Free Dorchester Terrace by Anne Perry

point rather more quickly than I have been doing.” He turned to Tregarron. “Have you heard of a woman named Serafina Montserrat? Perhaps in some connection with Austrian affairs?”
    There was a slight flicker across Tregarron’s face, but it was impossible to read. “Montserrat?” he repeated. “No, I don’t think so. It’s the kind of name one would remember. Italian? Or Spanish, perhaps?”
    “Italian,” Narraway answered. “From the north, Austrian-occupied territory.”
    Tregarron shook his head. “I’m sorry, I have no idea.”
    Lady Tregarron looked from one to the other of them, then excused herself to ask the maid to bring tea.
    Narraway knew Tregarron was lying. The expression in his eyes, the repetition of the name to give himself a moment to consider before denying, gave him away. But there was no point in asking again, because he had already chosen his position. He could not go back on it now without admitting he had lied. And what explanation could there be for that? If Narraway had asked him with Lady Tregarron not present, would the answer have been different?
    Was Tregarron’s denial due to a desire to remain uninvolved in something? Surely anything Serafina knew was too old to affect anyone now, and certainly couldn’t affect any current government concern. But could it affect someone’s reputation? Or a friend?
    Or was it simply that since Narraway was no longer in Special Branch at all, let alone head of it, Tregarron did not trust him, but did not want to say so? That thought was peculiarly painful, which was ridiculous. It had been months now since his dismissal. He should be over it. He should have found some new passion to consume his energy. There were years of spare time stretching ahead of him.
    He forced his voice to sound light, free from emotional strain.
    “I don’t suppose it matters,” he said lightly. “It was an inquiry for a friend. Something to do with informing those who might wish to contact her before it’s too late. Apparently Mrs. Montserrat is getting very frail.”
    Tregarron did not move at all. “Do I take it from your remark that Mrs. Montserrat is dying?” he asked.
    Narraway shrugged. “That was what I gathered. I think she is of very advanced years.”
    Tregarron blinked. “Really? I suppose it was all a very long time ago. One forgets how the years pass.” He smiled ruefully, but the expression stopped far short of his eyes.
    Narraway hesitated. Should he let Tregarron see that he had observed the slip, or might he learn more if he let it pass? He decided on the latter.
    “Yes,” he agreed with a sigh. “We were all a lot younger, with dreams and energy that I, at least, no longer possess.”
    Tregarron appeared to relax, easing further into his chair. “Indeed. Matters are always more complicated than the young suppose them to be. Perhaps that’s just as well. If they grasped all the reasons why things won’t happen, or can’t be made to work, nothing would ever be tried. It’s certainly a hell of a mess now. We don’t need firebrands of any sort, especially in Austria. They have got little enough grip on their crumbling empire as it is, without harebrained idealists running amok.”
    He shifted a little and recrossed his legs before continuing. “The emperor’s son died in one of the ugliest scandals of the century, and God knows, there have been other bad ones. We’ve had the odd few ourselves. Now his nephew, the only heir left, is wanting to marry a woman the old emperor considers beneath the position that will be thrust upon her. The Hungarian situation is bad, and growing worse. Most of Europe recognizes that the poor devils are second-class citizens in their own land. Italy and the Balkans are increasingly restless. And I’m afraid all of that is to say nothing of the chaos in Russia, and the very considerable rising power of Germany, which, united, is now tasting its own strength.”
    He bit his lip and stared gravely at