Farrier's Lane (3 page)

Pitt turned around and looked at it.

“No, only an ordinary latch. I’ll wait here until you can inform the management and have a constable sent. We cannot leave it open.”

“No, naturally not. I’ll go now.” And without waiting any further Livesey went out and disappeared, leaving Pitt alone just as the curtain fell to a long and enthusiastic round of applause.

    When Charlotte left the box with Juniper Stafford she met Adolphus Pryce almost immediately, returning with a goblet of water held out in front of him. He looked extremely agitated and his dark eyes gazed at Juniper with something that, were it not ridiculous to think it, Charlotte would have taken for fear.

“My dear—Mrs. Stafford,” he said jerkily. “Is there anything at all I can do to be of service to you? Your coachman has been told and he will bring your carriage to the front the moment you wish it. How is Mr. Stafford?”

“I don’t know,” Juniper answered in a voice that caught in her throat. “He … looked … very ill! It was so—sudden!”

“I’m so sorry,” Adolphus said again. “I had no idea he
was in poor health—none at all.” He held out the goblet of water.

Juniper’s eyes met his on a long, painful look. She took the goblet with both hands, the light catching on her rings. Her gorgeous dress now seemed ridiculously out of place. “No—of course not,” she said hastily. “Neither—neither had I! That is what is so absurd.” Her voice rose to a high, desperate pitch and broke off. She forced herself to drink a sip of the water.

Adolphus stared at her. Charlotte might not have been there at all for any awareness he showed of her. All his intense emotion was centered on Juniper, and yet he did not seem to know what else to say.

“The doctor will do all that can be done,” Charlotte said. “It would be best if we were to find a quiet place where we can await the outcome, don’t you think?”

“Yes—yes, of course,” Adolphus agreed. Again he looked at Juniper. “If … if there is anything, Mrs. Stafford? At least, please let me know … how he is.”

“Of course I will, Mr. Pryce. You are most kind.” Juniper looked at him with a sort of desperation. Then clinging to Charlotte’s arm she turned and walked away towards a small private room off the foyer where refreshments had been taken only an hour earlier. The manager stood in the doorway, wringing his hands and making inarticulate sounds of general anxiety.

It seemed an age to Charlotte that they sat there. Occasionally she took the goblet from Juniper, then handed it back, making small, meaningless remarks and trying to be of comfort without giving any foolish promises of a happy ending she believed could not possibly be.

Eventually Ignatius Livesey came. His face was very grave and Charlotte knew the instant she saw him that Stafford was dead. Indeed when Juniper looked up, the hope died out of her before she spoke. She took a deep breath, closed her eyes, the tears brimming over and running down her cheeks.

“I am extremely sorry,” Livesey said quietly. “It pains me to have to tell you that he has gone. The only comfort
I can offer you is that it was quite peaceful and he will have felt no pain or distress except momentarily, and that was so short as to be forgotten in an instant.” He filled the doorway, a figure of judicial calm, a stability in a dreadfully changing world. “He was a very fine man who served the law with great distinction for over forty years, and he will be remembered with honor and gratitude. England is a better place, and society wiser and more just because of his life. That must be of great comfort to you, when this time of grief has lessened, and it will lessen with time. It is a legacy not every woman may boast, and you may justly be proud.”

She stared at him. For a moment she tried to speak. It was painful to observe. Charlotte longed to help her.

“That is most generous of you,” she said to Livesey, gripping Juniper’s hand and holding it hard. “Thank you for coming on what must be a most difficult errand. Now perhaps if there is nothing more to do here, you would be kind enough to send a message so Mrs. Stafford’s carriage may be brought. I imagine the doctor will take care of—of arrangements here?”

“Indeed,” Livesey acknowledged. “But …” His face shadowed. “I regret the police may wish to ask a few questions, because it was so sudden.”

Juniper found her voice; perhaps surprise was momentarily greater than grief.

“The police? Whatever for? Who— I mean, why are they here? How do they even know? Did you …?”

“No—it is quite fortuitous,” Livesey said quickly. “It is Mr. Pitt, who came to your assistance.”

“What questions?” Juniper glanced at Charlotte, looking confused. “What is there to ask?”

“I imagine he will wish to know what Samuel ate or drank in the last few hours,” Livesey replied gently. “Perhaps what he had done during the day. If it is possible for you to compose yourself sufficiently to give him answers, it will help.”

