Traitors Gate (19 page)

“Just to prove it was Mr. Danforth who was in the wrong, not Sir Arthur,” Pitt replied.

“And who needs proof o’ that?” Sturges pulled a face. “Nobody else as knows Sir Arthur thought it was ’im!”

Pitt felt a sudden lift of happiness, and found himself smiling in spite of the occasion. Sturges was a loyal man, but he moderated the truth for no one.

“Sturges, do you know anything about the accident Sir Arthur had when the runaway horse came down the street and the rider caught him with his whip?”

“Some.” Sturges looked unhappy, his face drawn into
lines of doubt. He leaned against the apple racks. “Why are you asking, Tom? Who told you about it anyway? Mr. Matthew?” He had not as yet adjusted to the idea that Matthew was now the master, and heir of the title.

Somewhere outside a horse whinnied, and Pitt heard the familiar sound of hooves on the cobbled stableyard.

“Yes. He seemed to think it was not an accident.” He did not want to put words into Sturges’s mouth by saying it had been devised as a threat.

“Not an accident?” Sturges looked puzzled but not dismissive of the idea. “Well, in a manner o’ speaking, o’ course, it wasn’t. Fool came down the road like Jehu. Man like that should never ’ave bin on a horse in the first place. I look on an accident as something as couldn’t be helped, ’cept by the Almighty. Two ha’pence worth o’ sense ‘d helped this. Came galloping down the street like a clergyman, by all accounts, whip flyin’ all over the place. It was a mercy no one else was hurt but Sir Arthur, and the animal he was ridin’ at the time. Caught the poor beast a fair lashin’ ’round the head and shoulders. Took us weeks to get ’im right again. Still scared o’ the whip, it is. Probably always will be.”

“Who was the rider?”

“God knows,” Sturges said with disgust. “Some idiot from the far side of the country, seems like. No one ’round here knew him.”

“Did anybody know who he was? Do you know now?” Pitt pressed.

The sunlight was warm through the apple room door. A yellow-haired retriever poked its head in and wagged its tail hopefully.

“‘Course I don’t know,” Sturges answered angrily. “If I knew who he was I’d have had him on a charge.” It was a brave statement, more wish than actuality, but Pitt was quite sure he would have tried.

“Who else saw it happen?” Pitt asked him.

The dog came in and Sturges patted it automatically.
“Nobody, far as I know. Wheelwright saw the man go past. So did the smith, but didn’t see him hit Sir Arthur. Why? What are you saying? That it was Sir Arthur’s fault? He got in the way?”

“No.” Pitt did not resent his anger, or the defensiveness in his face. “No, I’m saying it may not have been an accident in any sense. The man may have spurred his horse to a gallop intentionally, meaning to catch Sir Arthur with the whip….”

Sturges’s face was full of amazement and disbelief.

“Why would anybody want to do that? It don’t make sense. Sir Arthur had no enemies.”

Pitt was not sure how far he should go in telling Sturges the truth. Perhaps the Inner Circle would be straining his belief a little far.

“Who would it be then?”

“Sir Arthur had no enemies. Not around here.” Sturges was watching him closely.

“Is that what he thought?”

Sturges stared at Pitt. “What have you heard, Tom? What are you trying to say?”

“That Sir Arthur was a danger to a certain group he had joined, and about whom he had discovered some very unpleasant truths, and was bent on exposing them. They caused this accident as a warning to him to keep his covenants of silence,” Pitt answered him.

“Oh aye, this Circle he spoke about.” Sturges blinked. “Pretty dangerous to go that far though. Could have killed him!”

“You know about the Circle?” Pitt said with surprise.

“Oh yes, he talked about it. Evil men, from what he said, but from up London.” He hesitated, searching Pitt’s face. “You mean what I think you mean, Tom?”

“Well, was he wandering in his mind, imagining things?”

“No he was not! Upset, maybe, pretty angry about some of the things he said was going to happen abroad, but as sane as you or me.” There was no pretense in his voice, no
effort to convince himself of something that in his heart he had doubted. It was the quality of his tone as much as any words that drove away Pitt’s last reservations. He was filled with a sudden and intense gratitude, almost a kind of happiness. He found himself smiling at Sturges.

“Then, yes,” he replied firmly, “I mean what you think I do. It was a warning, which he was too angry and too honest to heed, and so they murdered him. I don’t know how it was done yet, or if there is any way I can prove it, but I shan’t stop trying until I do.”

