands into a full scale war? Is that wise?” Hood’s distaste for this rash action was clear; even if his comment was less than sound.
The Chief massaged his temples. He longed for sleep, if possible for a hundred years, and this cosy study with its warm fire would be the ideal starting point. Just forty winks even. He pinched his cheek until the pain forced his blurry mind to engage. “Well,” he replied at last; “That might happen.”
“Can’t we forget all about it Chief?” whined Buffrey. “I mean does the diamond really matter anymore? Nobody knows about it except us, and if it does go back to Russia, well so what? It’s ancient history.”
The Chief shut his eyes and marshalled his thoughts. “If the Russians have the diamond they will use it to wage war on the Holy Lands. They want to re-establish the Orthodox faith in the lands of the diamond’s origin, and with the Russian White in their hands they can justify their wish to invade those lands by calling it a Holy War. It is of course a smoke screen to hide their real intentions of taking control of the Straits of Constantinople and that, gentlemen, I cannot allow to happen.”
Hood cleared his throat. “Are you sure about this? Without the Russian Ambassador to verify such a statement, aren’t you just whistling in the wind?”
“I can’t waste time waiting for my men to find the Russian Ambassador.” He opened his eyes and gazed at the ceiling. “His wife told me all about the Tsar’s plan.” He sat up, his mind flicking through the extraordinary events of two nights ago. “I was, I admit, surprised that she knew so much about it. It seems that she and her husband work together, something I hadn’t expected.” He glared into the fire. “She frightened me. Of course she was gloating over the recovery of the diamond, but she spoke about it with such fervour, as if it were a living thing. It would unlock the “Russian spirit,” she said, encourage the people to perform great deeds for the Motherland, and as she spoke, her whole being seemed suffused by the unshakeable belief that whatever she said or did concerning the diamond was absolutely right. Trying to discuss the diamond in a rational way was out of the question. It is the Tsar’s wish to reinstate it as a Russian icon. She reveres the Tsar like a God. They all do. So the idea that the diamond will tear the State and Church apart is wrong. The recovery of the diamond will strengthen the Tsar’s God like status.” He flopped back in his seat. “When the diamond returns to Russia they will go to war in the Holy Lands. When they hear that I have kidnapped the Russian Ambassador’s wife, they may go to war to avenge what they will see as an act of aggression. It will certainly cause a stink. Either way, we are in a cleft stick.”
“That’s what I’m saying,” Buffrey shouted. “So what’s the point in even being here? If any one finds out what you have done, we will hang.”
“Well-.” Hood sipped his brandy. “I suppose the diamond is still some sort of a bargaining tool. Might it be possible to reach an agreement with the Russians that could stop them from all out hostilities? We could expose their duplicity regarding their secret operations over here. How much will they concede to keeping us quiet?”
Hood’s words were wise, their logic possible. The capture of Konstantin Raevsky at the Embassy, and the resultant discovery of The Third Section in Southwark had been a surprise and a revelation, notwithstanding Hood’s and William’s earlier suspicions, but it didn’t alter the fact that they still hadn’t recovered the diamond. The Southwark shop was empty when his men raided.
“Very little I’m afraid. In their eyes, the past is irrelevant. Our only chance of keeping this business quiet is by getting the diamond back.”
“Well that’s it then.” Buffrey staggered to his feet, his bloated face red with fear. Hood had told him the saga of Buffrey’s panic at the Embassy, and it looked as if a repeat performance might be imminent. Forewarned, he’d had time to prepare.
“I don’t want anything more to do with it,” Buffrey gabbled. “It’s pointless sitting here talking. We’ll never get the diamond back. Gentlemen, I relinquish my membership of The Brotherhood. I’m leaving.” He fumbled his brandy, and some of it spilled on the rug as he slid the glass onto the mantelpiece and made for the door. “I’m leaving.”
“If you go I shall kill you.”
Buffrey jolted to a stop at The Chief’s words. “What?”
“If you go I shall kill you.” He rested his hands on the chair arms. He didn’t relish the prospect of bringing down the Judge, such a big man to overpower. Hood, he hoped, might help.
“Kill me? You can’t kill me.”
“I can and I will.” He stood.
“It’s-it’s not-. Have you gone mad? You can’t-.” Buffrey waved his hands in confusion. He looked to Hood for some sort of explanation.
The Chief cracked his fingers. “Membership of The Brotherhood is for life. To give it up requires your death. That is the only way out.”
“But-but-why can’t I?”
Hood sprang to his feet and took the Judge’s arm. “Come, come, Buffrey. You’re tired and overwrought. We all are.” He dragged him back to the fireside. “We have reached a delicate moment when time and circumstance are against us. But we need to press on. Don’t let fearful thoughts overwhelm your commitments to The Brotherhood. We need you.”
Buffrey’s hands shook with the violence of a palsy sufferer. “I can’t do it-I’m-it’s I’m-scared.” He burst into tears.
