Belgrave Square (15 page)

He walked over towards the fireplace and turned again. “I’m glad he was proved so dramatically wrong. I would like to have seen the expression on his face when he saw that gun pointing at him and looked at the eyes of the man who held it, and knew he was going to shoot.” He regarded Drummond steadily. “Does that sound offensively vindictive? I’m sorry. The man has cost me dearly in peace of mind. And I imagine will continue to do so for some time to come.”

“I’ll do everything I can,” Drummond promised. He could think of nothing else to ask and he had discharged his commitment both to a man he was feeling increasing sympathy for and to a brother in the Inner Circle.

Byam smiled bleakly.

“I’m sure you will, and I do not wish to sound either ungrateful for your discretion or unbelieving of your man’s abilities. It is hard when you cannot see a solution yourself to realize that someone else whom you do not know can solve it for you. I am not used to feeling so helpless. I am obliged to you, Drummond.”

“We’ll find him,” Drummond said rashly, perhaps Eleanor Byam more in his mind than her husband. “Pitt won’t rest until he finds the truth—I promise you that.”

Byam smiled and offered his hand.

Drummond took it, held it a moment, then walked to the door.

4

S
INCE THE FIRST LIST
had yielded nothing, Pitt was faced with the necessity of pursuing the names on Weems’s second list. He wanted to put off as long as possible the burden of investigating his fellow police officer, therefore he began with Addison Carswell. He already had his address so beginning was not difficult; it was merely a matter of choosing which aspect of his life to examine first.

The sensible place seemed to be his home. One may learn a great deal about a man by seeing how he lives, what his domestic tastes are, how much money he appears to have at his disposal, and upon what he chooses to spend it. Perhaps even more may be learned about his financial circumstances by meeting his wife and estimating his family responsibilities.

Accordingly Pitt set off for Mayfair. The hansom sped through warm, busy streets, passing broughams, landaus and carriages with ladies about errands. It was far too early for morning calls, which anyway were paid in the afternoon; this was the hour for visiting dressmakers and the like. There were delivery carts with all manner of goods, other hansoms with gentlemen beginning the business day, and here and there the occasional public omnibus, packed with men, women and children sitting upright or squeezed together, scrupulously ignoring each other and waiting for their own stop at which to dismount.

At Curzon Street, Pitt paid the cabby and alighted. It was a gracious way, and looking up and down it, he judged it to have been expensive and discreet for most of its history. If Addison Carswell was in financial difficulty he would find it a serious drain on his resources to maintain a residence here for long.

He went to the front door, hesitated a moment, rearranging in his mind what he planned to say, then pulled the bell, a fine brass affair with engraved numbers beneath it.

The door was opened by a parlormaid in a dark dress and crisp, lace-edged cap and apron. She was a handsome girl, tall and with a clear, country complexion, shining hair—everything a parlormaid should be. Addison Carswell would seem to pay attention to appearances—or perhaps it was Mrs. Carswell who cared. Very often it was women to whom such things mattered most.

“Yes sir?” she said with well-concealed surprise. Whoever she had expected, it was not Pitt.

He smiled with as much charm as he could, which was considerable, more than he was aware.

“Good morning. Mrs. Carswell is not expecting me, but I have a rather delicate errand with which she may be able to assist me. I would be most obliged if you would ask her if she would receive me.” With a feeling of considerable satisfaction he pulled his card out of his inner pocket and presented it to her. It stated his name but not his police rank. It was an extravagance he had indulged in a few years ago, and it still gave him inordinate pleasure.

The parlormaid looked at it doubtfully, but in spite of his less than elegant appearance, his voice was beautiful, well modulated, and his diction excellent. She made a rapid judgment of her own, and smiled back.

“Certainly sir. If you will wait in the morning room I will inform Mrs. Carswell you are here.”

“Thank you.” Pitt had no time to look around the entrance hallway, but when he was left in the morning room he spent the ten minutes she kept him waiting in close scrutiny of everything in the room. This was his primary purpose in coming, and if she refused to see him, might well be all he would achieve.

The furniture was very traditional, showing far more comfort
than imagination in its style. It was mostly of heavy oak, overornamented for Pitt’s taste, but of good quality. Nothing was scratched or marred as if it had been carelessly used, or cheaply purchased. The sofa and chairs had been recently upholstered, there were no worn patches, and the antimacassars were embroidered and without blemish.

The photographs on the mantel were framed in silver, polished and gleaming. He looked at them closely. The largest in the center was a family group: a man in formal pose, stiff collar and fixed expression; a handsome woman beside him, full bosomed, smooth throated, richly gowned; and around and behind them a young man, whose features closely resembled the woman, and three girls, all fair haired and wide-eyed, who seemed so alike it was difficult to tell them apart. A fourth girl with darker hair sat on the ground in front, making a charming and almost symmetrical picture. It was stiff in composition, and yet the naturalness of the resemblance and the affection between them gave it a warmth that no photographer could destroy.

The other frames held portraits of the same people individually, several taken some years earlier at different stages of youth. There was also a rather awkward picture of a nervous older couple, afraid of the camera and holding the pose so carefully their lips were pressed together and their eyes staring. Perhaps they were the parents of either Mr. or Mrs. Carswell.

