The Angel Court Affair (Thomas Pitt 30) (14 page)

‘But of course you must know that. They have already declared war on Spain so they can take Cuba, for reasons of naval strategy. Then Dewey’s Asiatic Squadron steamed into Manila in the Philippines and destroyed the entire Spanish fleet there, and most of the shore batteries. God knows how many people they killed.’

He clenched his teeth. ‘Europe is in chaos. Only God and the devil know how this damn Dreyfus affair is going to end. By the look of it, either the Government will fall, or the army will. Dreyfus is rotting his life away in prison on Devil’s Island, innocent or guilty.’

Pitt drew in breath to speak, but Teague carried on.

‘I’m sorry, that is hardly our problem yet, even if France is only miles away. My offer is that I shall be more than happy to give whatever assistance I can towards helping to find Señora Delacruz.’

This time his smile was wider. ‘And I am not without influence in various circles. For instance, certain branches of the press who could be more use, and less of a nuisance, than they are. Permit me to help, Mr Pitt. We have common cause.’

It was the last thing Pitt had expected. His immediate instinct was to refuse. Special Branch worked alone. It was out of necessity, and under sufferance, that they co-operated with the police. And yet even as the words rose on his tongue, he saw the advantages of Teague’s offer. The situation was desperate, and he certainly did not have the manpower to search the countryside for Sofia Delacruz, or anyone else. What a full-blown manhunt might result in, were she found, was another question. She might be perceived as a dangerous woman, in league with anarchists and involved in acts of criminal violence. She might well be running because she was very understandably terrified for her life. On their record so far she had every justification for believing that Special Branch either could not, or would not, protect her.

Was it conceivable that she herself was responsible for the murders of Cleo and Elfrida? He found that a repulsive thought, and from what he knew of her, totally unfounded. If she wished to walk away from her cause, she needed to do no more than simply go.

Dalton Teague was waiting, a slight shadow of impatience on his face, his arms tense on the sides of the chair. He was right: Pitt did not have sufficient men to comb the country-side for one woman, who could be anywhere. She had been gone for almost a week now, which was long enough for her to have gone back to Spain, or anywhere else.

Dalton Teague was not a man he could afford to insult. In addition to his being nationally known and admired, his family was related to half the aristocracy of England either by birth or marriage, and extremely wealthy. Pitt had already earned himself more than sufficient enemies. In the past he had saved the Queen’s life, and before that, unfortunately made a mortal enemy of the Prince of Wales, who in the near future must succeed his old and increasingly frail mother.

‘Thank you, Mr Teague,’ Pitt said. ‘That is remarkably generous of you. Any information you are able to collect will be of use, and of course your influence will be enormous.’

Teague relaxed a little, his arms again lying loosely on the chair.

‘Good. I thought you would welcome help. Before I can deploy all my people, naturally I would need to know which of the facts I have read are actually true, which are false, and which are as yet unknown.’

Pitt tried to choose his words with great care. A mistake now could be irredeemable. ‘It is too early to say on most issues, Mr Teague, but as soon as there is something you can act on, I will be happy to tell you. So far the evidence is minimal. I can say that both women were killed at least twenty-four hours before their bodies were found. And, incidentally, the worst wounds were inflicted after death.’

Teague leaned forward. ‘Really?’ He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. ‘A small mercy.’ His voice was quiet and curiously unemotional. Was that lack of feeling, or so much feeling that he dared not allow it out of control? ‘Is that information confidential, Mr Pitt?’

‘I would prefer you not to reveal it for the time being,’ Pitt replied. He met Teague’s eyes, and knew that he understood it was a test. Pitt wished profoundly that he could afford to refuse Teague’s help, but he needed all the influence and the additional manpower he could obtain. There were no secrets of state involved in this case. It was a cold, bitter thought, which he could not dismiss, that maybe the disappearance of Sofia Delacruz was the first step towards being dragged into war with Spain. Teague was right. The consequences could be even wider than he had said. America needed a canal linking the Atlantic and the Pacific, and naturally the land around it to protect such a monumental investment: land that was currently Spanish in culture, language and spirit.

Britain could not afford to be part of that dispute.

