He knew he was going too far. His stewardship was officially at an end; he had to recognise the superior authority of the noble lady to whom he was daring to dish out advice and demands. But Captain Swinburne was not a man to retreat from a position he’d taken up, whether his feet were on the deck of a gunboat or on a silken rug in a douce London drawing room.
She looked up at him sharply, scanning his weather-beaten features and standing firm before the challenge in his very English blue eyes.
He steeled himself to receive the set-down he’d merited.
But the princess’s response when it came was thoughtful: ‘Captain, it occurs to me that losing your support could constitute yet another blow to Anna’s well-being.’
‘I did what I could. Believe me, ma’am, it was her choice to break the bond we have established.’ The words stretched between them, vibrating with a resentment he had not intended. He hurried to add: ‘But an encouraging sign, I’m sure you’ll agree. She’s ready to move forward. She recognises now that she has a future and I do believe she is making plans for it.’ He broke off, unwilling to say more and indicated that he was ready to bring her in.
As he passed the grand piano, Swinburne’s attention was caught by a photograph, the one at the forefront of a cluster of silver-framed portraits arranged on the shining surface. He exclaimed and went to examine more closely a group of five or six earnest-looking young women dressed in nurse’s uniform, a flutter of angels gathered in a semiformal pose around a bed in a hospital ward. The wounded soldier at the centre of their attention looked suitably overawed.
‘There she is! That’s Anna! Good Lord! She actually was a nurse! So much she didn’t tell me…’
Responding to the invitation in the Russian’s expression, he smiled, eyes on the photograph. ‘One of my crew was careless enough to cut his leg to the bone on a day when our doctor was ashore in Trondheim. They brought him to me, dripping blood and swooning and Anna, who was with me on deck, snapped out of her torpid state and had the chap sedated, stitched up and bandaged with all the skill of a medic in no time. Saved the leg, I reckon.’
The lady chuckled. ‘She was always a fine needlewoman! But none of these girls was truly a nurse, you know. Amateurs all, some more capable than others. Some with decorative merit only. You’re looking, Captain, at the contents of the topmost drawer of the Russian aristocracy doing their bit in wartime for their country. The Empress Alexandra herself led by example and floated through the wards in cape and wimple dispensing comfort. Though I ought not to disparage their efforts – they meant well and, in Anna’s case, acquired a genuine skill they say. But, Captain… you do well to pick her out amongst so many beauties and all wearing an unflattering starched head-dress…?’
The question was lightly put but Swinburne was a man sensitive to the slightest change in wind and current. He picked up an underlying tension. Was he being quizzed in some way? Had the photograph, prominently placed as it was, been set there deliberately as some kind of test? He didn’t doubt it. The captain was straightforward. He couldn’t be doing with traps and subtleties. And he could understand the lady’s deeper concerns. His reply came at once.
‘Be assured, Ma’am. I’d know her face anywhere. It’s the line of the nose – like a Greek statue… and the dark eyebrows – they have the sweep of a gull’s wing. She’s the one on the far left. I’d no idea this was her world.’
The Russian who had been tugging at the pearls at her throat in some suspense, sighed with relief at his identification and stopped her fidgeting. She came to stand at his side, looking at the photograph with him, relaxed now and companionable. Whatever test she’d just administered – he seemed to have passed it and, puzzled, he listened as she made further confidences. ‘Yes, Captain. That is indeed our Anna. My poor dead cousin Peter’s daughter. I held her in my arms the day she was born.’
He was pleased to note in her voice the tremble of an emotion she could no longer hold back, the tears gathering in her eyes, the furtive hunting in her sleeve for a handkerchief. She accepted the crisp square of linen he had instantly to hand and put it to use with grace and murmured thanks. After a moment, she spoke again more brightly. ‘As a child, Anna spent many a summer with us in the Crimea… she will feel at home here with me now. But I share your dismay and wonder at a world so abruptly and tragically torn from us. Well connected as she was, Anna would have made a good marriage. She could have had her pick of the finest young men of Europe. Probably not royalty but a count at the very least… a duke perhaps? Sadly now all dead or dispersed and she herself ruined beyond any hope of…’
She suppressed the alarming thought and her tone became crisp. ‘But then… that is all past and we must look, as you say, to her future. You may leave her with us in total confidence. I have heard your words and understood the deeper concerns on which you are tactfully silent. I say again – I will provide the care she needs.’
Swinburne had heard the same tone from admirals and generals. There was only one acceptable answer: ‘Yes, sir. Of course, sir.’ This tiny, decisive woman he had no knowledge of and no reason to trust, had, unaccountably, got under his defences. He nodded his superfluous agreement. ‘Yes, ma’am. Of course, ma’am,’ he said and he smiled as he spoke.
Swinburne bowed and made to leave.
‘Wait, Captain!’ She hesitated for a moment then picked up the photograph and handed it to him. ‘If you will keep it for your eyes alone you may have this – some slight reward for your care. But be discreet! We aristocrats all have a price on our heads still and are pursued. London is full of ruthless men. Not a few of them, our enemies.’
As he took it from her, mumbling his thanks, he caught a flash of indulgence and pity in her eyes. She’d guessed his secret in minutes. Time he was gone.
The two women ran into each other’s arms exclaiming softly in delighted recognition. Swinburne skirted silently around them in the hallway, glad enough to hear:
‘Aunt Tizzi!’…
‘Anna! My dear girl! At last! We have you safe!’
In the outburst of tears and sobs that followed, they didn’t hear him leaving.