He walked over to the window and looked into the sunlit garden full of flowers, early roses and late lupins making splashes and spires of pink. The curtains were respectably heavy, and draped across the floor at the bottom. He had learned to know that for the display of wealth it was intended. He smiled to himself, and turned back to the room to look at the pictures on the walls.

Here he was surprised to see they were of excellent quality. His work with art theft and fraud had taught him a great deal about paintings and their value, and he recognized a number of artists with ease. He especially liked watercolors for their delicacy and subtle use of light, and he knew as soon as he saw these that they were recent artists and of high quality. Someone in the Carswell house either had excellent taste or was prepared to spend liberally, even on so little used a room
as this; or else Mr. Carswell chose to spend his money on art, and was very well advised in the matter.

It would be very interesting to see what he had chosen for the more frequently used rooms, such as the withdrawing room.

He was still looking at a soft landscape, a view of a shaded walk under trees, when Regina Carswell came in. She was obviously the woman at the center of the large photograph, dark haired and broad browed. There were several lines in her face, but they were all comfortable and gave her expression an air of calm.

“Mr. Pitt? My parlormaid tells me you believe I may be of assistance to you. Pray, in what way?”

“Good morning, Mrs. Carswell. It is very gracious of you to give up your time,” he said quickly. “I hope I do not inconvenience you. I am from the metropolitan police. I am inquiring into several recent art thefts, perpetrated in a particularly ingenious manner. The thieves present themselves as gentlemen who are lovers of fine paintings and are here on behalf of certain small museums, both in England and abroad.” He saw the polite interest in her face, and continued. “They say they have heard you have some excellent and little-known works and they would be interested in borrowing them for exhibition, for which of course they would reimburse you accordingly. It would only be for a matter of two or three months, then your paintings would be returned to you—”

“That doesn’t sound dishonest to me,” she said frankly.

He smiled. “It is not, to this point,” he agreed. “Except that there is no museum. They take the paintings—and in three months’ time return to you not your own painting, but an excellent forgery. Unless you examine it closely you would not know. And since it is in your frame, and you believe them to be reputable people, there is no reason why you should look at it more than cursorily, as you replace it on the wall.”

Her face pinched very slightly.

“We have had no such gentlemen here, Mr. Pitt. I’m sorry I cannot be of any assistance to you at all.”

It was what he had expected. “At least, Mrs. Carswell, be prepared,” he said easily. “And if anyone does call with
such an offer, refuse it, and inform me at the Bow Street police station, at your earliest opportunity.” He glanced at the walls. “I see in the room here you have some delightful work which such thieves would love to obtain. I hope your locks on the windows and doors are all in good condition? Perhaps I might look at them and advise you?”

“If you wish, but I assure you my husband is most careful about such things. He is a magistrate, you know, and quite aware of both the nature and the frequency of crime.”

“Indeed, ma’am. If you would prefer …” He left it hanging in the air, hoping she would not accept his withdrawal. He needed to see as much of the house as possible.

“Not at all,” she said graciously. “I shall have Gibson show you all the downstairs doors and windows.” And so saying she rang the bell to summon the butler. When he came, a small man with abundant whiskers, she explained to him Pitt’s office and his purpose.

“Certainly, ma’am.” He turned to Pitt. “If you will come this way, sir,” he said with chill civility. He did not approve of police persons inside the house, and he wished Pitt to realize he was doing this under sufferance.

Pitt thanked Mrs. Carswell again, and followed Gibson’s retreating figure to examine the security of the house.

As he had supposed, the window latches and door locks were all in excellent repair, and he was assured they were checked every night before the last servant retired. Not that he would have expected Gibson to admit to less. What was far more interesting to him was the furnishing and the decor.

The withdrawing room was large, but lacked a look of spaciousness because the walls were covered in patterned paper, and the furniture was of the most modern design, clean lined, but engraved and inlaid so the impression was still of complicated surfaces. The curtains were heavy velvet, tied back with gilded, embossed and fringed sashes.

Pitt felt overpowered with opulence, and yet he knew it was no more than he would have found in most homes of men similarly situated both as to wealth and social rank. He had seen many such fireplaces with marble pilasters up the sides and ornate carving over the top, other gilt and ormolu clocks, other surfaces covered with china. In this case it was a top-heavy, elaborately scrolled Minton potpourri vase of
neo-rococo design: blue, gold and white with lush flowers. He thought it hideous, but knew it was well thought of by many, and certainly valuable.

More to his taste in its simple lines was a Bohemian-red etched glass goblet, a souvenir of the Great Exhibition of 1851. Another memento was a painted and gilded lacquer box with pictures of the Crystal Palace.

He inspected the windows to satisfy the story he had told, watched by Gibson, as was his job. At least the man seemed sensible to the fact that callers such as Pitt could be just as dishonest as the thieves they were detailed to prevent. He watched Pitt with eyes like a hunting cat, not missing a gesture. Pitt smiled to himself and inwardly praised the man.

The dining room was equally splendid, and the porcelain in evidence was of excellent quality. There was a certain amount of Chinoiserie, as was popular, but these examples were blue and white and one at least, Pitt thought, was quite old—either Ming or a very good copy. Certainly if Addison Carswell wished to sell something and raise a little money, he could have found many times the amount Weems’s books had him owing.