Belgrave Square (16 page)

The ladies’ sitting room, known as the boudoir, was quite different, perhaps decorated according to Mrs. Carswell’s taste rather than her parents-in-law, from whom she had possibly inherited the house. Here were pre-Raphaelite paintings, all brooding and passionate faces, clean lines of design and dark, burning colors. Figures of legend and dream were depicted in noble poses. All sorts of ancient stories were brought to memory and their effect was curiously pleasing. The furniture was William Morris, simple lines and excellent workmanship; perhaps some were even genuine rather than imitations.

Here there were more pictures of the daughters, the three fair-haired girls in carefully decorous poses, features stylized to show large eyes and small, delicate mouths, the passion carefully ironed out—or perhaps it had never been there, but Pitt doubted that. Few young women were as childishly pure as this artist had drawn. These were pictures designed to portray them as the marriage market wished them to be seen.

A fourth girl, dark haired, looked much more natural. There was a streak of individuality in her face as if the artist
had not felt the pressure to convey a message. Pitt looked down and saw she had a wedding ring on her slender hand. He smiled to himself, and moved on to the next room.

The remainder of the house was as he would have expected, well furnished in traditional style, unimaginative, comfortable, full of ornaments, paintings, tapestries and mementos of this and past generations, small signs of family life, pride in the only son, gifts from parents, old samplers stitched by the daughters as young girls, a variety of books.

By the time he had seen the kitchen as well, and the servants’ quarters that were on the ground floor, Pitt had a very clear idea of a close, busy, rather bourgeois family, undisturbed by scandal. The tragedies and triumphs were largely of a domestic sort: the dinner party that succeeds; the invitations extended and accepted; the suitor who calls, or does not call; the dress which is a disaster; the awaited letter which never arrives.

From the servants he picked up small remarks about callers when he asked about outsiders with entry to the house. He was told of dressmakers, milliners, women friends coming to tea or leaving cards. And of course the family entertained. There were parties of many sorts. Right now there were invitations to a ball in return to one they had only recently given.

Pitt left Addison Carswell’s house feeling really very little wiser with regard to the death of William Weems. He had a strong sense of an agreeable upper-middle-class family: affectionate, pleasantly domestic, no more obtuse than was normal in wishing their daughters to marry well both socially and financially. That much he had gathered quite easily. He smiled and thought how much more Charlotte would have read into it, the subtleties and refinements he could only guess at vaguely. But none of this led him any further towards knowing if Carswell was in heavy debt to Weems, or whether the issue might be one of blackmail, as it was with Byam. The household was not on the surface any more extravagant than he would have expected for a man in Carswell’s position. And it was always possible Mrs. Carswell had a little money of her own to contribute, which might account for the very excellent pictures.

He walked along Curzon Street in the sun, his hands in
his pockets, his mind deep in thought, scarcely noticing the carriages with their liveried footmen passing him by. He could go to Cars well’s associates and ask them certain trivial questions, on some pretext or other, but even so, what would the answers tell him? That he played cards, perhaps? If he did, what of it? They would not admit if he had lost heavily lately. That was the sort of thing one gentleman did not reveal about another.

He turned the corner into South Audley Street then left along Great Stanhope Street into Park Lane.

Was Carswell worried or anxious lately? If he had confided in anyone, the confidant would not betray him by repeating the matter, least of all to a stranger he would recognize instantly as not one of their own, even if Pitt did not identify himself as a policeman. And worry indicated nothing. It could be about any number of things that had nothing whatever to do with William Weems. It could be a matter of health, or a Carswell daughter being courted by someone unsuitable, or, perhaps as bad, being courted by no one at all. It could be a complicated case he had been required to judge, a decision he was unhappy over, a friend in difficulties, or simply indigestion.

Beautiful carriages were passing him, their passengers ladies taking the air, faces sheltered from the sun by huge hats, nodding to friends on the footpath. Beyond them the trees in Hyde Park barely moved in the breeze.

Had Carswell developed erratic habits of late? If he had any ability at all he would conceal such a thing.

It was time he met Carswell himself, and asked him outright if he were in debt to Weems, and gave the man an opportunity to prove he had been elsewhere at the time of Weems’s death, and eliminate himself from inquiry.