“I’m glad of that, Tom. I’m right glad of that,” Sturges said quietly, leaning a little to scratch the dog’s head. “It grieves me sore that those who didn’t know him should think what they do of him. I’m not a vicious man. There’s too many die as shouldn’t as it is, but whoever did that to him, I’d dearly like to see them hanged. The whole of Brackley will be grateful to you if you do that, an’ I can speak for all.” He did not add that he would even be forgiven for not having come back, but it was in his face. He would have held it crass to put such a delicate thing into words.

“I’ll do everything I can,” Pitt replied. To have made a promise he did not know if he could keep would be a second betrayal. Sturges was not a child to be given words of comfort instead of the truth.

“Aye. Well, if there’s aught I can do, or anyone here, you know where we are. Now you’d best be getting back to the baked meats, or you’ll be missed.”

“I’ll find Charlotte and bring her to meet you.”

“Aye. You said you’d do that, so be about it then.”

    In the morning Pitt was back in his office at Bow Street. He was barely through the door when Inspector Tellman came in, his lantern face dour and resentful as always. He had been forced to respect Pitt, both superficially in his manner, and genuinely because of his ability. However he still felt affronted that Pitt, whom he viewed as socially little
better than himself, and professionally no better at all, should have been promoted to the senior position when Micah Drummond resigned. Drummond had been a gentleman, and that made all the difference. He expected gentlemen to be given superior posts; it was no reflection of their ability. For Pitt to have been given it he took personally.

“Good morning, Mr. Pitt,” he said sharply. “Missed you yesterday, sir. Quite a few things to report.” He made it sound as if he had been waiting there all night.

“Good morning, Tellman. I was at a family funeral in Hampshire. What have you got?”

Tellman pursed his lips, but made no reference to the bereavement. That happened to everyone. It stirred emotions in him, but he was certainly not going to allow Pitt to know about them.

“Those people you had the men check up on,” he replied. “Bit difficult when we don’t know what we are looking for, or why. They’re all very respectable seeming gentlemen. What are they supposed to have done?”

“That is what I need to find out,” Pitt replied tersely. He disliked not being able to tell the man as much truth as he knew. His instinct was to trust Tellman, but he dare not take the chance. The Circle could be anywhere.

“Blackmail,” Tellman said darkly. “Makes it hard. You can blackmail a man for dozens of different things, but I suppose mostly it’s cheating, theft or fornicating with someone he shouldn’t.” His expression did not change, but his contempt seemed to fill the room. “Although with gentlemen, it’s not easy for the likes of us to know who he shouldn’t, and who doesn’t matter a damn,” he added. “Some gentlemen swap wives and mistresses around like lending a good book. It’s all right, so long as nobody actually catches you reading it. Doesn’t even matter if they know you got it. Everyone knows what the Prince of Wales does, and who cares?”

“You could keep a particular eye for debt,” Pitt suggested,
ignoring the social comment. He was already well familiar with Tellman’s views. “Anyone with a style of living that his income doesn’t seem to support.”

“Embezzlement?” Tellman said with surprise. “What can you embezzle from the Colonial Office?” His voice became heavily sarcastic. “Sorry, Tailor, old boy, can’t pay me bill the usual way this month, but have a couple of telegrams from Africa, that should see you right.” Then quite suddenly his face changed and his eyes lit with knowledge. “Geez! That’s it, isn’t it? There’s information gone missing! You’re after a traitor! That’s why you are not saying anything….”

“I’m still not saying anything,” Pitt said, masking his surprise at Tellman’s acuity and facing him with a long, level stare. “You must suppose what you will, and keep it to yourself. The assistant commissioner would be very angry if he thought we mentioned such a possibility, and I think the Prime Minister would be even angrier.”

“Did you get called to see the Prime Minister?” Tellman was impressed, in spite of himself.

“No. I have never met the Prime Minister, and the only place I have been to in Downing Street is the Colonial Office. You still haven’t told me what you have found out.”

Tellman looked sour. “Nothing that seems of any relevance. Jeremiah Thorne is as virtuous as is possible. Seems to be devoted to his wife, who is exceedingly plain, and spends a lot of money on some teaching foundation to do with women. It is highly disapproved of, except by the very moderns, but that might be scandalous at the worst. It isn’t illegal and she doesn’t do it secretly. In fact she is quite brazen about it. No one could blackmail her over it; she’d probably thank them for the notoriety.”

