The Chemickal Marriage

with an alluring ruby decanter than with property seizures.
    ‘There are hours left in the day,’ sniffed Harcourt. ‘Send to the kitchens for strong tea. Where is the list from Lord Axewith?’
    ‘It has not yet come, sir.’
    ‘Vandaariff will dictate terms to us all.’ Harcourt rubbed his eyes and exhaled. He took up a new stack of documents, at once thrusting a page at another aide. ‘Make sure the commanders understand – there is to be no official record of casualties, nor any death benefits charged to the paymaster. They are to draw on Lord Axewith’s fund.
Go
.’
    The aide bustled out and the next – they were all of an age with Harcourt – stepped up with a ledger and a pen. Harcourt blinked at it, wearily. ‘Just remind me?’
    ‘Transport tariffs, sir – to widen the Orange Canal, from the new Parchfeldt spur down to the sea.’
    ‘Ah.’ Harcourt scribbled his name but kept the pen, his eyes hovering over the ledger. ‘Parchfeldt.’
    The young man took his master’s hesitation for a chance to speak. ‘Do you know how long the quarantine will go on, sir? In Stäelmaere House?’
    ‘Am I in the College of Medicine?’
    ‘Of course not, sir – but you served the Duke, were aide to Mr Phelps –’
    ‘Attend to your canals, Mr Forsett!’ Harcourt slapped the ledger shut, nearly upsetting the inkpot. ‘What in God’s name is keeping Pont-Joule? And where in blazes is that tea?’
    But his last words were drained of wrath – indeed, were quite infused with stammering anticipation. The Contessa di Lacquer-Sforza had appeared before him, the red dress shimmering like a gemstone.
    ‘Sweet Christ,’ Harcourt croaked. ‘To your errands – at once, off with you all!’
    ‘What of your tea?’ squeaked Forsett.
    ‘Damn the tea! Drink it yourselves! I must meet with this lady alone!’
    Harcourt’s officials hurried out, clutching their papers as if fleeing a house fire. Harcourt’s attention stayed fixed on the woman, and his lower lip trembled.
    ‘M-my lady …’
    ‘I told you I would return, Matthew. You look tired.’ The Contessa stood opposite Harcourt, the bowl of white blossoms between them like a ceremonial offering.
    ‘Not at all.’ Harcourt’s nonchalance was betrayed by the twitching of one eye. The Contessa set her jewelled bag onto the table and snapped it open, extracting a pair of silk gloves dyed to match her dress.
    ‘Such service, to manage a nation at risk,’ she said gently. ‘Is it truly recognized? Does such sacrifice ever find reward?’
    Harcourt swallowed. ‘In the absence of other – experienced – Minister Crabbé – with the sickness that has pervaded –’
    ‘That terrible woman …’ The Contessa shook her head, her gloved fingers
clicking
as they sought inside her bag. ‘Can you imagine if anything like her should appear again? Or a score of them at once?’
    Harcourt stared at the gleaming blue rectangle the Contessa had extracted.
    ‘This is for you, Matthew … for you alone.’ She offered her hand across the perfumed bowl and smiled shyly. ‘I trust you will not think the less of me.’
    Harcourt shook his head, gulped and snatched the glass card. He raised itto his eyes, licking his lips like a hound. His pupils expanded to black balls and his jaw fell slack. Mr Harcourt did not move.
    ‘Come out, Doctor. The fellow is so earnest, it would be a shame not to share his misfortune.’
    Svenson felt like a pet who’d been whistled for. ‘How long until his people return?’
    ‘We have at least … O … three minutes?’ The Contessa leafed through the papers in Harcourt’s portfolio.
    ‘That is no time at all!’
    ‘More than enough …’
    She pulled a sheet of parchment free, reading it quickly. Harcourt gasped – in pain or ecstasy – but his gaze did not shift. Svenson inched closer, curious as to what held Harcourt in thrall.
    ‘Time, Doctor,
time
…’
    ‘What are you hoping to find? You might have waited until he had the news of Vandaariff’s demands –’
    ‘I have told you, Doctor, that does not
matter
.’
    The Contessa shoved the parchment at Svenson and went back to the portfolio. The page was a list of properties to be temporarily seized by the Crown: railway lines, shipping fleets, mines, refineries, banks, and then, ending the list, at least fifteen different glassworks.
    ‘Glassworks?’
    ‘
Curious
, isn’t it?’
    ‘That demand has to come from Vandaariff – it’s all been planned in