Pitt hailed a cab and asked the driver to take him to the police court in Bow Street, where Carswell would be sitting. It took him half an hour traveling east through heavy traffic and by the time he arrived and paid the driver he was impatient. But one could not simply walk in and see an official of the court. The place was grim, busy and extremely formal, everyone consumed in their own importance, hurrying along corridors with sheaves of paper.

Pitt attempted to straighten his tie, and loosened it, ending
up with it worse than before. He pulled his jacket down a little and moved some of the extraneous articles from one pocket to the other, trying to attain a little more balance. Then he presented himself to the clerk of the court and requested to see Mr. Addison Carswell when he had the opportunity between cases.

He filled in the waiting time by overhearing as much as possible of snatches of conversation between police on duty and witnesses waiting to give evidence. He hoped to gather some other opinions of Carswell, and was surprisingly successful.

“Yer got a fair chance,” one sharp-faced little man observed, sucking at his teeth with a hissing sound. “ ’E in’t too bad, Carswell. ’E in’t vindictive, like.”

“All beaks is vindictive,” his friend replied gloomily. “ ’E in’t never goin’ ter believe I got it fair and square. ’e’s goin’ ter say I nicked it. I can see it comin’.”

“Well keep yer yap shut an’ ’E won’t know,” the other said sharply. “Don’ offer ’im nuffin’ ’as ’E don’ ask yer.”

“I should ’a paid old Skinjiggs ter give me summat—”

“No yer shouldn’t. I tol’ jer, there’s some as yer can be friends wiv an’ they take it badly, an’ Carswell in’t one of ’em. Jus’ keep yer lip buttoned an’ don’ say nuffin’ as yer don’t ’ave ter.”

Then the conversation degenerated into speculation as to what sentence their mutual friend would receive. They had no doubt he would be found guilty.

Further along a pale young woman in gray was being comforted by her lawyer, a sandy little man with a white wig on a trifle crooked over his right ear and an earnest expression of entreaty.

“Please, Mrs. Wilby, don’t agitate yourself so. Mr. Carswell is extremely consistent. He does not give exemplary sentences. He is a very predictable judge. I have never known him to step outside the average.”

She sniffed and dabbed her nose with a scrap of handkerchief, and continued staring at the floor.

Were they simply the words of a nervous young man trying to comfort his client, or was Carswell really a man whose career showed no erratic decisions, no questionable behavior?

Pitt approached another lawyer who seemed to be standing around in hope of finding a little business, and asked him a few pertinent questions, as if he had a friend presently awaiting trial.

“Excuse me,” he began tentatively.

The lawyer looked at him dubiously. “Yes?”

“I have a friend up on a charge before Mr. Carswell,” Pitt said, watching the man’s face in case his expression betrayed more than his words. “I wonder, can you tell me what sort of chance he has?”

The lawyer pulled a face. “Depends what he’s up for. But he’s a pretty fair chap on the whole, no better than most, no worse. He has his dislikes—is your friend a pimp, by any chance?”

“Why?” Pitt tried to look anxious.

“Hates pimps,” the lawyer said expressively. “And pornographers—and anyone who abuses women. Has a soft spot for women, it seems.”

“Thieving,” Pitt amended quickly.

“He’ll be all right. Inclined to be lenient to a bit of simple thieving. Unless, of course, he was violent? No? Or robbed the old or the very poor? No—then don’t worry. He’ll be fine.”

“Thank you sir,” Pitt said enthusiastically, finding himself wishing more and more strongly that he would find Addison Carswell was not guilty of having murdered Weems.

Eventually the clerk came scurrying along to him, the tails of his gown flying, his face furrowed with agitation.

“Mr. Pitt, Mr. Carswell will see you now. I do hope you won’t keep him long, we have a great deal to get through and it would really be most inconvenient if he were to be delayed. You assured me it was urgent police business, and I have taken you at your word, sir.” His wispy eyebrows rose and he desired to reconsider that he had understood correctly and it truly justified his extraordinary intrusion.

