The Chemickal Marriage

footmen. The footmen, white wigs drooping in the damp, came to attention at the sight of the Duchess, but her gesture to open the door was interrupted by an echoing cry. Miss Temple turned as a party of some dozen figures clattered down the stairs in their wake.
    ‘Stand with them,’ said the Duchess. Miss Temple was pulled behind the footmen with her back against the wheel, feeling like a weak but valuable chess piece.
    Mr Schoepfil arrived first, anger evident in his ruddy face and strident tone. ‘I will have answers, madam! I will have answers!’
    After him in a jumble came Mr Kelling, still carrying the crate, leather case restored within it, then Doctor Svenson, sullenly rubbing his jaw, with Mr Nordling interposed between them. Miss Temple did not recognize the rest of the party – soldiers from Bronque’s regiment, men in Ministry top-coatsand several fellows who, like Nordling, wore more fashionable garments of different colours and were most likely to be courtiers.
    Schoepfil gripped his oblong box in one hand and waved it for emphasis. ‘Where is she, Your Grace? Where have you hidden her? Two men are dead at this woman’s hands. But she has not passed the guardhouse. She has not passed any exit, nor out any window.’
    ‘I dislike your tone, Mr Schoepfil.’
    While the Duchess of Cogstead was taller than Miss Temple, this was no particular feat, and Mr Schoepfil – a man used to dominating conversations from below – met her eyes with disdain. ‘You arranged today’s audience. You and Pont-Joule have indulged her time and again.’ He snorted once at Miss Temple. ‘That you have
this
one with you is all the proof I need.’ Schoepfil flicked his head at the iron oval door. ‘You know where she’s gone, and I demand you stand aside.’
    The Duchess pitched her voice to the group. ‘Mr Schoepfil has been commanded by royal writ to retire, at
once
. Any man that stands with him will pay the penalty.’
    ‘What penalty?’ demanded Schoepfil. ‘Your city is burning and you’re
here
, no more pertinent to its fate than a blood-stuffed tick is to a cart-horse.’
    ‘Mr Schoepfil! No matter
whose
nephew –’
    ‘My uncle will not survive this night. You do not want me for an enemy. Step aside.’
    The Duchess did not move. The soldiers behind Schoepfil stood ready. Miss Temple sought Doctor Svenson, but Svenson’s eyes met hers as if from a great distance – not cold so much as uninflected. She swallowed with dismay. Had he
given up
?
    She went to her toes and whispered to the footmen.‘You must open the door and pull the Duchess through.’ They did not reply, but one shifted his weight nearer the iron wheel.
    ‘You cannot pass,’ the Duchess insisted. ‘Her Majesty is within.’
    ‘O she is not,’ retorted Schoepfil.
    ‘Mr Schoepfil, your insolence paints no good prospect for your future at court.’
    Schoepfil’s eyes gleamed. The man found real delight in such contests ofwill, but hesitated to use force against the Duchess. However, though he would not attack, nor would he leave – and should the door open, he would push through. A soldier loosened his sword in its scabbard. The courtiers with Nordling inched backwards. Doctor Svenson looked at the floor, as if to confirm his altered heart.
    What lay behind the oval door that could be so important?
    That Schoepfil believed the Contessa could be within spoke to the woman having insinuated herself more deeply into the Queen’s household than anyone had suspected. If Lady Axewith had employed the Contessa as a confidante, perhaps she’d managed a similar intimacy here, with this Lord Pont-Joule or – was it possible – even with the Queen? Why else had the Duchess come to this room but to answer her own fears? At once Miss Temple saw that to allow Schoepfil’s entry – for he would take hold of whatever evidence he found – was to grant him unspeakable leverage: proof that a murderer had been granted favour by the Crown.
    ‘This man should be under arrest!’ Miss Temple pointed an accusing finger at Schoepfil. ‘He is a threat to Her Majesty’s person! Your duty is clear! Unless you are all cowards –’
    Mr Kelling dropped his crate with a crash and reached into his topcoat. He yanked out a shining short-barrelled revolver, but no sooner had Kelling extended his arm than the weapon sprung from his hand and Kelling split the air with a shriek. Mr Nordling had pulled apart his cane and thrust its thin blade into