Carver's Quest (40 page)

‘I can only repeat, Rallis, that we know the risks.’ He pushed back the inkstand slightly to reveal a little more of the map. ‘We will not allow them to interfere with our
plans but we will acknowledge that they exist and we will act accordingly. We must not travel in a large group. Only the five of us in this room will go. I assume that you are intending to bring
along the giant who stands behind me?’

‘Andros will be worth, as you say, a weight in gold.’

‘Five will be enough. There will be safety in numbers but, paradoxically, the safety will lie in small numbers.’

‘And what shall we carry with us?’ Adam asked, relieved that the discussion had returned to practical matters.

‘Our baggage must be light. Each of us must have no more than can be strapped to the back of a horse or mule.’

‘The professor is right,’ Rallis said. ‘We must not overload ourselves.’

‘We will have our bags in which to sleep. We will carry what food we can. Cheeses and bread. Smoked meats. We will need little else. A book or two, perhaps.’

‘Bottles of wine?’ Adam suggested.

‘We can live a few days without the pleasures of the grape. It will be more important to have medicines. Quinine, for example. We must have quinine or we run the risk of being racked with
fever.’

‘I ain’t spent a week without a drink since I was a nipper.’ Quint, still standing guard next to the door, was again moved to contribute to the discussion. ‘It
ain’t natural. Or healthy.’

‘Many things that are wholesome in one country, my dear Quintus, are deleterious in another.’ The professor had entirely recovered his good humour.

‘Not liquor,’ Quint said, disbelievingly.

‘You will recall from our days in Salonika that the spirits to be found there were not always beneficial to your constitution.’

‘If you mean, they give me some stinkin’ ’angovers, I ain’t goin’ to argue. But a week without a drink is more than a man can stand.’

‘You will have to learn the arts of abstinence, Quint,’ Adam said. ‘It will not be beyond the capacity of a resourceful man.’

The manservant retired once more into sulky silence.

‘We need someone to gather together the equipment we shall be taking,’ his master continued.

‘I think we can leave that to the man who knows the city better than we do.’ Fields waved a hand amiably at Rallis, who bowed in response. He had now, it seemed, become the very man
on whom the proposed expedition could depend.

‘And what of a guide to the land beyond the border?’ Adam asked. ‘Shall we not require a dragoman?’

‘Rallis can be our dragoman,’ Fields said. ‘We shall need no other.’

‘I shall be honoured to undertake the tasks you have entrusted to me.’ The lawyer bowed again. ‘Let us all meet again tomorrow and I will let you know what success I have had.
Let us join together again at the Oraia Ellas. “Beautiful Greece”. What better name for a café in which to drink a toast to the success of our expedition?’

* * * * *

Constitution Square was, as it seemed to be both night and day, a hive of activity. As he emerged from the hotel, Adam was immediately thrust into crowds of Greeks hurrying
about their business. Crossing the square in the direction of the embassy building, he was accosted four times in the space of two dozen yards by beggars with hands outstretched for alms. It was
one of the perils of looking so obviously English, he thought, as he waved them apologetically away. He made his way across town to the British embassy. He found a café, one that provided a
clear view of the embassy entrance, and took a seat outside it.

He did not have to wait too long for what he had hoped to see. For an hour, a steady stream of visitors passed in and out of the embassy doors. At one point, he saw Samways walk up the stone
steps to the main entrance, in animated conversation with another gentleman Adam recognised from the pews of St Paul’s. Sitting on the uncomfortable chair the café provided and
drinking two cups of its foul coffee, he watched as other men approached the embassy, on foot or by carriage, and entered its portals. He began to amuse himself by trying to guess the nationality
of each visitor. The English, he decided, were easily distinguished, as were two men with identical imperial beards and expressive hands who were clearly French. Others were less readily
identified. Adam was puzzling over a swarthy individual in European dress and red fez, who had marched confidently into the building, when he saw two women emerge into the square. One was dumpy and
dressed in black; the other was Emily.

Looking carefully from right to left and back again, they made their way through the traffic and headed towards a tree-lined garden close to the square. Adam threw a silver half-drachma on the
café table and hurried after them.

