Treachery at Lancaster Gate (10 page)

“Never investigated a murder then, have you?” Pitt responded.

“Is that what this is? Two murders?” Cotton asked.

“Isn't it? And three attempted?”

“Looks like it. All right, I'll give you all I know on those five men. And you'd better bloody well bring me back someone to answer for them!”

Pitt stood up. “Thank you.” He knew that in a sense he had accepted a challenge.

H
E MET
T
ELLMAN AGAIN
the day after to hear what more he had learned. He summarized the reports that Cotton had given him, the good and the bad.

Tellman's face grew tighter and a flush mounted up his thin cheeks.

“He said that about his own men?” he asked when Pitt had finished. The disgust in his voice was palpable.

Pitt understood at least in part. He knew the weaknesses of his own men. He was of little use to them if he did not. He knew their skills and their inabilities. He also had a strong feeling for the directions in which their fears lay, and what most stretched their courage, where their blind spots were, and who worked well with whom. He knew some of their temptations. But he would never have spoken of these faults to anyone else.

“I pressed him,” he said as some excuse for Cotton. “We have to know exactly who was crooked, and to what extent.”

“I do know!” Tellman said instantly. He was speaking out of bravado, and Pitt was quite aware of it. In fact, this was predictable from Tellman.

“No you don't,” he contradicted. “At least I hope to God you don't! If you knew that of them and did nothing, then you're part of it.” Even as he said it, he knew that Tellman's reaction would be instant defense.

Tellman's body was rigid, his face white but for the spots of color burning in his cheeks. “I'm damn well not part of it!” he shouted. “I've never taken a thing that wasn't mine. I've never arrested anyone with more violence than was necessary, and I've certainly never hit a man that was down, or cuffed. And if you don't know that, then you're a fool! And you shouldn't be in charge of a newspaper stand, never mind a body of men that risk their lives to carry out your orders. You're a fool…and a bitter, damaged man!” The words came out rasping, as if their passage through his throat hurt him.

Pitt swallowed hard. He was taken aback by Tellman's rage, although perhaps he should have expected it.

“I know my men, and I trust them,” he replied as levelly as he could, but he heard his own emotion roughen his tone. “They know that. They know I also know their weaknesses, as I daresay they know mine. The difference is that it's my responsibility not to put them in the path of the things they can't handle. I understand fear, confusion, pity, clumsiness now and then. But I don't accept lies, stealing, the loss of temper to the point of beating someone. I don't accept taking bribes or giving them. It's a betrayal of everyone else, and any man caught in those things goes…if it's possible, he serves time.”

He drew in his breath and met Tellman's eyes without flinching. “Turning a blind eye because you don't want to know is not compassion, it's cowardice, and it's a betrayal of the good men. It's not them you're guarding, it's your own feelings, because you don't want to deal with them.”

“And is that what you think I'm doing?” Tellman's voice was high and tight, his eyes blazing.

“I hope not. But you'd better tell me…”

“So what? So you can have me put in prison?” Now it was just raw anger.

That stung Pitt into temper as well. “Maybe so I can save you from being blown up by a bloody bomb!” he shouted back. “Or didn't you think of that?”

Tellman was silent. Pitt could see in his face the pain of a reality he had long refused to look at, refused to believe was anything but the lies of those who resented the police, or were afraid of them, for just cause.

“You're branding them all because of a few, one in a hundred, that's rotten,” he said bitterly. “Damning the good with the bad!”

Pitt tried to grasp control of the situation. He did not want this quarrel.

“We've got to find the bad, before they sink us all,” he told Tellman, but he lowered his voice as well. “None of us wants to think the people we work beside are corrupt, but looking the other way condemns us all. For heaven's sake, Tellman, choosing not to see something because it's ugly, or it damages your peace of mind, is deliberately allowing it. It's collusion. And you know that as well as I do. We can't prosecute it in people who witness and then refuse to testify, who walk by on the other side, carefully not looking. But we despise it, and we require better of each other!”

“You pompous bastard!” Tellman said furiously. “You think you know every damn thing…and you know nothing! Nothing of what a man thinks or believes…nothing that really matters!” And choking on his own grief, he turned and walked out of the room.

Pitt did not call him back. This was not going to heal easily. It had nothing to do with him, he knew, although Tellman would not forget that Pitt had seen the wound of disillusion in him, nor would he be able to forgive him easily for that.

E
MILY
R
ADLEY SAT BY
the fire in her boudoir, that lady's sitting room where she received her closest women friends in comfort. There was tea on a tray on the carved cherrywood table, and small sandwiches of white bread, with wafer-thin slices of cucumber from the glasshouse. She stared at her sister, Charlotte.

“Oh dear,” she said quietly. “Yes, I do know Cecily Duncannon, but not very well.”