Hood’s eyes rose in resigned despair. He retrieved the Judge’s brandy and pressed the glass into his hands. “Sit down.”
The Chief regarded how hopeless the man was when faced with the reality of a dangerous situation. William’s betrayal had left The Brotherhood in tatters, and he couldn’t allow it to fragment any further.
“For goodness sakes,” he exclaimed. “Straighten up. Of course you can’t just walk out. What are you thinking?” He bent down, his face level with the Judge’s. “We have lost the diamond. The Brotherhood works to keep it safe, and we have to try and get it back. That is what we are here for. This is not the time to have a fit of hysterics at the first whiff of trouble.”
“But suppose we..”
“Suppose nothing. At a time of increased diplomatic tension we have every reason to question the Russian’s whenever and wherever we like. I took the decision to question them outside London as a simple precaution against interruptions or distractions.”
“But the soldiers?”
“A necessary safeguard against trouble.”
“But suppose the Russian wife tells-?” Brandy slopped out of Buffrey’s glass and into his lap.
“Tells who what?” interrupted The Chief.
“The newspapers, that you kidnapped her to recover the diamond.”
This problem, and it was a possibility, he had solved. To speak the words would clarify their effectiveness, if this situation became public knowledge. He stood straight and affected a look of confused surprise.
“That’s a preposterous story. What diamond? What does a diamond have to do with the crisis in the Holy Lands? I’ve never heard of the Russian White.”
Buffrey gawped in disbelief. Perhaps the Judge wasn’t the brightest target on which to practice this deceit, still, he persevered. “The Ambassador’s wife must be off her chump. Send for Doctor Hood and clap her in Bedlam.”
Buffrey swallowed, and the fear in his face lessened.
The Chief ceased his pretence, confident that such an approach might work. “Nobody knows about the diamond,” he concluded.
“No but Chief-.”
“Nobody will believe what she says. She’s a Russian, an enemy. The sooner we’re shot of her the better, that’s what people will say.”
“But somebody might find out.”
His patience evaporated at wasting such valuable time. “Oh for goodness sakes! Nobody will find out unless one of us goes to the newspapers. And even then, who is going to listen to some crackpot story about a missing diamond and the spreading of the Orthodox faith in the Holy Lands. And quite honestly, who is going to care? Nobody knows anything about the Russian White. We know how serious it is, and we know what we have to do to remedy it.”
“All the same-.”
“Enough.” He raised his hand and Buffrey spluttered into his brandy, but stayed quiet.
Hood wandered over to the window, apparently unworried by the terrors that consumed the Judge. He hoped he had the Doctor’s support. So far, his loyalty to this crisis had been admirable, though he had his moments of doubt about Hood. That evening at the Club; he feared a conspiracy between him and William, yet Hood’s unbelievable shock at William’s deceit convinced him that his reaction was genuine, and his heartless stripping of William’s assets confirmed it. Hood’s commitment to The Brotherhood was, he thought, still strong.
He joined him by the window, and gazed across the Terrace and the Park beyond. The light had faded, and grey clouds flew overhead, driven by a keen wind that shook the foliage on the trees and shrubs in fitful gusts.
“Our stay here must be short. My secretary will tell Parliament that I am away on private business, but I can only spare two days at the most.”
Hood sighed. “I don’t see the point in being here at all. It’s clear that the Russian Ambassador has the diamond.”
“Maybe, but I need to be sure of that. And we might learn his whereabouts.”
“Well let’s get on with it then.” The Doctor put down his glass. “Who do you want me to question first?”
“Isobel, and I’ll tackle that Konstantin fellow.” He had the situation under control. Energy ignited his blood with new keenness, and his heart beat with building excitement. He spun on his heel and faced the Judge.
“And as for you-.” Buffrey jumped as if he’d been slapped. “Go with the Doctor. I can’t let you loose on them until you stop blubbing.”
Chapter Thirty One
Peggy knelt in the dumb waiter and pulled the rope, hand over hand, to lower it down the dark shaft. How far till she reached the kitchens in the basement?
The wooden box rocked, and sometimes it bumped against the stone wall. Her wrists hurt, and she stopped pulling to give herself a rest. It was pitch-black.
The rope creaked, and the box slipped sideways and hit the wall with a loud clunk. She blocked out the thought of the deep drop below and remembered instead all the laden dishes hauled up and down these same ropes to Sylvia’s bedroom every day. Their weight must be heavier than her tiny frame.
She rubbed her hands to ease the soreness. Her eyes played tricks as white lights winked, though when she blinked there was nothing. Why didn’t she think to bring a candle?
The white lights winked, not real, yet that draught that blew across her face, was that real? She stretched her hands out and held them very still. The gentlest breath blew across her fingertips. Did it come from the kitchens? Or from outside, it felt icy?
She leant forward and pressed her face into the dark to sniff it, and the lift tipped with a violent lurch and hit the wall with a sharp crack, and then dropped in three sickening bumps.
