Chapter 17 #2
While Julien was correcting the footman’s error and instructing him what he should know to do without asking, Jacob took a quick survey of the company gathered for the musical morning.
The host Julien was tall and thin with a pronounced nose.
One would think that would make him ugly but there was something mesmerising in his dark eyes and sleek black hair that lessened the impact of his nose, somehow making it the perfect feature for his striking face.
He was Gallic through and through, from his hand-waving gestures to his shrugs and exclamations of frustration at the quality of the servants he had been able to engage since the collapse of his family and, presumably, his finances.
Jacob wondered how much longer Julien would be able to continue in this house.
Only until the end of the lease, he would guess.
As Julien’s father had been the government pensioner, that would have stopped immediately on his demise.
Julien had no obvious motive to be a party in their deaths because he must now be far worse off and without an income.
Hopefully, the art collection that adorned the walls in this room and the hallway was his and he could sell it to survive a little longer until something else turned up.
Turning his attention to Julien’s company, Jacob realised he had met one of them the day before: Count Ivan Vorontsov, aide to the Russian envoy, last seen at the Silver Cross. He bowed.
‘Count Vorontsov, how was the chop?’
The count’s confusion at this greeting cleared as he got a good look at Jacob. ‘Ah, the friend of Thornbury! It was excellent. Delighted to meet you again.’
Jacob introduced Dora and Miss Austen without explaining their presence.
He hoped they would get a moment alone with Julien, but the count looked very at home in the music room and made no sign of leaving.
In his turn, the Russian introduced his wife, Countess Vorontsova, and her companion, Yekatarina Petrovna.
The elegant countess was small and blonde, a complete opposite to her bluff, curly-haired husband.
Miss Petrovna was about Dora’s stature and had the lively expression of one who found much to mock in life.
She was finely dressed and had her brunette hair styled in intricate ringlets which indicated she was no impoverished lady’s companion but had her own maid.
Julien invited them all to take seats.
‘I cannot tell you how distressed I was to hear of the deaths of your excellent parents,’ said Miss Austen, settling into the chair near the piano while he perched on the stool. ‘Please accept my heartfelt condolences.’
Julien gave her a nod as if words for his grief were too difficult. He said instead, ‘Your brother and his wife have been very kind.’
‘They feel it is the least they can do, considering the circumstances.’
Julien looked again at the card in his hand. ‘Fitz-Pennington and Sandys? What business do you have with me?’
Jacob shot Dora a look. She was keeping quiet, her attention on the Russians, and gave him no indication how to play this. It was up to him to take the lead. ‘Would you care to step outside so we can talk in private?’ suggested Jacob.
‘No, no, the count and countess are family friends. They know all my business. Indeed, I wouldn’t have survived the last month without their support.’ Julien tucked the card into his breast pocket.
‘Very well. Miss Fitz-Pennington and I run an agency looking into sensitive matters for private clients. One of them has asked us to ascertain the motive for the attack on your parents.’
Julien frowned. ‘It was a fit of insanity – I thought the coroner had decided?’
‘Indeed, but our client has heard rumours that threaten to tarnish your parents’ reputation posthumously and he wishes to have a cast-iron story to lay before the ton when it returns in September.’
‘What kind of rumours?’
‘That your father was working for the enemy.’
‘Impossible!’ Julien slammed the piano keys in a crashing discord.
Jacob held up a placating hand. ‘Which is why we want to scotch any such rumours and circulate the truth. That may well be that the killer was mad. If we can prove this wasn’t an isolated incident on the part of the perpetrator, that he was ill, then that would silence the gossipers.
’ Indeed, that was an angle they were yet to explore.
The Italian was little but a name to them at this point.
Vorontsov gave a snort of disdain. ‘You cannot stop rumours. You can only wait for them to die out. Everyone is dead. It no longer matters.’
‘Unfortunately, Count Vorontsov,’ said Dora, speaking up for the first time, ‘that is not true. Reputations matter to the living. I am sure the comte would not want to let his parents’ memory be injured when he can prevent it?’
Julien could not say he did not care after she had phrased it that way. ‘Indeed, Miss Fitz-Pennington. My parents deserve better. They deserve to have lived, but if they cannot have that, then they deserve to be respected.’
‘You weren’t with them that day?’ Dora asked gently.
‘No, I had gone ahead. I was here, preparing for a party – a musical party. Maman did so love a—’ He broke off and got up to walk off his distress.
‘La comtesse was a lady of great talent,’ said Countess Vorontsova, taking over from their host. She languished on the sofa and fanned herself prettily.
‘We adored to hear her sing. Ivan, remember that New Year’s party chez nous in Dresden?
She sang all evening, her powers undiminished.
’ She turned to Julien. ‘Do you remember, Jules? I think you played your first piece before an audience that night.’
He smiled bitterly. ‘If only we could turn back the clock.’
‘I take it, countess, that you knew the comte and comtesse well when they lived in Dresden?’ asked Jacob, remembering Thornbury had said that the comte had been attached to the Russian Legation in 1805 until the then Russian Foreign Minister and the comte’s sponsor had fallen out of favour.
‘Knew them? Mon cher Dr Sandys, en effet we lived together, in and out of each other’s houses.
Petit Jules was friendly with our own son, Grigory.
’ She pursed her rosebud lips, managing to look childlike despite what he estimated was at least forty years of age.
‘Is war not a terrible thing? Thinking of the suffering of the mothers of Europe! The continent is awash in tears. Grigory is serving in the army now under Prince Kutuzov. I thought he would be the one in danger, not mes chers amis living in London. You remember the party, don’t you, Katya? ’
Miss Petrovna chuckled sadly. She had a deep voice for a woman, likely an alto if she sang.
‘That was a good season. I believe that was the winter I made my debut. It is cruel of you to remind me how many years have passed.’ She twirled her hand.
