Treachery at Lancaster Gate (34 page)

“Of course it doesn't,” Narraway agreed. “He knows that, and is prepared to answer with whatever remains of his life. He has kept his word to his friend, and his own honor. You cannot raise the dead, but Dylan Lezant will be pardoned. What a ridiculous expression! We will pardon him that we hanged him by the neck until he was dead—on the perjury and corruption of five policemen! Three of whom are also dead now, and the two others punished even more terribly.

“Alexander himself has been in excruciating pain of body since his accident, and will soon die, either on the end of a rope himself or in prison. Unless his lordship sees fit to put him in a hospital where at least some of his agony may be relieved.” Narraway's face was filled with pity and his voice was hushed. “I am not sure if that is justice, but it is the best we have left to us.”

There was a silence of shock, grief, and perhaps fear in the room.

It was Pitt, remembering something from only a few moments ago, and then other things from further back, who spoke then.

“My lord, may I have permission to ask Mr. Abercorn a question, or if not, then to speak with Lord Narraway so that he may?”

“If it is brief, and has some relevance to this tragic matter,” the judge replied.

“Thank you.” Pitt turned to Abercorn. “Sir, you said that Alexander Duncannon lived a life of depravity, in gin-sodden alleys, half-crazed with drugs, filthy and desperate. If I quote your words out of order, I apologize.”

“Do you dispute it?” Abercorn challenged.

“No. No, I don't. Opium addiction is a terrible thing. What I wanted to ask you was how you knew that?”

Abercorn froze for an instant, almost too small to notice. Then he let out his breath slowly.

“I have had occasion to observe opium addicts now and then, even to do what I could to help them.” His expression was one of torn emotions, rage and pity and deep, scouring pain. “I have learned that it is useless…” He stopped. For a moment grief overwhelmed him.

Pitt would have liked to give him the dignity of silence, but he would never again have this chance, and it must be taken. Other words came back to his memory, something Bradshaw had said about his wife.

“Your mother,” he said. “She died of opium addiction. You watched as a boy and could not help.”

Abercorn threw his head back and glared at Pitt with a hatred that was inflamed by grief and humiliation.

“It wasn't her fault!” He almost choked on the words. “She was seduced by a promise of marriage, lied to, and betrayed for a woman with far more money. She was left with child, and disgraced. It was a hard birth and the pain never left her! I watched her die by inches. What would you have done?”

“Probably the same,” Pitt admitted. “And I would have hated my own father too. But, please God, I would not have taken it out on his son, your half brother.”

There were gasps. No one moved.

“You knew Alexander was addicted because you supplied him, as indeed you did Dylan Lezant and God knows how many more. You blackmailed him so he would never expose you. How much did you use Ednam to do your dirtiest work? You learned as a youth how to find opium, for your mother,” Pitt went on. It must be done now. There would never be another chance. Even so, the judge could stop him at any moment. “Ever more and more powerful doses. Did you really hate him so much, because he was Godfrey's legitimate son, the heir to all that should have been yours?”

Now people were moving in the body of the court. Godfrey Duncannon was on his feet, his face purple with fury, but uncertain what to do. Beside him Cecily was staring at him as though she had never really seen him before, not clearly, not like this.

Then Cecily turned away and Emily put her arms around her, letting her hide her face.

Charlotte was on her feet too, holding Jack's hand hard, not allowing him to interrupt Emily at this terrible moment.

Abercorn was dazed. At least he understood. The entire edifice of his dreams had crashed around him and lay in wreckage on the floor, and he knew who had done it, and how, and that there was nothing he could do.

It was Vespasia, ignoring everyone else, who walked gracefully across the floor to Narraway, signaling that the trial was over.

“You were quite brilliant, my dear,” she said quietly, but distinctly enough that those close to her could hear. “With Thomas's help, I think you have achieved all the justice that is possible.” She looked up at the judge. “I daresay his lordship will accept your suggestion of a hospital for Alexander to live out whatever days he has left. Won't you, Algernon?”

The judge blushed very faintly, and did his best to retain his composure.

“You are excused, Commander Pitt,” he said a little hoarsely. “I hope not to see you in my court again. You have made a complete shambles of this trial.”

“Yes, my lord,” Pitt agreed humbly, but he was smiling in spite of the pity that tore him apart.

“But you did it rather well, I suppose,” the judge added.

Pitt bowed his head in acknowledgment, and then made his way down the steps and across the floor to Charlotte.

She took his hand. “Very well,” she said softly. “Brilliantly.”

To Flora Rees

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

Acceptable Loss

A Sunless Sea

Blind Justice

Blood on the Water

Corridors of the Night

The Cater Street Hangman

Callander Square

Paragon Walk

Resurrection Row

Rutland Place

Bluegate Fields

Death in the Devil's Acre

Cardington Crescent

Silence in Hanover Close

Bethlehem Road

Highgate Rise

Belgrave Square

Farriers' Lane

Hyde Park Headsman

Traitors Gate

Pentecost Alley

Ashworth Hall

Brunswick Gardens

Bedford Square

Half Moon Street

The Whitechapel Conspiracy

Southampton Row

Seven Dials

Long Spoon Lane

Buckingham Palace Gardens

Treason at Lisson Grove

Dorchester Terrace

Midnight at Marble Arch

Death on Blackheath

The Angel Court Affair

Treachery at Lancaster Gate

A
NNE
P
ERRY
is the bestselling author of two acclaimed series set in Victorian England: the Charlotte and Thomas Pitt novels, including
The Angel Court Affair
and
Death on Blackheath,
and the William Monk novels, including
Corridors of the Night
and
Blood on the Water
. She is also the author of a series of five World War I novels, as well as thirteen holiday novels, most recently
A Christmas Escape,
and a historical novel,
The Sheen on the Silk,
set in the Ottoman Empire. Anne Perry lives in Los Angeles.

www.anneperry.co.uk

@AnnePerryWriter

Facebook.com/​AnnePerryAuthor

To inquire about booking Anne Perry for a speaking engagement, please contact the Penguin Random House Speakers Bureau at
[email protected]