He was blameless. As innocent as the obliging bird that gobbles down the inky, sweet berry of the deadly nightshade then flies off unwittingly to disperse the seed, Captain Swinburne had just dropped off a deadly cargo in a fertile corner of London.
He prepared to move on.
‘We’re finished here, cabby. Back to Piccadilly while you can still see the road.’
He shouldn’t have looked back.
A last glance through the window showed him Anna. She’d come outside again and was standing motionless, neither waving away nor beckoning back, watching him leave. The fog was coming down and he couldn’t make out her face but, in his imagination, he saw her dark otter’s eyes following him as the taxi drew away.
OTHER TITLES IN THE SOHO CRIME SERIES
Quentin Bates
(Iceland)
Frozen Assets
Cold Comfort
Cheryl Benard
(Pakistan)
Moghul Buffet
James R. Benn
(World War II Europe)
Billy Boyle
The First Wave
Blood Alone
Evil for Evil
Rag & Bone
A Mortal Terror
Cara Black
(Paris, France)
Murder in the Marais
Murder in Belleville
Murder in the Sentier
Murder in the Bastille
Murder in Clichy
Murder in Montmarte
Murder on the Ile Saint-Louis
Murder in the Rue de Paradis
Murder in the Latin Quarter
Murder in the Palais Royale
Murder in Passy
Murder at the Lanterne Rouge
Grace Brophy
(Italy)
The Last Enemy
A Deadly Paradise
Henr
y Chang
(Chinatown)
Chinatown Beat
Year of the Dog
Red Jade
Colin Cotterill
(Laos)
The Coroner’s Lunch
Thirty-Three Teeth
Disco for the Departed
Anarchy and Old Dogs
Curse of the Pogo Stick
The Merry Misogynist
Love Songs from a Shallow Grave
Slash and Burn
Garry Disher
(Australia)
The Dragon Man
Kittyhawk Down
Snapshot
Chain of Evidence
Blood Moon
Wyatt
David Downing
(World War II Germany)
Zoo Station
Silesian Station
Stettin Station
Potsdam Station
Lehrter Station
Leighton Gage
(Brazil)
Blood of the Wicked
Buried Strangers
Dying Gasp
Every Bitter Thing
A Vine in the Blood
Michael Genelin
(Slovakia)
Siren of the Waters
Dark Dreams
The Magician’s Accomplice
Requiem for a Gypsy
Adrian Hyland
(Australia)
Moonlight Downs
Gunshot Road
Stan Jones
(Alaska)
White Sky, Black Ice
Shaman Pass
Village of the Ghost Bears
Lene Kaaberbøl & Agnete Friis
(Denmark)
The Boy in the Suitcase
Graeme Kent
(Solomon Islands)
Devil-Devil
One Blood
Martin Limón
(South Korea)
Jade Lady Burning
Slicky Boys
Buddha’s Money
The Door to Bitterness
The Wandering Ghost
G.I. Bones
Mr. Kill
Peter Lovesey
(Bath, England)
The Last Detective
The Vault
On the Edge
The Reaper
Rough Cider
The False Inspector Dew
Peter Lovesey (cont.)
Diamond Dust
Diamond Solitaire
The House Sitter
The Summons
Bloodhounds
Upon a Dark Night
The Circle
The Secret Hangman
The Headhunters
Skeleton Hill
Stagestruck
Cop to Corpse
Jassy Mackenzie
(South Africa)
Random Violence
Stolen Lives
The Fallen
Seich Matsumoto
(Japan)
Inspector Imanishi Investigates
James McClure
(South Africa)
The Steam Pig
The Caterpillar Cop
The Gooseberry Fool
Snake
The Sunday Hangman
The Blood of an Englishman
Jan Merete Weiss
(Italy)
These Dark Things
Magdalen Nabb
(Italy)
Death of an Englishman
Death of a Dutchman
Death in Springtime
Death in Autumn
The Marshal and the Madwoman
The Marshal and the Murderer
The Marshal’s Own Case
The Marshal Makes His Report
The Marshal at the Villa Torrini
Property of Blood
Some Bitter Taste
The Innocent
Vita Nuova
Stuart Neville
(Northern Ireland)
The Ghosts of Belfast
Collusion
Stolen Souls
Eliot Pattison
(Tibet)
Prayer of the Dragon
The Lord of Death
Rebecca Pawel
(1930s Spain)
Death of a Nationalist
Law of Return
The Watcher in the Pine
The Summer Snow
Qiu Xiaolong
(China)
Death of a Red Heroine
A Loyal Character Dancer
When Red is Black
Matt Beynon Rees
(Palestine)
The Collaborator of Bethlehem
A Grave in Gaza
The Samaritan’s Secret
The Fourth Assassin
John Straley
(Alaska)
The Woman Who Married a Bear
The Curious Eat Themselves
Akimitsu Takagi
(Japan)
The Tattoo Murder Case
Honeymoon to Nowhere
The Informer
Helene Tursten
(Sweden)
Detective Inspector Huss
Night Rounds
The Torso
The Glass Devil
Janwillem van de Wetering
(Holland)
Outsider in Amsterdam
Tumbleweed
The Corpse on the Dike
Death of a Hawker
The Japanese Corpse
The Blond Baboon
The Maine Massacre
The Mind-Murders
The Streetbird
The Rattle-Rat
Hard Rain
Just a Corpse at Twilight
Hollow-Eyed Angel
The Perfidious Parrot
Amsterdam Cops: Collected Stories