Bedford Square

“FASCINATING.”
—San Francisco Examiner

“An Anne Perry novel is a delight to read as much for its Victorian-era details as for the mystery it unfolds …. [She] captivates readers with her vivid descriptions of a time that often has been thought virtuous but in reality was plagued with problems and scandals. She intertwines characters and their lives—their daily routines, hardships and emotions—into a suspenseful tale that always tackles a social issue.”

—Chicago Tribune

“Anne Perry is deliciously at it again …. Perry’s style is expressly gracious and fluid, as impeccable as Victorian manners. And she will keep you guessing right up until the final pages, when everything suddenly, violently, falls into place, revealing yet again the depths to which people will sink in order to keep their proprieties and public facades intact. Perry’s seamless surface reveals a seamy underside, and the shock is swift and sure.”

—The Providence Sunday Journal

“A RIVETING READ YOU DON’T WANT TO PUT DOWN.”
—J
ILL
J
ACKSON
Hollywood

“Perry, as always, excels at portraying the richness, poverty, and class distinctions of Victorian England. However, she achieves brilliance in palming the ace which would give the whole game away to a reader alert enough to spot it.”

—Chicago Sun-Times

“History, social commentary, and suspense blend artfully … [The] reader … will be swept along by the narrative’s rush and engaged by its attention to period detail. Aiding Pitt is a cast of smart, well-drawn female characters …. Yet again, Perry delivers an astute and gripping examination of life behind Victorian England’s virtuous facade.”

—Publishers Weekly
(starred review)

“Anne Perry, who critics and fans agree writes Victorian mysteries better than anyone else, explores high and low London society in Bedford Square.”

—St Paul Pioneer Press
(Pick of the Week)

“TANTALIZING … HER SLEEKEST, FASTEST-MOVING BOOK IN YEARS.”
—Kirkus Reviews

“The Pitts investigate a dark phenomenon not limited to the Victorians: the destruction of reputation through nothing more than innuendo …. [Perry] uses the era’s quaint and often bizarre trappings to frame concerns for social issues that have relevance today.”

—The Seattle Times

“Bedford Square
is a multilayered novel about deception, love, murder, and, ultimately, the meaning of honor. The setting is so vividly drawn, it’s almost as if the reader is swept back into late Victorian times.”

—Romantic Times

“Perry’s popular mysteries are scathing exposés of hypocrisy and corruption in the English Victorian era …. The mood and pace of the tale are exemplary.”

—The Cleveland Plain Dealer

By Anne Perry
Published by Ballantine Books

Featuring Thomas and Charlotte Pitt:

THE CATER STREET HANGMAN

CALLANDER SQUARE

PARAGON WALK

RESURRECTION ROW

BLUEGATE FIELDS

RUTLAND PLACE

DEATH IN THE DEVIL’S ACRE

CARDINGTON CRESCENT

SILENCE IN HANOVER CLOSE

BETHLEHEM ROAD

HIGHGATE RISE

BELGRAVE SQUARE

FARRIERS’ LANE

THE HYDE PARK HEADSMAN

TRAITORS GATE

PENTECOST ALLEY

ASHWORTH HALL

BRUNSWICK GARDENS

BEDFORD SQUARE

HALF MOON STREET

THE WHITECHAPEL CONSPIRACY

SOUTHHAMPTON ROW

SEVEN DIALS

LONG SPOON LANE

BUCKINGHAM PALACE GARDENS

Featuring William Monk:

THE FACE OF A STRANGER

A DANGEROUS MOURNING

DEFEND AND BETRAY

A SUDDEN, FEARFUL DEATH

THE SINS OF THE WOLF

CAIN HIS BROTHER

WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE

THE SILENT CRY

A BREACH OF PROMISE

THE TWISTED ROOT

SLAVES OF OBSESSION

FUNERAL IN BLUE

DEATH OF A STRANGER

THE SHIFTING TIDE

DARK ASSASSIN

EXECUTION DOCK

The World War I Novels:

NO GRAVES AS YET

SHOULDER THE SKY

ANGELS IN THE GLOOM

AT SOME DISPUTED BARRICADE

WE SHALL NOT SLEEP

The Christmas Novels:

A CHRISTMAS JOURNEY

A CHRISTMAS VISITOR

A CHRISTMAS GUEST

A CHRISTMAS SECRET

A CHRISTMAS BEGINNING

A CHRISTMAS GRACE

1

P
ITT LEANED OUT
of the bedroom window in his nightshirt and looked down into the street below. The police constable was standing on the pavement staring up at him. The constable’s face, yellow in the gaslight from the street lamps, was tense and unhappy, and it was for more reason than simply having woken the commander of the Bow Street police station at four o’clock in the morning.

