Hunting for Silence (Storm and Silence 5)

‘So…Dalgliesh is trying to bring this opera into disrepute? Why? So next time some government minister watches the opera at his place?’

‘Yes. At his place, with his armed men everywhere, and his hands holding the keys to all the doors. Imagine how many accidents could happen in such an environment.’

‘Holy moly! You don’t mean…?’

Was he honestly suggesting that Lord Dalgliesh was planning to assassinate the minister of a foreign government? And not just any foreign government, but Britain’s bitterest rival, who, just a few decades ago, had nearly brought this country to its knees?

‘Doesn’t he realize what will happen?’ I had to clutch the wall, I felt so dizzy. ‘If the wrong people are suspected of this assassination, the French king will have no choice but to take action! There will be war. Not just a battle here and there, but real, actual, full-out war, all across the continent. It would be Napoleon all over again! He can’t be planning that! He can’t!’

A firm hand landed on my shoulder.

‘As I said,’ Mr Ambrose’s cool voice reached my whirling mind. ‘Lord Dalgliesh does not concern himself with small endeavours.’

A choked sound came out of my mouth. Maybe it was a laugh. Maybe not. I didn’t know.

‘Not that the goings-on on the continent are why he is planning this,’ Mr Ambrose continued.

I blinked. ‘He isn’t?’

‘Of course not. Remember, Mr Linton. What happened the last time Britain and France fought? What happened during the Napoleonic Wars?’

It took a moment for the penny to drop. Probably because it was one of the pennies in Mr Ambrose’s purse, and he was loath to let it go.

‘The English fleet devastated the weaker French fleet, and France was cut off from all its colonies!’

‘Exactly. Imagine a repeat performance of that, all those colonies without supplies, without reinforcements. There will be no other big colonial power to balance Great Britain, and Lord Dalgliesh will be in India, with the largest army of the world not tied down in the continental conflict, free to do as he wishes, the world as his personal plaything.’

I did try to imagine it. But I stopped when I nearly had to hurl.

I had only one question. Grabbing Mr Ambrose by the collar, I pulled him towards me until I knew that, even in the dark, I was staring directly into his eyes.

‘How do we stop him?’

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How do we stop him?

Mr Ambrose had answered the question only with silence. And really…I couldn’t blame him. Morals aside, it was comparatively easy to shoot someone through the head, especially if you had Dalgliesh’s kind of power. It was a lot harder to prevent someone from being shot through the head if you didn’t know when the shot was coming and where it was coming from.

For days and days, while we quietly disposed of the corpse, cleaned the stage and tried to keep rumours to a minimum, we both brooded over this question.

Finally, inspiration hit! I had an idea. A brilliant idea!

Only…I was pretty sure it was one Mr Ambrose was going to detest.

Still, I had to try. We couldn’t be sure that we had guessed Dalgliesh’s plans correctly—but it all fit so horribly well. Mr Ambrose had told me the king and foreign minister were set to return from a trip to Versailles next month and, by all reports, the king liked to show his face in public whenever he came back, to be cheered along and reassure himself another revolution wasn’t just around the corner. And, of course, his favourite minister would be there.

It might be possible that we had misread the situation. That Dalgliesh wasn’t after Guizot at all. But with Lord Daniel Eugene Dalgliesh, it was always wise to assume the worst. I had to tell Mr Ambrose what I’d come up with. If there was only the slightest chance to avert what we feared was coming, I had to let him know.

Marching up to his office door, I knocked.

‘Enter,’ came his commanding voice from inside.

I pushed open the door and stepped inside, finding Mr Ambrose pouring over thick piles of papers. They weren’t bills or sheets of music for the next performance. Oh no. Even upside-down, I could spot words like ‘surveillance’ and ‘report’ before he hurriedly put the papers away.

‘Yes, Mr Linton?’

‘You’re keeping an eye on Dalgliesh, aren’t you?’