Charlotte opened her mouth to say something, a protest of sorts, but no words came to her that were not futile. Stafford
had died suddenly and without any cause that could be identified. It was unavoidable that there should be some formal investigation. Livesey was right; the sooner it could be settled, the sooner some sort of natural grief could begin, and then in time the start of healing.

The door opened and Pitt came in, closely followed by Adolphus Pryce.

Juniper looked up quickly, but at Pryce; then as if by an effort of will, away again.

“Mr. Pitt?” she said slowly. “I understand you are from the police. Mr. Livesey tells me you need to ask me some questions about … about Samuel’s death.” She took a deep breath. “I will tell you whatever I can, but I don’t know anything that could help you. I had no idea he was ill. He never gave me the slightest indication …”

“I understand that, Mrs. Stafford.” Pitt sat down without being asked, so that he was looking directly at her, instead of obliging her to stare up at him. “I am deeply sorry to have to trouble you at this most painful time, but if I were to leave it until later, you may by then have forgotten some small detail which would provide an answer.” He looked at her closely. She was very pale and her hands were shaking, but she seemed composed, and still suffering too much shock to have given way to weeping or the anger that so often follows bereavement.

“Mrs. Stafford, what did your husband eat for dinner before he came to the theater?”

She thought for a moment. “Saddle of mutton, horseradish sauce, vegetables. Not a heavy meal, Mr. Pitt, and not an overindulgence.”

“Did you have the same?”

“Yes—exactly. A great deal less, of course, but exactly the same.”

“And to drink?”

She drew her brows down in puzzlement. “He took a little claret, but it was opened at the table and poured straight from the bottle. It was in excellent condition. I had half a glass myself. He did not take too much, I assure you! And he always drank very moderately.”

“What else?”

“A chocolate pudding, and a fruit sorbet. But I had some also.”

Pitt caught a movement out of the corner of his eye, and turned to see Livesey touching his hip pocket.

Pitt continued grimly. “Did your husband carry a hip flask, Mrs. Stafford?” he asked.

Her eyes widened. “Yes—yes, he did. A silver one. I gave it to him some four or five years ago. Why?”

“Did he fill it himself?”

“I imagine so. I really don’t know. Why, Mr. Pitt? Do you … do you wish to see it?”

“I already have it, thank you. Do you know if he drank from it this evening?”

“I didn’t see him, but it is most likely he did. He—he liked a small—” She stopped, her voice shaking and uncertain. She required a moment or two to regain her composure.

“Can you tell me what he did during the day, Mrs. Stafford, all that you know.”

“What he did?” She looked doubtful. “Well, yes, if you wish. But I don’t understand why—”

“It is possible that he was poisoned, Mrs. Stafford,” Livesey said gravely, still standing near the door. “It is a most distressing thought, but I am afraid we must face it. Of course the medical examiner may find some disease of which we are unaware, but until that time we have to act in a way that takes account of all possibilities.”

She blinked. “Poisoned? Who would poison Samuel?”

Pryce fidgeted from one foot to the other, staring at Juniper, but he did not interrupt.

“You can think of no one?” Pitt drew her attention back again. “Do you know if he was presently engaged in a case, Mrs. Stafford?”

“No—no, he was not.” She seemed to find it easier to speak while her mind was concentrating on practical details and answers to specific questions. “That woman came to see him again. She has been pestering him for several
months now. He seemed most upset by her, and after she left, he went out almost immediately.”

“What woman, Mrs. Stafford?” Pitt said quickly.

“Miss Macaulay,” she replied. “Tamar Macaulay.”

“The actress?” He was startled. “Do you know what she wanted?”

“Oh yes, of course.” Her eyebrows rose as if the question were unexpected. She had assumed Pitt would know. “About her brother.”

“What to do with her brother, Mrs. Stafford?” Pitt asked patiently, reminding himself she was desperately newly bereaved, and should not be required to make sense as others might. “Who is her brother? Is he presently lodging an appeal?”

A flicker of hard, almost bitter humor lit her face for a moment.

“Hardly, Mr. Pitt. He was hanged five years ago. She wishes—wished Samuel to reopen the case. He was one of the judges of his appeal, which was denied. It was a very terrible murder. I think if the public could have hanged him more than once, they would have.”

