They calmed down when it became obvious that Luc was not on some tour of inspection and I started chatting to the youngest-looking ones who were falling over themselves to pour my tea.
I learned more about the functioning of the Home Office than I ever wanted to, not that any of it seemed very relevant. Then someone said something about Reece’s chaps and was promptly hushed, although there were grins being hidden, I noticed.
‘So, there are two Under-Secretaries,’ I said, with the air of someone trying to get it all straight. ‘And do you all work to both of them? That must be confusing sometimes.’
‘No, we work to Mr Salmond. Sir Thomas’s men are in the office upstairs,’ one of them said. He was a skinny young man with inky fingers and freckles.
‘Ooh.’ I opened my eyes wide and whispered, ‘So there’s rivalry? What fun. But aren’t they both in the same party? You’ll have to forgive my ignorance, your politics are a complete mystery to me.’
‘Everyone wants to climb the ladder, Miss Lawrence, even if they are on the same side.’ That was one of the older clerks.
‘Nepotism helps,’ someone muttered.
I glanced around, but everyone seemed to be pretending they hadn’t heard. I decided to let tact go hang. ‘Nepotism? Surely not. You mean someone pulls strings for their relatives here?’ I could well believe it – a word here, a nudge and a favour there.
‘Not in this office,’ one of the older men said. ‘Very fair, Mr Salmond is.’
I noticed several meaningful upwards looks. ‘But not every office is run so scrupulously? No, I shouldn’t have asked. You couldn’t possibly say.’
They all looked relieved, but I hadn’t missed the direction of those looks – Sir Thomas Reece’s offices.
Time to change the subject. ‘And is this where that poor man worked? The one who h
anged himself?’
‘Coates? Yes.’ They all looked at an empty desk by one of the windows, a desk with no paperwork on it at all.
‘Awful,’ I commiserated. ‘That must put a blight on the whole office. That’s a nice position for a desk,’ I added. ‘Do you have your places allocated by seniority? He’d had a promotion recently hadn’t he?’ They looked puzzled. ‘My cousin knows someone who knew him a little. That’s how we came to be visiting – I was interested in how government departments work.’
‘Promotion? No. Coates would have moved to another office if he’d been promoted,’ the freckled one said.
‘How strange. Apparently he’d been nervy and under strain and the Earl’s friend thought it was pressure because of new responsibilities.’
‘He’d been a bit peculiar, now you come to mention it,’ one of the others chipped in. ‘Asking odd questions, looking as though he wasn’t sleeping well. Must have been whatever caused him to… to do what he did.’
What to ask next? They were going to get suspicious if I kept on digging into George Coates’s affairs. I looked across at Luc who was deep in what seemed to be an earnest discussion of the duties of Justices of the Peace. No help there.
‘Mes chers!’ A slight, elegant man with thick black hair and an assertive nose flung open the door and sauntered in. ‘You have a party? Non?’
‘Non,’ said the older clerk. ‘At least, not one you’re invited to, Gaston.’
‘But you entertain a beautiful young lady, naturellement I am invited. Mademoiselle.’ He swept me a bow. ‘Enchanté. Gaston de Saint Clément, Comte de Hautmont, at your service and at your feet.’
I stood up and dropped a curtsy. ‘Miss Lawrence visiting from America.’ I knew it was bad form for him to address me without an introduction and even worse for me to reveal who I was, but he was turning on the Gallic charm in spades and it seemed ludicrous to pretend I hadn’t noticed him. But what the devil was a Frenchman doing in the Home Office? We were at war with them.
Luc was there before I noticed him moving, all smiles and that dangerous politeness that men show when they might as well be waving knives at each other. ‘Monsieur?’
The man he’d been talking to hastened over to make the introductions. The Count looked meaningfully at me and Luc said, ‘Cousin Cassandra, permit me to introduce the Comte de Hautmont. Count, Miss Lawrence. An exile from your country, I assume, Count?’
‘But yes, alas. I am émigre, some peasant-born tax collector occupies my chateau and I must earn my bread translating for Sir Thomas.’
‘How awful,’ I said, wondering just how thorough the vetting procedures were before an enemy national was allowed the run of government departments.
‘Appalling,’ Luc agreed with patently false sympathy. ‘Come, my dear, we really must be going.’
I thanked the clerks who had been looking after me. The be-freckled one made a bit of a thing of escorting me to the door, so I murmured, ‘If you do think of anything that might have caused poor Mr Coates to end his life do, please, let us know. I’m sure it would be a comfort to his loved ones to at least understand.’ He nodded eagerly. ‘But don’t mention it too obviously, they wouldn’t want gossip about such a tragedy.’
We walked down the stairs in silence and were bowed out by the porter. Luc hailed a hackney carriage in Whitehall and we climbed in, sat down and looked at each other.