‘Why?’ said Ada, who could still be sledgehammer blunt.
Talleyrand looked on her with appraising relish. In times gone by she would not have been safe alone with him, Lazaran or not.
‘Two reasons,’ he answered. ‘Firstly, vanity. A weakness for sure, but perhaps I may be excused such indulgence in my present state. It will please me that others shall understand my extreme cleverness and cunning. Therefore, I intend to outline my great scheme to you, and your part in it…’
‘No need,’ snapped Lady Lovelace. ‘I already know.’
‘Oh,’ said Talleyrand, but took it well.
‘Glimpsing it got me my spark back,’ she continued. For which I suppose I should thank you. Even if you did play us like puppets. However, given that there are still details which remain obscure I wish to keep in your favour. Therefore, thank you, sweet Prince. Now, may I enquire-…?’
Talleyrand spread his hands in invitation.
‘By all means my dear. I am at your disposal as once you were at mine, albeit unaware. Until the Grim Reaper arrives, that is. Then, alas, his summons overrules even your appeal…’
Ada drew up a chair without asking permission.
‘Right then: first off, did I need to die?’
Talleyrand looked pained beyond his present afflictions. He sighed regretfully.
‘That was one of the things for which I have to ask forgiveness,’ he said, ‘of both you and the Church. My dear lady, I confess I was of two minds on the subject and erred on the side of caution. You might have trod the path I required without it, but I needed to be sure. What I could be confident of was that you would have left instruction for such an eventuality. And that your death would powerfully motivate you…’
He paused, subject to a pang of regret, or perhaps even shame, before pressing on to spoil the moment.
‘Or would I have got away with it if I protested I never intended things should go so far? What if I’d said my Lazaran agents got out of control—as they so often do? Might you have believed that?’
Ada equivocated.
‘Normally no,’ she answered. ‘But in your silky presence? Who knows.’
Talleyrand winced.
‘Then I have blundered. To miss a chance to deceive in a good cause like that; to incur enmity without need! What a lapse!’
Frankenstein’s rectitude was offended.
‘I thought, sir,’ he said, ‘that today was a time for honesty, however disobliging, however lacerating.’
Talleyrand conceded it cheerfully.
‘Indeed so, Swiss sir. I apologise; the habits of a lifetime die hard.’
He coughed blood again but transcended it.
‘As do I, apparently. However, let me set myself on the straight path again. Madame, permit me to say it formally: I am very sorry my plans required killing you. Likewise with my mischief to poor Mr Babbage…’
‘I did wonder about that,’ said Lady Lovelace. ‘Why him as well?’
‘Two birds with one stone,’ Talleyrand interrupted. Firstly, I understood that his “Analytical Engine” required aborting, in the sure knowledge it would lead to more efficient means of killing: weapons of mass destruction, even! Moreover, if developed in England they would have been deployed against the land of my birth and affections.’
‘True,’ Ada agreed without rancour. ‘That was our next project after the gambling applications.’
‘‘Though it must be said,’ conceded Talleyrand, ‘I erred on the side of caution. Babbage is a mere mechanic who might have changed things. Whereas you, madame, are the type who will change ideas. History dances to the tunes of ideas.’
Ada acknowledged the compliment.
‘However, over-cautious or not,’ he went on, ‘I surmised that you would seek Babbage’s help. I prevented it. I wished you to be friendless: thrown back on to your own formidable devices. Your appalling energies had to be fully liberated to carry you where I wished you to go—and to finally kill this terrible thing.’
Which begged a very obvious question, but Ada declined to be predictable. Talleyrand approved and continued.
‘If it is any comfort, my dear, I have seen to it that Babbage does not suffer in prison. Nor shall he in the humble but harmless employment I have arranged for after his release. Welsh-speaking Patagonia is calling out for men of such talent I’m told.’
‘Oh, all right then,’ said Ada equably, with more forgiveness than was hers to give. ‘All’s well that ends well. The pieces fit now. Your intervention had the effect you intended of setting me on my way. Presumably, you also guessed my former husband would not revive me.’
‘Hardly a guess,’ confirmed the Prince, ‘more like a certainty. Such a dull dog of a man. ‘Whatever possessed you to link with that dreary—’
‘Money,’ Ada cut in, cutting it short. ‘But moving on, you likewise must have known I would seek out the foremost man in the Revivalist field…’
Talleyrand acknowledged Frankenstein with a bed-bound bow.
‘…but even he,’ Ada continued, ‘could not give the entirety of what I wanted.’
‘No,’ Talleyrand concurred. ‘I thought not, and moreover had chosen you precisely because you were a person of unbounded wants. What did you call it? Your “spark’”. How quaint. No, no Lazaran has that.’
He peered at her, more innocently this time.
‘Or leastways, not until now. But be that as it may, I knew I could safely assume that you—I even dared to hope both of you—would crusade forth to seek what was missing. You would traverse the leading edge of research, press the most perilous sources of knowledge and badger away at what is presently hid. First Heathrow, then Compiegne, and finally to my ultimate aim, Versailles, and the Emperor’s dastardly plans.’
‘And then..?’ Ada prompted.
Talleyrand shrugged—and found that it hurt.
‘At the very least,’ he obliged, ‘the glare of publicity. Or, better still, stolen secrets. Boney greatly feared both. What I didn’t dare dream of was an explosion, a stolen child, even an instruction manual! Plain proof for all the world to see! My dears, what a force of nature you are when combined! And cruel nature at that, red in tooth and claw. Bravo! Bravo!’
He tried to applaud but the effort was too much. The Prince had to revise his plans in order to have the strength to outline them. Some of the more sensitive there, including Frankenstein and Ada, averted their eyes to avoid seeing him reduced to this.
Fortunately, cover for his difficulties was provided by an invasion of the room. Deftly swerving the arms put out to detain her, a golden-haired child of perhaps five or six years dashed in. She made a bee-line for the bed, brushing between Foxglove’s walking-stick and Ada’s gown, and threw herself aboard.
The Prince received the arrival with joy and waved back those who would retrieve her.
‘Spring and autumn!’ he told the assembly as he accepted the child’s hand in his. ‘Spring and autumn!’
‘Spring and winter,’ corrected the priest from the shadows. ‘Deepest winter.’ And he pointed to the unsigned retraction on the bedspread.
Talleyrand had always had the greatest affection for Truth, even though he could never be faithful to her. He acknowledged her presence now.
‘Winter? Yes, you are right,’ he said. ‘But sometimes sunshine transforms even the most wintry day.’
His fingers transferred a kiss (and perhaps a blessing) from his lips to the child’s smooth brow. She nestled against him.
‘My great-great niece,’ he explained to the uninitiated. ‘And appropriately termed, for she has been a great great comfort to my twilight.’