His imagination was running away with him. He could feel his mind racing and the sweat breaking hot and then cold on his skin. He must force himself to keep control. He smiled back at Teague, feeling as if it must look ghastly on his lips.

‘I appreciate your help, sir. I’m sure your influence will be greatly helpful in keeping the press from causing panic with thoughtless speculation. We would like to have made some progress by the time we locate the families of the dead women, and inform them of their loss.’

‘I will do all I can,’ Teague agreed. ‘The best remedy would be to put a fast end to the whole story. Find Sofia Delacruz, alive or dead, and arrest whoever was responsible for her abduction. Unless, of course, she has gone voluntarily. But I suppose you have already thought of that.’

‘Yes,’ Pitt agreed. ‘And several other possibilities as well.’

‘Her own people?’ Teague pursed his lips. ‘What? A power struggle? It seems unlikely, but then her whole life is unlikely, don’t you think?’

‘Yes,’ Pitt agreed. ‘Unfortunately that’s not impossible. We rely a great deal on the public’s observation in cases of missing people. No one literally disappears if they are alive. She went somewhere. She had help, even if it was unknowing. Cab drivers, sailing parties, people behind counters in shops, waiters, chambermaids, people out walking their dogs. Someone saw her.’

‘Yes, I understand.’ Teague rose to his feet. ‘Just as I thought, it is a job for an army of people. My employees and my colleagues are at your disposal, Commander. I will do everything I can. I want her found, for the reputation of our country. I shall keep you apprised of anything I hear, sir. Good day.’ This time he glanced at both Brundage and Stoker as he walked elegantly out of the door, leaving Brundage to close it behind him.

It was Stoker who spoke first.

‘Can we afford to do that, sir?’

Brundage was still standing with his eyes wide. ‘He’s even . . . bigger . . . in person, isn’t he!’

‘We can’t afford not to,’ Pitt replied to Stoker. ‘He’s right. We haven’t enough men to track her down if she’s alive and free to move as she wishes. She could have just gone off, escaped the pressure and the expectation of holiness. Or even to leave her Spanish husband and stay in England. She might have to do that by disappearing. He could come after her otherwise. Even take her back to Spain by force.’

Brundage looked at him coldly and with a degree of disillusion. ‘Do you believe that, sir?’

‘No, I don’t,’ Pitt answered sharply. ‘But I have to acknowledge that it’s a possibility.’

Stoker’s eyebrows rose. ‘And murdered the other two women, long-time friends and followers? Then she’s a criminal lunatic, and we should find her and hang her for it.’

Pitt controlled his emotions with an effort. ‘I don’t believe it, Stoker. But we are Special Branch. We do all we can to defend our country from any attack that could threaten the safety of the Government, wherever it comes from. We do not choose the result we want, we pursue the truth, and when we find it, we deal with it the best way we can. We co-operate with the police, and hope to hell that they will co-operate with us.’

‘Dalton Teague?’ Stoker asked.

‘Right at the moment, he is help we could probably use, and an enemy we can’t afford.’

That evening, when Pitt went to see Vespasia and ask for her advice regarding Teague, he felt very much less confident. And now that Vespasia was married to Pitt’s previous commander in Special Branch, Victor Narraway, he would almost inevitably see Narraway also.

Narraway had previously lived in apartments in the centre of London, and had been more than happy to move all his belongings into one of the wings of Vespasia’s large and very gracious house, which was in a more residential area. Pitt had already noticed a few differences here and there. Narraway had set up his own study, but the beautiful drawings of trees from his – now Pitt’s – office at Lisson Grove, were in Vespasia’s sitting room facing on to the garden. They fitted in remarkably well, as did the other chair beside the fire, opposite hers. Its darker toned seat was less feminine, but it sat comfortably with the shades of the room, giving it a new kind of weight.

He was welcomed in not by Vespasia’s maid, but by Narraway’s manservant, now elevated to butler. Pitt imagined, with a smile, the rearrangements that must have gone on below stairs among two households of servants required to blend with each other and keep their ambitions and disappointments from showing. The coming to terms in the kitchen, the new order of precedence; he did not even wish to think about.