“Then please get to know her better,” Charlotte said gravely. “This is a terribly serious matter. I need to know for Tellman, and even more for Thomas.”

Emily's mind was racing. Years ago, when Pitt had been a regular policeman and not in Special Branch, where so much was secret, she and Charlotte had both meddled in his cases. Sometimes they had been at the core of solving them. Of course it had also been dangerous, now and then, and they had made mistakes. But still she missed the passion of those days and the involvement. It gave a sharpness to life. What they did had mattered, in fact, more than the social niceties to which she gave so much time now, the surface rules that hid deep tides of intrigue and emotions guessed at but seldom seen.

“I like her,” she said quietly. “I don't want to do this…”

“Then let Thomas tell you what their bodies were like!” Charlotte replied. “Or how the injured men are—”

“I didn't say I wouldn't!” Emily responded quickly. “I just…I just don't like it! How does Thomas do it every day?”

“Choosing not to look at it doesn't make it go away,” Charlotte told her. “Please…just find out what you can. Maybe Alexander's innocent? Wouldn't it be worth something to prove that?”

Part of Emily did not want to touch it, but there was another part that ached to be involved again, to search and disentangle the truth, to live in a reality that was both beautiful and painful but shorn of the shallow pretense that gave such a superficial comfort.

“Of course I'll help,” she said firmly. “How could you think I wouldn't? Do you think I've lost all heart?”

Charlotte smiled, quick to apologize. “Of course not, or I would hardly have come.” She took a sandwich. “Thank you.”

Emily took a sandwich herself. “How is Gracie?”

“Expecting another child, and desperate to protect Samuel.”

“From disillusion?” Emily smiled back and felt a sudden stab of fear herself. Her own husband, for all his ease and confidence of manner, was desperately vulnerable too. If Alexander Duncannon was guilty, then his father would be jeopardized also, and with him the China contract and Jack's career. Jack could not afford another diplomatic failure, however much it was in no way his fault. Misjudgment could ruin a reputation, no matter how innocent, and it would not be the first time he had misjudged.

“Yes,” Charlotte replied to the question about Tellman, but it was about Jack too, and they both knew it.

“I'll begin tonight,” Emily promised. “I have a perfect opportunity.”

A
FEW HOURS LATER
E
MILY
sat in front of her dressing table looking glass and regarded herself critically. She was Charlotte's younger sister, delicately fair, with hair that curled naturally about her face. Her complexion was like porcelain; it always had been; but she noticed now the tiny lines around her eyes and mouth as she rapidly approached forty. Character and wit lasted far longer than beauty. In the last year or two she had been obliged to accept that. To age with grace was the only attitude that made sense and Emily had always been the pragmatic one. She had never been the idealist, the passionate dreamer that Charlotte was. Tonight she thought of the past and the adventures they had shared, and determined that she would do all she could to help.

She was wearing a gown in one of her favorite shades of soft green, a color that always suited her. She had emeralds and pearls in her ears, and around her slender throat.

Jack stood behind her, meeting her eyes in the glass. For a moment there was a flash of admiration in them, just long enough for her to see it and be satisfied. At the beginning of the year she had had a bleak few months when she feared it was gone. He had seemed distant, even a little bored. She had realized with a blow hard enough to bruise that she had taken his devotion for granted.

She must learn from how much that had hurt, and make sure she was never so cavalier with him again. To be comfortable, take the sweetness as if it were hers by right, was not only arrogant, it was also dangerous.

Now she smiled back at him in the glass.

“Are you ready?” she asked. She was not referring to his appearance. As always, he was immaculately dressed. She was referring to his preparation for a gathering in which his position as member of Parliament and junior minister at the Foreign Office was going to be tested in relation to this contract, on which many fortunes rested.

He swallowed before replying. She knew him well enough to see small signs of tension in him others would not have noticed.

“Yes.” He always spoke positively. It was a habit gained in his earlier days when everything rested on chance and uncertainty, and a brave face was part of his armor. Charm was a mixture of many things but always included a subtle blending of modesty with confidence, and an air of belief in the good. “There's everything to play for,” he added. “Godfrey Duncannon is the perfect man to guide this through.”

“Who's against it?” She turned round on the padded seat and looked at him earnestly.

“Sir Donald Parsons,” he replied. “I would like to know why.”

She was surprised. “Doesn't he say?”

“Oh, yes.” He smiled and gave a slight shrug. “He will quote so many reasons that it makes me wonder which of them is the real one, or if any of them are. It might be something we haven't even thought of.”

She understood immediately why that was an obstacle. She had been in society quite long enough to know that in order to do battle with anyone and have a chance of winning, you had to know what they really wanted, not simply what they said they wanted.

“I see. What can I do to help?”

