The lumps and bumps of his bones protruded through his clothes; he might almost be described as emaciated. Hood’s methods were too rigorous, and he cursed the Doctor’s inability to question his prisoners without leaving them so close to death.
Then, he thought, how must he look? Pale face, his eyes ringed with dark shadows, stinking of smoke; he was no threat, but they needed convincing.
He clasped and unclasped his hands. How to find the right words to elicit the exact information he required? Whichever phrases he used exposed his motives. He didn’t want to force them into silence, but the first question that needed asking was the most obvious.
“Where is the diamond?”
“I don’t know.”
Isobel’s reply was too quick, too easy, though he said nothing.
“Really I don’t know,” she repeated. James stared back as if he dared him to contradict her.
“Do you know?” he asked James.
“No.”
He might almost believe them, they spoke with such conviction. Of course, they were adept at being deceitful because they both worked in the theatre; a fertile training ground for dissembling.
“But you had it,” he pressed Isobel. “You found it and gave it to the Russians.”
“No I didn’t,” she retorted. “I never gave it to the Russians.”
“Then you helped them find it. You told them where William kept it.”
“The Russians found it by themselves,” she blazed. “I never told them anything. I found a fake one that William kept in his study, but I never gave it to them.” Her voice faltered. “And anyway William got that one back.” She snuggled against James, and buried her face in his shoulder.
Such a show of vulnerability, and their answers, taken at face value, so easily acceptable, if you were foolish enough to be deceived.
“Where is the diamond?” He didn’t intend to back down now.
James sat up, and his voice cracked with anger. “She’s just told you, she doesn’t know.”
He kept his temper, and leant out of the lamplight to massage the back of his neck. He was so tired. Might it be possible that their replies were honest? Suppose there was nothing new to tell? Hood didn’t extract any information from James either. The Doctor found it difficult to believe that two people so intimately caught up with the fate of the diamond didn’t know anything about its whereabouts, a view he shared, which of course suggested other possibilities. Indoctrination by the Russians? Paid for their silence? Or pawns in a much bigger game that he had yet to unravel?
“I saw it.” Isobel’s whisper jumped him out of his reverie, and he leant forward into the light.
“What?”
“I saw the diamond?”
“Where?”
“The Russian man who found me had it.” She twined her fingers through James’s hair. “But I don’t know where it is now.”
“And this Russian man—” Desperate for information, though careful not to frighten her into denial or silence, he stayed calm; “Where is he now?”
“He took me to London, but I haven’t seen him since.”
Had he been one of the Russians caught at the Embassy? “What was his name?”
“I don’t—know,” she hesitated.
Had she forgotten, or did she lie?
“He didn’t tell me,” she confirmed.
“But he was an agent,” he pressed. He turned to James. “One of those brought over by your troupe?”
James shrugged. “I don’t know. I didn’t meet him. There are a lot of Russians in London.”
This was true. The discovery of The Third Section in Southwark had been a shock. “Do you keep a list of names?”
“Of course not,” James scoffed.
A foolish question, worth a try. He might have struck lucky.
Their tired faces, streaked with ash, gleamed white in the dim light. An odd couple, the actor and the society lady; she, wilful, impetuous, led by her heart, look how she clung to him; the young man, easy going, optimistic, an opportunist, good looking, even, when cleaned up; their ignorance heartfelt, if not genuine. He changed direction with his next question.
“Why did you help the Russians? What was in it for you?”
James beamed a wide toothy grin. “Money of course. They paid well.”
“That makes you a traitor, you know that don’t you? Great Britain is at war with Russia and your actions will be seen as assisting the enemy during hostilities. A charge of treason which can have you hanged.”
“You wouldn’t dare.” Isobel’s eyes flashed with fury. “You knew exactly what the Russians were doing. You knew they were closing in on the diamond. I heard you talking about it in the Club. I heard you say that they died under questioning. That makes you guilty too because you knew what they were doing, but because you wanted to keep the precious diamond safe you didn’t admit it. At least we didn’t murder anyone.”
She was like a wild lioness with a cub, passionate and protective. It convinced him. They had no knowledge of the diamond’s whereabouts. However, the charge of treason stood. How hard would she fight for her freedom?
“Your word against mine,” he conceded. “I am the Prime Minister. In a court of law, who will the jury be more willing to believe?”
“But what happens when the diamond reaches Russia?” she countered. “What happens when they reveal it to the world and tell everyone the history behind it? What happens to your precious Brotherhood then?”
She was right. With the diamond restored, the Russians would waste no time in exposing him as a liar and a cheat, if that’s what they chose to do, and such public duplicity would topple the government, ruin him, and The Brotherhood.
Pointless chasing after shadows. He had to admit that the diamond was lost, unless; “Did the Russians know you found the glass diamond?”
She nodded. “Yes.”
“Did they see it?”
“No.”
James draped his arm across her shoulders. “She told you, William used it as a snare to catch us.”
“Did the Russians already have the real diamond when you found the glass one?”
“I don’t know,” she sighed. “They found it here in Parklands, but I don’t know when.”
“Who found it?”
She glared back, and her lips tightened. “I told you, he didn’t tell me his name.”
“And yet you travelled with him all the way back to London; do you really expect me to believe that?”
“Believe what you like.” She flicked her hand as if to dismiss his doubt. “I can’t tell you anymore.”
“Did William know his name?”
“He might have done.” She glanced up. “I’m sure Terrington did.”
“Ah yes. I haven’t seen him.” He half-turned as if he expected the man to be standing at the door. “Did he escape with you?”
“You won’t find him.” Her voice flattened into a dull monotone. “He’s dead. So is William, and the Russian Ambassador’s wife, and Konstantin Raevsky.”
The shadows jumped as the lantern light flickered. He clasped his hands to stop them shaking. “You saw this?”
“Yes.”
He had assumed, up until now, that they had escaped, like James and Isobel, and that he would need to catch them. Even now, the guards combed the grounds on a search. “All of them? All of them dead?”
She nodded and frowned, perplexed that he didn’t believe her. He lowered his head out of the light to conceal his shock. “I see.” He needed fresh air, and walked to the stable door.
The death of the Russian Ambassador’s wife—was—when it came to breaking the news to the public, he considered the diplomatic implications—was—unfortunate; a tragic accident. Since her passing, he warmed to his theme, he had viewed unseen documents that suggested she had recruited William Hunt as a Russian spy.