“The Godman case,” Livesey put in behind Pitt. “The murder of Kingsley Blaine. I daresay you recall it?”

Pitt thought for a moment. A vague recollection came back to him, of horror and outrage, articles in the paper, one or two very ugly incidents in the street, Jews being mobbed. “In Farriers’ Lane?” he said aloud.

“That’s right,” Juniper agreed. “Well, Tamar Macaulay was his sister. I don’t know why they had different names, but actors aren’t ordinary people anyway. You never know what is real with them, and what is not. And of course they are Jews.”

Pitt shivered. There seemed a sudden coldness in the room, as if a breath of hate and unreason had come in through the open door, but Livesey had closed it. He looked at Charlotte and saw in her eyes a shadow of fear, as if she too had felt something new and dark.

“It was a very shocking case,” Livesey said quietly, his voice grave and with an edge of anger in it. “I don’t know
why the poor woman didn’t leave it alone and let it die in everyone’s memory, but some compulsion drives her to keep on raising it, trying to get it reopened.” His face was dark with distaste, as if he would step back from the useless pain of it, did not duty prevent him. “She had some lunatic idea it would clear his name.” He lifted his heavy shoulders a fraction. “Whereas, of course, the truth is the wretched man was as guilty as the devil, and it was proved beyond any doubt at all, reasonable or unreasonable. He had his day in court, and his appeal. I know the facts, Pitt, I sat on the appeal myself.”

Pitt acknowledged the information with a nod, and turned back to Juniper.

“And Miss Macaulay came to see Mr. Stafford again today?”

“Yes—early in the afternoon. He was very disturbed by it.” She took a deep breath and steadied herself, gripping Charlotte’s hand. “He went out immediately after, saying he must see Mr. O’Neil, and Mr. Fielding.”

“Joshua Fielding, the actor?” Pitt asked. For some reason he deliberately avoided Charlotte’s eyes, Caroline’s face in the theater painfully clear in his mind with all its tense excitement.

“Yes,” Juniper agreed, nodding very slightly. “He was part of the company at the time—and of course he still is. You saw him tonight. He was a friend of Aaron Godman’s, and I believe for a while a suspect—before they knew who it was, of course.”

“I see. And who is O’Neil? Another member of the company?”

“Oh no! No, Mr. O’Neil was a friend of Kingsley Blaine, the murdered man. He was very respectable!”

“Why did Mr. Stafford wish to see him?”

She shook her head very slightly. “He was a suspect—in the very beginning. But of course that did not last long. I have no idea why Samuel wanted to see him. He didn’t discuss it with me, I only knew because he was so distressed I asked him where he was going, and he just said to see Mr. O’Neil and Mr. Fielding.”

Adolphus Pryce shifted uncomfortably, clearing his throat.

“Er—I—I know that to be true, Mr. Pitt. Mr. Stafford also came to see me today. He had already spoken to both Fielding and O’Neil.”

Pitt looked at him with surprise. He had forgotten Pryce was there.

“Indeed? Did he discuss the matter with you, Mr. Pryce?”

“Well, yes—and no. In a manner of speaking.” Pryce stared at him fixedly, as if he were with difficulty avoiding letting his eyes stray somewhere else. “He asked me some further questions about the Blaine/Godman case—that is how we referred to it, Blaine being the victim, and Godman the offender. I was the prosecuting counsel, you know. It was really a very clear case. Godman had motive; the means were to hand for anyone, and the opportunity. In fact he was observed by several people in the immediate vicinity, and did not deny it.” A look of apology flickered across his face. “And of course he was a Jew.”

Pitt felt a hardness inside him settle like a stone. He did not even try to keep the anger out of his eyes.

“What has that to do with it, Mr. Pryce? I can see no connection whatever!”

Pryce’s delicate nostrils flared.

“He was crucified, Mr. Pitt,” he said between his teeth. “I would have thought the connection was appallingly obvious!”

Pitt was stunned. “Crucified?” he blurted.

“To the stable door, in Farriers’ Lane,” Livesey put in from his position still close to the door. “Surely you remember the case. It was written about extensively in every newspaper in London. People spoke of little else.”

A sharper recollection came back to Pitt. He had been working on another case himself at the time, and had no spare moments to read newspapers or listen to the recounting of events other than those of his own case, but this had rocked the entire city.