Pitt already knew that to be true.

“What else?”

“Mr. Hathaway seems to be a very proper gentleman who lives quietly, alone, taking his pleasures rather seriously. Reads a lot, goes to the theater now and then, takes
long walks in the fine weather.” Tellman recited it dryly, as if the man were as boring as the details. “He knows a lot of people, but does not seem to have more than a passing acquaintance with them. Dines out once a week at his club. He is a widower with two grown sons, also eminently respectable, one in the Colonial Service and the other in the church.” Tellman’s mouth curled down at the corners. “His tastes are good, he likes quality, but not excessively expensive. He seems to live well within his salary. No one has an ill word to say about him.”

Pitt drew in a deep breath. “And Aylmer? Is he a paragon of virtue as well?”

“Not quite.” There was a shadow of humor at the back of Tellman’s bleak expression. “Face like a burst boot, but fancies the ladies all the same. Quite a charmer in a harmless sort of way.” He shrugged. “At least it is harmless from all I have been able to find out so far. I’m still looking into Mr. Aylmer. Spends quite a lot of money—more than I can see the source of so far.”

“More than his Colonial Office salary?” Pitt asked with a quickening interest, and at the same time a pang of regret.

“Looks like it,” Tellman replied. “Of course he could have been saving up, or he might even have private means. Don’t know yet.”

“Any ladies in particular?”

“A Miss Amanda Pennecuick. Very nice-looking young lady indeed, and very well bred.”

“Does she return his interest?”

“Apparently not. Although that has not yet deterred him.” He looked at Pitt with amusement. “If you are thinking she is pursuing Mr. Aylmer in order to get information out of him, she’s very clever at it. From all I could see, she is trying to avoid him, and not succeeding.”

“She wouldn’t wish actually to succeed, only to appear to try,” Pitt pointed out, “if she were doing as you suggest. Find out about Miss Pennecuick. See who else her friends are, her other admirers, her background, any connection she
might have with …” He stopped. Should he mention Germany?

Tellman waited. He was far too quick to be deceived. He knew the reason for Pitt’s hesitation, and the resentment of it was plain in his eyes.

“Africa, Belgium or Germany,” Pitt finished. “Or anything else that’s unusual, for that matter.”

Tellman put his hands in his pockets. It was not intended insolence as much as instinctive lack of respect.

“You missed out Peter Arundell and Robert Leicester,” Pitt prompted.

“Nothing interesting,” Tellman replied. “Arundell is a clever young man from a good family. Younger son. Oldest got the title, next one bought a commission in the army, third one went into the Colonial Office, that’s him, youngest one got the family living somewhere in Wiltshire.”

“Family living?” Pitt was momentarily confused.

“Church,” Tellman said with satisfaction that he had left Pitt behind. “Well-to-do families often own the living and can give it to whoever they like. Bring in quite a lot, some of those country parishes. Lot of tithes. Where I grew up the priest had three livings, and hired a vicar or a curate for each one. Himself, he lived in Italy on the proceeds. They don’t do that anymore, but they used to.”

It was on the edge of Pitt’s tongue to say he knew that, but he refrained. Tellman would probably not believe him anyway.

“What about Arundell?” he asked. “What sort of a man is he?” It did not matter. He had no access to the information on Zambezia.

“Just what you’d expect,” Tellman replied. “Rooms in Belgravia, attends a lot of Society functions, dresses well, dines well, but a good deal of it at other people’s expense. He is a bachelor and highly eligible. All the mothers with unmarried daughters are chasing after him, except those with something higher in their sights. He’ll no doubt marry well in the next few years.” Tellman finished with a slight
downturn of his mouth. He despised what he knew of Society and never lost an opportunity to say so.

“And Leicester.”

Tellman grunted. “Much the same.”

“Then you’d better get on with Amanda Pennecuick,” Pitt instructed. “And Tellman …”

“Yes sir?” It was still sarcasm underlying his voice, not respect, and his eyes were too direct.

“Be discreet.” He met Tellman’s look with equal candor and challenge. No further explanation was necessary. They were utterly different in background and values. Pitt was from the country with the innate respect, even love, for the landed gentry who had made and preserved his world, and who had personally given him so much. Tellman was from the city, surrounded by poverty, and hated those born to wealth, most of whom he considered idlers. They had created nothing, and now only consumed without returning. All he and Pitt had in common was a dedication to police work, but that was sufficient for a complete understanding, at least on that level.