‘Which ones?’ Henry held a piece of chicken spiked on the tines.
‘The Vorontsovs.’
He chewed and swallowed. ‘Heavenly. Not personally, but I believe they arrived in the spring. Once Napoleon succeeded in alienating his old allies, the Russians have decided we aren’t so bad after all and have come to set up shop again in London.’
‘Can you think why they might want thecomteandcomtessedead?’ asked Dora.
He swallowed a second mouthful awkwardly and coughed. ‘Good Lord. You don’t pull your punches, do you, Miss Fitz-Pennington? No, I cannot. The Russian delegation would regard the Comte D’Antraigues as an asset, a Frenchman writing against Napoleon, useful in putting across their arguments against the emperor. And if he were writing valuable reports, why kill the goose laying the golden eggs?’
Jane had a meeting with her publisher that afternoon, so they left her with her brother. Dora wished she had the leisure to stay and hear how the negotiations were going, but murder was a more pressing concern.
‘Did you find anything in the accounts?’ Dora asked Jacob as they walked quickly back to the office, her with her hand on her pistol in her pocket, Jacob ready to use his walking cane to drive off anyone who dared approach.
‘Nothing that would cast light on our case. I’ve moved away from the theory that he was taking bribes or acting as a double agent in receipt of money from the French. It seems more straightforward: he was a skilled political commentator and governments were prepared to pay for his analysis.’
‘And one was prepared to kill for it?’
‘Yes.’
‘The French?’
‘That would be the obvious conclusion. The killer had been in the French army and we only have his word that he deserted. I think we need to dig into his background and find out who he really was.’
Dora fully agreed with that plan. ‘I think I might know where to start.’
‘Where would that be?’
‘He was Italian so would not the Italians in London be more likely to know him? He might’ve preferred to spend evenings with people who spoke his language.’
Jacob smiled, getting the hint. ‘Is it time for dessert?’
‘I believe it is. But let’s go to the kitchen door this time. I don’t want to find myself in the papers again tomorrow.’
Chapter Nineteen
Gunter’s Ice Cream Parlour
Giovanni, the waiter who had served them two days ago at Gunter’s, was standing by the kitchen door smoking a cigarillo when they arrived. He immediately tried to hide it behind his back and adopt his customer demeanour, but Dora slapped him on the shoulder. Dora’s ability to shift character had always fascinated Jacob.
‘It’s only us, Giovanni, and not in our front-of-house character. We’re backstage now and can drop the act,’ she said.
Talking about backstage, the rear of the patisserie had no garden but was used for outbuildings. Milk churns stood by the gate, ready for collection. A door to one windowless brick shed at the northeastern corner had ‘Ice House’ written on it. Jacob was pleased to see that it looked a well-managed establishment with swept cobbles and everything neat and tidy. He would not think twice about ordering at the front again.
‘But signorina…!’ protested the waiter.
‘I’m Dora and this is Jacob. We’re working.’
The waiter looked confused. ‘But you are a lady and gentleman.’
‘He is. I’m an actress– and no, I’m not his mistress,’ she said quickly when a knowing glint entered the waiter’s eye. ‘We solve mysteries for our clients.’
‘Non ci credo!’
‘I swear it’s true. Our office is in Bruton Mews if you want to check.’
Jacob offered his hand, which contained some coins as well as their calling card. ‘We’re after information.’
Giovanni perked up on the offer of a tip; that was something he could believe. He pocketed the money and took the cigarillo out from behind him. He gave it a puff to keep it lit. ‘Very well. But I will not discuss our customers.’