In some situations she was the best ally he had, and lately he had had the grace to acknowledge it.

“I would like to know what Parsons really wants, but I would also like to understand Godfrey Duncannon a lot better,” he answered. “Not that I hesitate on the contract, which is more like a trade treaty for a vast amount of money, just a lot easier to negotiate. I have looked into that for myself.” He smiled ruefully. “I'm less trusting than I used to be.” He was referring to past errors that had cost him dearly.

She did not say anything. It was a delicate subject. He was referring to the occasions when he had served with more loyalty than judgment. Pitt had had to resolve violent and bitter issues too close to treason for anyone to escape easily, even if they were as innocent as Jack had been. No one had put it into words, least of all Emily, but his ambition to succeed without any help from Emily's connections or her money had been a considerable part of his problem.

“The contract is good,” he said again. “But I am relying heavily on Duncannon to negotiate it. He has known the other parties for a long time and they will deal only with him. They trust him completely. I will be interested to know why. I've looked, and I can't find anything powerful enough to explain it.”

She frowned. “Isn't his past record enough? He's been a brilliant success in business himself, and without the slightest shadow on his name.”

“I've thought that before,” Jack said quietly.

She rose to stand in front of him. She ran her fingers over his lapel, although it was already perfectly smooth. “He's not a politician, you know. You don't have to be quite so wary.”

“Yes I do,” he replied. “This could be worth millions of pounds altogether, the livelihood of thousands of people. And I can't afford another error, however little I'm really to blame.” In spite of his attempt to be optimistic there was an urgency in his voice. “My name will be connected with it. People will know that. They won't bother to ask in what way. I can hear them perfectly. ‘Oh, really? Wasn't he connected with that contract with China? Better not have him. Not sound, you know? Choose someone else.' ”

Emily could see the dark shadow in his eyes. He was speaking lightly, even smiling, but he was passionately serious underneath. She knew him well enough to be certain he was also afraid.

“I will do all I can to help, I promise.” She thought of Charlotte, and Thomas, and Samuel Tellman, but she did not mention them. Jack had enough to worry about already.

He kissed her lightly on the cheek. “Thank you.”

T
HE PARTY WAS HELD
in a magnificent home just off Park Lane. They were helped by the footman to alight at the portico of the front door. Liveried footmen seemed to be everywhere. The night was cold but dry, and lamps gleamed like so many fairy moons, reflecting off the horse brasses of the carriage that drew up behind them. As the woman inside alighted, the diamonds in her tiara blazed briefly, and the pale satin of her skirts gleamed.

Jack and Emily went up the steps and through the wide, carved front door. Once inside, the rustle of taffeta was louder than the murmur of polite voices and now and then the raised tones of the butler announcing this or that important person's arrival.

Emily had once been “Lady Ashworth.” She was quite happy now to be “Mrs. Jack Radley,” especially when his name was followed by “member of Parliament.”

They stopped for a moment at the top of the stairs, and then went down the two or three steps into the already considerable throng. They had timed it perfectly: early enough to be polite, late enough to be interesting.

Two of the first people Emily was introduced to were Sir Donald Parsons and his wife. Emily was glad Jack had mentioned them prior to the party. Parsons was an impressive man, not above average height but with a sweep of black hair and enormous eyebrows that lent a fierceness to his aspect that his features did not quite support.

Lady Parsons looked somewhat in awe of him, but Emily thought she saw a hint of amusement, which interested her far more, in the pale blue eyes.

“How do you do, Lady Parsons?” she said with a sweet smile when they were introduced. She could be just as docile as anyone, if she judged it politic. “How nice to meet you,” she added. “I have heard so many delightful things about you.”

Lady Parsons looked momentarily confused, as did her husband. She was the first to recover. The two women looked at each other, and knew exactly where the power lay.

“People are very kind,” Lady Parsons murmured, and the amusement was back in her eyes—just a momentary light, gone as quickly as it appeared.

There was no answer to such an observation, and Emily knew it. It was something to be noted for later. Never underestimate such a woman, or imagine for a moment that she did not notice everything.

Parsons made some harmless remark, and Jack responded. Emily kept her smile, appearing to listen intently, until they were joined by their host.

The men moved away, deep in discussion of international trade and finance.

Lady Parsons looked at Emily, her face still impartially polite.

“Do you know anyone here?” she inquired. “May I introduce you to people you may care to meet?” It was a delicate way of suggesting that Emily was a stranger in society, perhaps in need of assistance.

Emily could feel the prickle of anger already. How dare this woman suggest Emily was a nobody? She increased the sweetness of her smile. “How kind of you,” she said innocently. “I am sure there are many”—she hesitated delicately—“ladies more familiar with the diplomatic scene than I and with whom you have been friends for decades. I should be most grateful for your generosity.”