He caught up with the two women as, parasols raised to protect them from the morning sun, they approached a fountain amidst the trees and shrubbery. He raised his hat and bowed slightly to
them.

‘We meet again, Miss Maitland, I am delighted to say.’

The young woman did not look equally delighted by the encounter. She half turned away from Adam, as if searching for a means of escape from him. Finding none, she turned back and forced a smile
to her face.

‘You chance upon us taking the air, Mr Carver.’ She waved her hand towards the sky. ‘It is impossible to stay indoors on a day such as this, do you not think?’

‘Some ladies I know would never venture out into the sun for fear of spoiling their complexions.’

‘Oh, I have no anxiety on that count. I have my parasol.’

His hat in his hand, Adam could feel the sun beating down upon the top of his head.

‘I am particularly delighted that we should meet in this way, Miss Maitland. I am eager to continue the discussions we have had in the past. Perhaps I could walk with you a while and we
could speak. In private.’ He glanced meaningfully at Emily’s short, middle-aged companion. Was this perhaps her mother? The young woman had said that her mother was with her in Athens
just as she had been in London, but Adam had never met her or seen her. This lady in black did not, however, look very motherly.

‘Leave us, Jane,’ the young woman said, after a moment’s hesitation. ‘I shall meet you by the statue over yonder in ten minutes’ time.’

Jane gave Adam a hard stare. She made no attempt to move.

‘Go, I tell you,’ Emily said, more sharply. ‘I shall be safe under this gentleman’s protection.’

The woman in black turned, with a distinct flounce, and walked away from the fountain.

‘Jane is my maid,’ Emily explained. ‘She has a peculiar care for my welfare.’

‘Her diligence in her duties is to be admired.’ Adam offered his arm. ‘Shall we stroll beneath the trees?’

‘There is a seat by the fountain. I would rather sit.’

Not waiting for any response, the young woman walked to the stone bench and sat primly on its edge. Adam followed and took a seat beside her. He had been rehearsing what he might say to her for
much of the hour he had spent sitting outside the café, but now that the moment had come, all his fine words had left him.

‘Well, sir,’ Emily said, after the silence had grown awkward, ‘what is it you wish to say to me?’

Her manner, so different to the warmth with which she had greeted him at St Paul’s, was brusque. Could this be the same woman who had kissed him at Cremorne Gardens? Adam almost began to
wonder if he had imagined the more intimate moments of their previous meetings. He felt himself even more at a loss for the right words.

‘I am simply curious, Miss Maitland.’

‘Curious, sir? Curious about what, pray?’

‘I have never learned why you came to visit me that first day in Doughty Street. Why you wished to see me again at Cremorne Gardens. Why you left me so abruptly there. And now here you are
in Athens. You are a woman of mysteries, Emily. May I call you Emily? And I long very much to solve some of those mysteries.’

The young woman said nothing. Her eyes gazed into the distance as if seeking out the mountains that surrounded the city on all sides.

‘Will you not throw a little light on my darkness? Will you not tell me what you are doing here? Staying with Garland in the British Embassy?’

Emily remained silent for a moment. Then her head dropped into her hands and she began to cry.

‘Oh, Adam,’ she murmured through her tears, so quietly that the young man could scarcely make out what she said. ‘You must not ask all these questions. I cannot answer
them.’

‘But do I not have a right to answers to them?’

‘Perhaps you do, but I cannot give them.’

‘Why, Emily? Why can you not give them?’

Her face still covered by her hands, the young woman shook her head. ‘I cannot,’ she said again. ‘I cannot.’

‘Your questions are upsetting the lady, Mr Carver.’

Adam looked up in surprise. Garland was standing over them. To his right, lurking several paces behind him, was the maid Jane. She had clearly seen fit, Adam realised, to go back to the embassy
and summon Garland.

‘I think your conversation with Miss Maitland is now at an end,’ the MP continued. ‘She must return immediately to her lodgings.’

‘It is surely Miss Maitland’s decision, sir, as to whether or not our conversation is over.’ Adam stood and faced the older man. He was suddenly filled with what felt like
righteous anger at his interruption. He clenched and unclenched his hands like a boxer awaiting the fitting of his gloves.

