‘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.