‘See, Dr Sandys, seven years have passed and I am still unattached.’
The countess seized Miss Petrovna’s fingers, gaze intense. ‘You must marry Jules, Katya, and then we can all smile again.’
Julien rolled his eyes, suggesting this was an old tease by someone he knew well and that no one was offended by the shameless matchmaking.
‘You know Julien is married to his music,’ said Miss Petrovna, patting her friend’s hand. ‘You must give up your schemes, Marta.’
‘I will not give up until everyone is happy and this war is over,’ said the countess with every indication that for her part she was not joking.
‘Count Vorontsov,’ said Jacob, ‘I’m sorry to return to the subject of the murders, but if this were a simple case resolved by the death of Lorenzo then there would be wisdom in leaving it there.
However, since we began asking questions a day ago it has become clear that someone is dangerously invested in making sure we get no answers.
All three of us were attacked yesterday, unlikely though that may sound. ’
‘Not to mention ungentlemanly,’ muttered Miss Austen.
‘We’ve upset someone and now we must know why, else we will not know for certain if the danger has passed.’
‘Do you English not say, never disturb the wasp nest?’ said Vorontsov, the gold of his epaulets shining with military splendour. He was a strange messenger to preach avoidance. Jacob rather thought his appearance more suited to charging directly at the guns.
‘That is all very well if the wasps are settled, but in this case I think they are swarming and ready to sting anyone who dares ask questions,’ said Miss Austen with a hint of impatience.
‘My room was searched and letters stolen merely because I was seen accompanying Miss Fitz-Pennington as she visited Barnes Terrace.’
‘I was pushed in front of a carriage, and Miss Fitz-Pennington’s hackney cab had fireworks thrown at the horse, almost causing a serious accident last night,’ added Jacob.
‘There were many fireworks last night,’ said Vorontsov.
‘You are suggesting it might be a coincidence?’ said Dora. ‘Then how do you explain the two men who pursued me after I escaped the carriage?’
Julien went back to the piano and ran his fingers over the polished top, pausing on a miniature in an ornate frame that looked as if it could be his mother at the height of her fame. ‘But why? I cannot think of any reason why anyone would do such things.’
‘Nor can we at the moment,’ said Jacob. ‘But if we were attacked, then it stands to reason that you might also be a target.’
Clutching the picture, he threw his arms wide, appealing to the heavens. ‘But Lorenzo is dead! Cannot my parents be left in peace?’
‘He may not have worked alone, sir,’ said Jacob.
Julien put the frame down and turned his back to it, a protective gesture. ‘Worked? You mean you think he had some kind of reason other than being employed as a servant to live in my parents’ household?’
Now he was beginning to understand! It was about time the young man woke up to the danger.
‘You should consider the fact that your father was close to the government and his opinion was valued. It would not be surprising to find the enemy planted informers in his circle to find out what he was saying.’
Julien folded his arms, still in denial. ‘But Lorenzo was a deserter. He hated Napoleon.’
‘Was he? How do you know that?’
‘Well, he told us.’ Julien swallowed, letting his arms fall to his side.
‘You’re right – sacré bleu, you’re right!
I’m a fool. We didn’t know much about him when Father took him on.
He just seemed amusing and personable. My father liked his staff to be handsome.
He said it reflected well on the household. ’
‘I do not understand what this man is saying,’ said the countess, appealing to her husband and shooting disapproving looks at Jacob. ‘Do you, Ivan?’
Vorontsov went to stand behind her, resting his hands on her shoulders to give a comforting squeeze.
‘He is saying, ma chérie, that Bonaparte might have infiltrated the D’Antraigues household and engineered an assassination of our friends.
As much as I would prefer to think the deaths were the act of a solitary madman, I am forced to admit that no one holds a grudge like Napoleon. ’
‘Non! Ce n’est pas possible!’ said the countess, applying her lacy handkerchief to her eyes which brimmed with tears. ‘C’est une horreur!’
Her friend reached over and took her hand. ‘Courage, madame.’
Feeling rather ungentlemanly to have so upset the ladies, Jacob could do nothing but plough on with their enquiries.
‘Comte D’Antraigues, did your father leave you any papers, anything to do with the political reporting that he engaged in for the Foreign Secretary?’ he asked.
‘Me?’ Julien looked shocked at the suggestion. ‘No! I have no interest in such things. I take after my mother. My passion is music.’
‘Have you been through the contents of his study here?’ asked Dora.
‘Yes, with the help of Count Vorontsov – oh, and some men from the Foreign Office came to take everything associated with Father’s work for them. They said it was a matter of national security.’
So the cupboard was bare here, already picked clean.
‘You should make that fact as generally known as possible,’ said Jacob, standing up to go.
‘If you have nothing of that nature close at hand, you are unlikely to be of interest to the people who attacked us. However, I would caution you to be on your guard. Somehow, we have stepped into murky waters and I don’t see the bottom of them yet. ’
‘Very well. Thank you for the warning. I would suggest you give up your enquiry, but I imagine it is too late for that?’ Julien conducted them to the door.
‘Indeed, it is,’ agreed Jacob. ‘The hounds have slipped their leashes and are not yet back in the kennel.’
Julien glanced over his shoulder, checking they were out of the hearing of his Russian guests. ‘If you find anything … pertinent, will you let me know? They are my parents first and foremost and I am the one most concerned with their legacy.’
‘We understand, sir,’ said Jacob. ‘And I know our client is as anxious not to damage their reputation as you could be.’
‘I would hate people to judge them. They led unconventional lives.’ Julien gave one of his magnificent shrugs, a ‘what do you expect?’ gesture of the generation that danced its way blindly into the revolution.
‘But they were both brilliant in their own way. I count myself fortunate to be their son.’