“So he looked around for a suitable scapegoat…and found James.” Jack instantly saw why James had been chosen.
“Indeed. James Altwood was an inspired choice. He had access to, gathered, and studied information potentially damaging to the military cause, information Napoleon and his generals would indeed have paid a high price for. I haven’t seen the substance of the allegations, however, as we both know”—Dalziel smiled at Jack, a smile that didn’t reach his eyes—“James Altwood is no traitor.”
Dalziel paused, then went on, “I never asked whether you, against my orders, had divulged your status and mission to Altwood, but when your father died and Altwood came straight to me to get a message to you, it was fairly clear he knew more than enough to, were he a spy, ensure your disappearance.” Dalziel shrugged. “As you’re here hale and whole, Altwood is no traitor, especially given your watch on Elba. Of all my agents, you would have been the most vital to nullify when Napoleon was planning his return. You’re still alive because they never knew you existed, because James Altwood isn’t a traitor. No traitor, no matter how fond of you, would have omitted, in the circumstances, to mention you. Fortunes have been made for less.”
Setting aside his cup, Dalziel continued, “That, however, was a series of telling facts the real traitor didn’t know. If it is he behind this, then he discovered Altwood, and then realized the potential, how very sensational a charge of treason against Altwood would be, and how even more sensational the failure of such a trial would be, and how such an outcome would reflect on whoever was so unwise as to instigate the prosecution of Altwood.”
“You.” Eyes still narrowed, Jack followed the argument. “The real traitor thought you’d leap on James, get him by the throat, and drag him before the courts—and then…”
“Once the case failed, and the real traitor would ensure it would, and in the most spectacular fashion, that would render any future charge I might make against anyone not just ineffective but laughable.”
“He’d essentially nullify you, at least with respect to bringing traitors to justice.”
“Indeed.” Dalziel frowned. “However, before we get too ahead of ourselves, none of what I’ve just t
old you is provable fact. As far as James Altwood passing secrets to the French, I can report that there is no evidence whatever, not an iota, to support such a contention, nothing beyond the purely circumstantial fact that Altwood had access to sensitive information and the ability to comprehend that intelligence.”
Dalziel met Jack’s eyes. “That, of course, would be known to many. On the face of it, there’s nothing to say that this charge against Altwood hasn’t arisen from some petty jealousy or need to make trouble. It may not even be directed at Altwood, but at his superiors, or at clerical scholars in general. There’s no reason per se that the situation has to be a scheme by any traitor, yet one reason my instincts are pressing me in that direction is that it’s just too pat that it’s Altwood involved. Not only is he a renowned scholar, a long time Fellow of Balliol, but a clerical scholar very well regarded by his bishop and by the Church heirarchy. Bad enough, were I to get involved, but on top of that, he is an Altwood, albeit it, as I heard it, something of a black sheep. That’s by the by. To all the ton, all the government, he’s still an Altwood. If the family comes to his support, as I fully expect they will, then anyone seeking to prosecute him is going to have a very messy battle on his hands.”
Jack could only agree. The cold-blooded calculation behind such a scheme, if indeed it was a ploy of the last traitor to discredit Dalziel, was breathtaking. Tony Blake and Charles St. Austell had advised the other Bastion Club members of Dalziel’s continuing search for a deeply buried traitor. Some might consider such perseverance an unhealthy obsession; Jack wasn’t of that number, nor were the other club members. They all knew Dalziel; his instincts, his ability to read intelligence, and the orders that had flowed from that, sometimes apparently counter to safety, had kept them all alive for many long years behind enemy lines. If Dalziel believed a traitor was still free, they’d back his judgment.
“So the charges against James could be a traitor’s scheme to discredit you, or alternately something more innocent—for instance, a jealous rival’s plot.”
Dalziel nodded, his gaze on Jack’s face. “Is there a rival involved?”
Jack grimaced. “Seems to be. He’s the one who brought the allegations before the bishop, and has a history of losing out to James in the fellowship stakes.”
After a moment, Dalziel murmured, “That would make him an excellent pawn for the real traitor to exploit.”
Jack nodded. “He’s at the top of my list to question.” He looked at Dalziel and raised a brow in mute query.
Dalziel sighed. “Yes, I do realize your presence here is a godsend—without your connection to Altwood, I couldn’t directly investigate at all. So by all means poke around, ask questions, investigate, and do whatever necessary to get the charges against Altwood dismissed. Just keep me informed of all you learn.”
“And in return?” Jack needed Dalziel to open doors, but exactly which doors his ex-commander had keys to he had no clue.
“In return, I’ll inform you of anything pertinent that crosses my desk, and I’ll write to the Bishop of London and inform him of two things. One, that having heard of the allegations about to be tested in his court, I’ve looked into the matter and can find no evidence of James Altwood selling secrets to the enemy. Of course, his lordship will have to make up his own mind based on the facts laid before him.” Dalziel held Jack’s gaze. “I can’t make any declaration that reads as if I’m preempting the church’s judgment.”
Jack nodded.
“The second thing I’ll tell the bishop is that you’re a government servant experienced in such matters, and that regardless of your connection to Altwood, you are to be trusted as if you were me.”
Jack allowed his surprise to show. He hadn’t expected Dalziel to open the Lambeth Palace doors; that had seemed too much to hope for. The fact he could go even further only confirmed, as they’d long suspected, that he was a member of one of the very old families, those with members and connections throughout the various strata of the ruling elite.
Refocusing, Jack saw amusement lurking in Dalziel’s dark eyes. Eyes very like another pair he now knew well….
Dalziel rose. “I take it that will suffice?”
“Indeed. For the moment.” Jack stood and held out his hand.
Dalziel gripped it, then releasing him, turned to the door. “If you can discover who, exactly, is behind the allegations against James Altwood, I, and the country, too, will owe you yet another boon.” He paused before the door, and met Jack’s eyes. “And the Altwoods will, too, of course.”
The limpid intelligence in Dalziel’s eyes assured Jack that, in the event of the Altwoods being in his debt, Dalziel knew precisely what he might request of them. Dalziel already knew of his involvement with Clarice; the only question remaining in Jack’s mind was how much he knew. How he knew would, as always, remain a mystery.
Resigned, Jack merely smiled and reached for the doorknob. The door opened before he could grasp it.
Revealing Gasthorpe. Seeing them, Gasthorpe stepped back. He met Jack’s eyes. “A…person has called to see you, my lord. They’re waiting in the parlor.”
Jack instantly knew who had called. Dalziel, of course, didn’t; he didn’t know that the parlor was the small room beside the front door reserved for entertaining females.