Garland smiled grimly. ‘I am the young lady’s godfather and thus, in some sense,
in loco parentis
. I believe I am well within my rights to insist on an end to this
questioning of her. But we will ask Emily herself.’

He looked down at his god-daughter, who was still sitting on the bench. She had pulled a white cambric handkerchief from her pocket and was dabbing at her eyes.

‘Emily, my dear, do you wish to bring your conversation with Mr Carver to a conclusion?’

Without looking up at either Adam or her godfather, the young woman nodded. Garland held out his arm for her to take and she rose from the stone bench. The maid moved forward and picked up her
parasol which had fallen to the ground. The three turned from the fountain and began to walk towards the embassy. Adam could do nothing but watch them go. At one point, Emily looked back at him,
but at a distance of thirty yards, it was impossible to tell whether her expression was one of apology or outrage.

* * * * *

Adam returned to the Angleterre via the telegraph office. Since arriving in the Greek capital, he had found time to send two lengthy telegrams back to London. With the Dilessi
murders still so recent, he felt certain that, although Sunman and his colleagues would have plenty of informants at work in Athens, one more might be welcome. This was confirmed by a telegram back
from Whitehall encouraging him to stay in touch. So a third message, conveying what news and impressions he had gleaned from conversations with Rallis and others, was soon sent. When he returned to
the hotel, it was to find it, or at least the floor on which he and his party were staying, in an uproar. Members of the staff were hurrying along the corridor, bumping into one another and
shouting excitedly at no one in particular. Polly, the usually unflappable manager, was giving a good impression of a man tearing out his hair. In the centre of the hubbub was Professor Fields,
standing outside the door to his room. He was stabbing his finger in the air and bellowing with anger.

‘It’s an outrage,’ he yelled at the unfortunate Polly. ‘I leave my room for no more than an hour. And it is invaded by thieves.’

Adam hurried to the professor’s side.

‘What has happened, sir? You must calm yourself.’

‘Calm myself ? Calm myself ?’ Fields was red with rage. ‘I cannot calm myself when my sanctum has been defiled in this scandalous manner.’

‘Defiled?’ Adam was bewildered. ‘What has been defiled?’

The professor, now rendered speechless by his fury, could only gesture towards his room. Adam pushed at the half-open door and went inside. The room had been ransacked. The bedding had been torn
from the bed and thrown to the floor. The door to the vast mahogany wardrobe was open and the professor’s clothing was strewn on the carpet in front of it. His leather travelling cases had
been turned upside down. A writing desk by the window had been emptied of its drawers. So too had those of a bureau and a mirrored dressing table. The whole room looked as if a small tornado had
recently swept through it, uprooting everything within and hurling it to the floor.

Polly had followed Adam through the door. The manager had recovered some of his customary sangfroid.

‘It is terrible,’ he said mournfully. ‘In all my years here, we have not had such a terrible thing.’

‘Has anything been stolen, Professor?’

Fields had now entered his room again. He marched over to the wardrobe and stooped to pick up one of his shirts from the floor. He threw it onto the dishevelled bed and grabbed at another.

‘Has anything been stolen?’ Adam repeated his question.

The professor waved the shirt in his hand like a flag of distress. His rage had dissipated. He now looked more forlorn than angry.

‘I cannot be certain, Adam,’ he said, ‘but I think not.’

‘They have taken no money? No papers?’

‘There was little in the room worth the thieving.’

‘The professor placed some items in the hotel safe,’ Polly explained. ‘It is, perhaps, a blessing that they were not here.’

‘They are of little value,’ Fields said, still awkwardly holding his shirt as if he could think of nowhere to put it. ‘They would have been of no interest to anyone other than
a fellow scholar.’ He threw the second shirt to the bed and seemed to feel another burst of rage.

‘It is not the loss of any object that is so infuriating,’ he said. ‘It is the thought of some wretch invading my privacy. I thought better of your establishment, Pikopoulos.
Can any rascal off the streets of Athens simply march into the Angleterre and rifle through the possessions of your guests?’

Polly launched himself into a further round of abject apologies. Adam picked up one of the drawers from the writing desk, which had been left lying on the carpet, and slotted it back into place.
He looked around in search of the other drawer.