‘Wentworth, start at the beginning. You got there …’
Joe listened patiently to Lily’s account, making occasional notes of names and other details that caught his attention.
‘And you’d describe the princess’s manner as — helpful — on the whole?’
‘On the whole, sir. And on the surface. No more than that. I wouldn’t trust her as far as the garden gate.’
‘Aha! Let’s think of her as “Princess Rat”! Go on, Wentworth.’
‘She doesn’t like us much. She has strong views on the political situation and, though grateful to this country for the shelter she’s receiving, doesn’t scruple to voice her criticisms. But she would never, I think, condone the assassination of the prince or cover for any would-be assassin. Her community of refugees has too much to lose. It would be a suicidal idiot who stove a hole in the lifeboat he was travelling in. And she has much loyalty to the notion of kingship, which seems in that company to trump nationality. Or even friendship.’ Lily paused for a moment and then added: ‘She’s a politician. She weighed her options and in the end she decided to give her up. Your Morrigan. But on her terms. Not ours. Oh, no, not ours.’
‘In what way did she “give her up”?’
‘She handed me the name of a woman who might well have been at the ball as a guest but was, in fact, working in the kitchens. No surprises! It’s the girl I saw smearing the prince’s plate. She’s Anna Petrovna, and she’s related to the princess. She was living just a short distance away, but in a much less grand district. In fact just across the road from the address Bacchus raided. She was watching his antics from behind the net curtain of her upstairs front. I thought I’d just check on it on my way back here … I hadn’t at that time realized I too was being deliberately sent off on a wild goose chase. These Russian women are making monkeys of us, sir.’
‘It’s how they pass their time, Wentworth. I wish they’d take up needlepoint but they find espionage more stimulating. So, you’re reporting that Miss Petrovna is gadding about London, free as the wind. You haven’t got her at all, any more than Bacchus had. Or Hopkirk. A stroll across the allotments and the whole of the West End is at her feet.’
‘No, sir! I know exactly where she is. I must have been within a few yards of her this morning. She was listening to what I was saying through a keyhole for all I know.’ Lily shivered.