She grabbed the rope, and held tight. The lift shuddered to a halt.
Her ragged breathing echoed back at her in terrified gasps. She didn’t dare let go, and her fingers ached with pain. Her scratched cheek burned, and the torn skin smarted with an insistent throb.
The draught blew stronger; a breeze of cold air that blew through the bones of the old House.
She released one hand from the rope and, with painful slowness, traced the flow of air to its source at the edge of the lift floor. Her fingers recoiled at the cold touch of the shaft wall. She touched the freezing stones again. A smooth surface, though as she ran her hand lower, they ended in a jagged edge, broken and sharp.
She dared to lean forward a little more, and her hand exposed an empty space where the cold air flowed, just above the lift floor.
She took hold of the rope with both hands, and pulled down on it with all her strength. The lift righted itself, lurched, and descended a few short bumps. She stopped pulling, and the lift jerked to a halt.
Cold air filled the box. She waved her hand in a wide circle in front of her, nothing but empty space. An air shaft, she wondered, or some sort of tunnel? She pressed her palm on the lift floor and patted it across the rough boards. She reached the edge and, with careful probing fingers, went beyond it. Her hand flattened onto cold stone. The tunnel had a floor, and without a moment’s hesitation she leapt, cat-like, out of the lift and landed on all fours on hard stone. Her knees cracked, but she didn’t care, the relief at escaping from the lift and its’ sickening swinging made her heart pound.
She lay down, closed her eyes, and fell fast asleep.
She awoke with a start. The darkness frightened her, and she pinched her arm to make sure she wasn’t still sleeping. She tried to remember her muddled dreams, punctured by strange sounds, like a rattle and a creak and a bump. Silence now; how long had she slept? Her body ached and cold stiffened her joints.
She took her time to sit up, every movement made her groan. Her wounded cheek, pressed against the stones, had gone numb. She stroked the torn skin, until the first jab of pain brought the nerves back to life.
Time to climb back into that horrid lift. The kitchens must be near, and she felt refreshed after her sleep, there was strength in the old bones yet.
She dragged herself round and crawled. She expected to feel the lift’s coarse planks straight away, so the emptiness surprised her. Was she facing in the right direction? Had she gone further down the tunnel than she thought? She knelt, and waved her arms in wide circles. Very odd, it must be here, but no need to be frightened, if only she knew how far to crawl.
She shuffled along for a few more inches, and her left knee pressed onto thin air and she toppled into the darkness. She shrieked, and her arms whirled, as she grasped for something to save her.
Her fingers snapped against the hairy rope that hauled the dumb waiter up and down the shaft, and she gripped it tight to stop her fall. She gasped, and clasped the rope tighter. She was hanging face down, swinging from side to side, her toes lodged against the rough lip of the stone tunnel.
Impossible to hold on for long, as her shoulders squeezed her arms out of their sockets.
She opened her mouth, but hard to shout with her neck so constricted. Any moment she would drop down the shaft to certain death. Perhaps, if she let go, death might come sooner and quicker, but she didn’t let go, though her strength weakened, and her rigid body ached with fear.
Then the rope trembled. She tightened her grip, and wailed a strangled cry of pain. Then it jolted, and almost flung her off, and then it moved. She wanted to scream, “Stop, Stop,” as her ears roared with rushing blood.
She rose with the rope, and the weight of her body shifted as she was carried upwards. Her toes dug into the stone and threatened to snap with the pressure. Her wrists burned with pain, and still she rose, back towards Sylvia’s bedroom.
The rope pulled her above the tunnel floor, and her feet took the weight of her body, and there flashed into her mind the sudden possibility of saving her life. She had one moment, and took her chance.
She pressed against the rope, flexed her arms, and then pushed with all her might. She curved backwards, landed on her back, and cracked her head against the stones.
Dazed, and panting for breath, she breathed the cold air in short sharp gasps.
She heard again the noises that disturbed her dreams, a creak and a groan and a bump, coming closer.
She knew it, of course, the sound of the dumb waiter rising up the lift shaft. It passed the spot where she lay, and the smell of meat pie and sticky chocolate pudding wafted over her, before the breeze blew it away. The lift trundled upwards to Sylvia’s bedroom.
The food smells cleared her head and she sat up. She smiled, though it hurt her cheek, just happy to be alive. She had no idea where she was, or how to get out, but alive, and she patted her legs for reassurance. They were undamaged, and that made escape possible.
Which way to go? The dumb waiter would return full of cold uneaten food, because Sylvia couldn’t climb out of bed. She sat up and faced the oncoming breeze.
Did this tunnel lead to the outside, or a dead end? Death might not give her a second chance, yet her only hope now was to follow it.
She crawled along and checked, with pats of her hands, that the stones stayed solid and secure beneath her, before she shifted her weight from one to the other.
The tunnel curved downwards. She hummed a song she remembered as a girl, and then she sang it out loud. It gave her confidence to keep going. And the more she remembered, the louder she sang.