It was Vespasia who met him as he was shown into the sitting room.

‘Good evening, Thomas,’ she said with evident pleasure. ‘You must be tired and harassed. Would you like tea, or whisky? I have a whisky that Victor assures me is excellent.’ She smiled gently, with a very faint colour in her cheeks. In her prime she had been considered the most beautiful woman in Europe. Now the passage of time had left its marks on her face, but they were of laughter and experience, knowledge of pain, and how to endure it with grace, never bitterness. Pitt found the beauty in her even deeper.

‘Tea would be excellent, thank you,’ he accepted. ‘Also it would give me time to collect my thoughts and ask you the questions I need to.’ He sat down near her, not in the chair opposite. He hoped Narraway was in, or would arrive shortly and join them.

Vespasia reached for the bell beside her and rang it. When the maid answered she asked for tea.

When the maid had gone again, closing the door silently behind her, Vespasia looked at Pitt with expectancy.

Briefly he told her about Sofia Delacruz’s disappearance, and the discovery of the mutilated bodies of the two women who had been her followers, and apparently gone with her, whether willingly or not.

She listened without interrupting him, her face grave until at last he fell silent, waiting for her to reply.

‘So you are inclined to believe that she was taken against her will, but you do not know the reasons for it,’ she concluded.

He shook his head.

‘I don’t think I said that. I don’t know whether she’s a woman of deep and original convictions, or a complete charlatan. I don’t know whether she was kidnapped, or went willingly with intent to exploit the notoriety that must follow, or even without giving it any thought. I don’t know if she is laughing at us, or terrified, hunted, possibly caught and tortured. For that matter I don’t know if she is alive at all!’ He looked at her steadily. ‘What made you think that?’

‘Your choice of words, my dear,’ she said gently. ‘You believe that she is honest, if deluded, and you are afraid that she is either in very serious danger, or already dead.’

He had never prevaricated with Vespasia. Certainly he was not going to begin now. She had read him far too well, better than he read himself, as she often did.

‘I’m afraid the implications are much deeper than individual tragedy,’ he continued. ‘This is a very public failure of Special Branch to protect people. Many of the press believe we should not exist at all, and they will excuse us nothing.’

She had more respect for him than to argue. She smiled at him now, but her silver-grey eyes were candid.

‘I have read Mr Laurence’s articles,’ she told him. ‘I don’t know whether I like the man or not. I have never met him, and I might find it interesting to do so. On the other hand, so often one is disillusioned. I would be very disappointed to find his wit existed only on paper, and that he was actually the most fearful bore in person.’

‘He isn’t,’ Pitt admitted. ‘But he has no mercy.’

‘Of course not,’ she agreed. ‘He is a journalist. However entertaining he is, you surely have more sense than to trust him?’ A shadow of anxiety crossed her eyes. ‘Use him if you have to, my dear, but never give him the upper hand, or you may lose it.’

He was saved from having to answer any further questions immediately by Victor Narraway’s entrance into the room. One of the servants must have told him of Pitt’s arrival. There were actually three cups on the tea tray the maid brought in almost on his heels.

Narraway was of average height, lean rather than slender. Pitt had had occasion several times to learn that he was actually far stronger than he looked. Long ago, at the time of the Indian Mutiny forty years before, he had been in the army and served with some distinction. Since then he had advanced through various parts of the secret services, ending in the position Pitt had now occupied for such a short time.

‘Wondered if we’d see you over this affair,’ Narraway said, coming into the room with a glance at Vespasia, then taking his place in what was clearly his own chair on the other side of the fireplace.

Pitt looked at him with a moment’s surprise. He had known Vespasia far longer than Narraway had, and had watched their friendship, at first so guarded, grow into something immeasurably deep. Pitt had a loyalty to Narraway and a growing regard for him, respect mixed with understanding. But his love for Vespasia – and love was not too strong a word – was a deeper and more emotional thing. If Narraway hurt her, even unintentionally, Pitt would not be able to forgive him for it. She was older than Narraway by some few years. She was proud, wise, brave, and so very vulnerable. No one who fractured her present happiness would escape Pitt’s fury.