“Indeed it is,” Pitt said, hiding a slight smile and reminding himself of Weems’s disfigured corpse in the mortuary, to force his priorities back to where his brain told him they should be. “You may be easy in your mind that I am not wasting Mr. Carswell’s time.”

“Ah—indeed. Then will you come this way, quickly now.”
And so saying he turned and walked away so rapidly it was all but a trot.

Pitt strode after him and only two minutes later was shown into the chambers where Addison Carswell took short respites between one batch of cases and another. He had no time to look at it beyond noticing the walls were lined with bookshelves, presumably law tomes by their leather covers and great size. The single window overlooked a quiet courtyard and he could see the sunlight on an old stone wall at the far side. A single large desk was empty but for a silver salver with a bottle of Madeira and two glasses.

Carswell was standing with his back to the bookshelves. He was imposing now in his robes of office and with the weight of his calling so sharp in his mind. In the courtroom only a few yards away his power over his fellow beings was enormous. But stripped of these things Pitt judged he would be a very ordinary man, like thousands of others in London. He was well-to-do but not beyond the reach of anxiety; comfortable in his home and family of conforming disposition in both religion and political views; socially popular, accepted, but not a leader, still aspiring to climb considerably higher. In fact he was a man of very ordinary ambition and perhaps a few private dreams a little more individual, which would probably always remain just that: private—and only dreams.

“Yes, Mr…. Mr. Pitt?” Carswell said curiously. “What can I do for you, sir? I have but little time, as I am sure you realize.”

“Yes sir,” Pitt said immediately. “Therefore I shall not waste it with a lengthy preamble. May I be blunt?”

Carswell winced very slightly. “I suppose it would be an advantage.”

“Thank you. Can you tell me where you were between eight o’clock in the evening and midnight of Tuesday last week?”

Carswell thought for a moment, then a faint pink tinge appeared in his cheeks. “Is there some reason why I should, sir?”

“It would help to clear up a matter in which certain parties may be lying,” Pitt said, evading the issue.

Carswell bit his lip. “I was in a hansom cab, traveling
from one place to another. The places need not concern you. I witnessed nothing out of the ordinary.”

“Where did you pass, sir?”

“That is a private matter.”

“Are you acquainted with a Mr. William Weems?” Pitt watched Carswell’s face closely for the smallest change of color or expression, and saw nothing but an attempt at recollection.

“Not that I think of,” Carswell said after a moment. “Was he concerned in a case I tried?”

“I don’t believe so.” Pitt had no idea whether he was completely unaware of Weems’s identity, either as a usurer or the victim of a recent murder, or whether he was a superlative liar. “He lived in Clerkenwell.”

“I do not have occasion to visit Clerkenwell, Mr. Pitt.” Carswell frowned. “If you forgive me, sir, you seem to be somewhat less direct than you intimated to me. I do not know Mr. Weems. Who or what is he, and why did you suppose I might know him?”

“He was a usurer, sir, who had your name on his book as having owed him a considerable amount.”

Carswell’s amazement might have been comic in any other circumstances.

“Owed him money? That is preposterous! I owe no one money, Mr. Pitt. But were I to be in financial difficulties I should not go to a usurer in Clerkenwell, but to my bankers to tide me over until circumstances improved.” He frowned as the absurdity of the thought became even more apparent to him. “But anyway, should that occur, and I assure you it has not, I have many personal possessions which I would dispose of, and I would do, before falling into the clutches of such a person. I have had far too much experience of tragic cases of men in debt to usury through my court to allow myself into such a desperate pass.”

It did not seem to occur to him that Pitt would doubt him. Perhaps it was too easily proved for him to imagine anyone would tell anything but the truth. Of course he did not know that Pitt had been to his home and knew for himself that he had much he could have realized money on, had he the need, but his very lack of pressing the point made Pitt think it the more likely he felt no guilt in the matter. Even now he stared
wide-eyed and amused more than angry at the suggestion, and there was no fear in him, no tension in his body, no shadow in his eyes.

“He must have had my name for some other reason,” Carswell went on with a shrug of his shoulders. “My calling means that my name is known to various people of unsavory character and dubious occupation. Perhaps one of his clients passed through my court?”