“Dead, sir,” he answered Pitt’s question. “An’ I can’t see as ’ow it could a’ bin an accident, not ’ow ’e is, an’ w’ere I found ’im. An’ I oughta be gettin’ back, sir. I darsen’t leave ’im there by ’isself, sir. Someone might move ’im, like … mess wif evidence.”

“Yes, of course,” Pitt agreed. “Go back, Constable. You did the right thing. I’ll get dressed and I’ll be there. I presume you haven’t had a chance to call the surgeon or the mortuary van?”

“No sir, I come straight ’ere, seein’ as w’ere ’e is.”

“I’ll call them. You go back and stand guard.”

“Yes sir. I’m sorry, sir.”

“Don’t be. You did the right thing,” Pitt repeated, pulling his head in and shivering involuntarily. It was June—at least nominally summer—but in London the nights were still chilly, and there was a faint mist hanging over the city.

“What is it?” Charlotte sat up in bed and fumbled for a match. He heard it scrape and then saw the flame as it caught the wick of the candle. It lit her face softly, gleaming on the
warm, dark color of her hair, which was falling out of its long braid. She looked worried.

“They’ve found a body in Bedford Square,” he answered. “It seems as if he was murdered.”

“Do they really need you for that?” she protested. “Is it somebody important?”

Since his promotion Pitt had been asked to concentrate on those cases which were of political significance or threatened scandal.

“Maybe not,” he replied, closing the window and walking over to where his clothes were hanging across the back of the chair. He took off his nightshirt and began to dress, not bothering with collar or cravat. There was water in the ewer, and he poured it into the basin. It was cold, but there was certainly no time to light the kitchen stove and heat it so he could shave. Unfortunately, there was also no time for a cup of tea, which he would have liked even more. He splashed his face and felt the sharp tingle of coldness, then with his eyes shut, felt for the towel.

“Thank you.” He took it from Charlotte’s outstretched hand. He rubbed his face vigorously, feeling the rough cotton stir the blood and warm him. “Because apparently he was on the front doorstep of one of the big houses,” he replied.

“Oh.” She understood the implications. London was peculiarly sensitive to scandal just now. In the previous year, 1890, a scandal had occurred at Tranby Croft. Now the trial was rocking the entire country. It was all very regrettable, a matter of gambling at a country house party, an accusation of cheating at baccarat, an illegal game, and of course an indignant denial. But what could not be hidden or excused was that the Prince of Wales had been involved and was now to be called to the witness stand to give evidence. Half of London opened the daily newspapers with bated breath.

Pitt finished dressing. He put his arms around Charlotte and kissed her, feeling the warmth of her skin and pushing back the heavy hair with his fingers, enjoying its softness with an all-too-fleeting pleasure.

“Go back to bed,” he said gently. “I’ll be home when I can,
but I doubt it’ll be for breakfast.” He tiptoed across the floor and opened the door quietly, not to waken the children and Gracie, the maid, asleep up on the top floor. The landing gaslight was always left on very low, and it was sufficient for him to see his way downstairs. In the hall he picked up the telephone—a fairly recent acquisition in his home—and asked the operator to connect him with the Bow Street Station. When the sergeant answered, Pitt instructed him to send the police surgeon and mortuary van to Bedford Square. He replaced the receiver, put on his boots and took his jacket from the hook by the front door. He slid back the latch and stepped outside.

The air was damp and chilly but it was already beginning to get light, and he walked quickly along the glistening pavement towards the corner of Gower Street and turned left. It was only a few yards into Bedford Square, and even from that distance he saw the unhappy figure of the constable standing alone about halfway along the pavement. He looked immensely relieved to see Pitt striding towards him out of the gloom. His expression brightened visibly and he waved his bull’s-eye lantern.