by Anne Perry
When he did, he was disconcerted to find that she had been obliged to wait for him, but there was no time to indulge such emotions.
“I have learned a great deal that may perhaps be relevant,” she said as soon as greetings were exchanged and the manservant had brought fresh hot water and a second cup so Narraway could join her.
“The Jameson trial? Did Quixwood invest unwisely? Or could Catherine reasonably have feared he did? How could we find proof?”
She smiled very slightly at his eagerness. He so badly wanted to believe Catherine innocent, and somehow show it to the court.
“Several people will have invested unwisely,” she replied, measuring her words. Perhaps she had not learned as much as she had assumed, or led him to hope. “The prospects looked good enough to tempt many people. Had the raid succeeded, Jameson would have been instrumental in causing an uprising that could have led to us annexing the Transvaal, with its incalculable wealth. The Uitlanders would have given us the excuse. As it is, those who invested in the raid will not only have lost everything, but also cost the British South Africa Company and its investors a fortune in reparation to the Boers.”
“And that was what Catherine was afraid of?” he said, carefully controlling his excitement, but it flared up in his eyes. “Perhaps the figures in her diary were not telephone numbers, but really were money! Did Quixwood invest? Do you know?”
“Apparently he considered it, then withdrew in time,” she answered. “But Pelham Forsbrook did not. He has lost a great deal. Whether it will ruin him or not, I don’t know. He certainly looked very grim at the trial today.”
Narraway considered this for several moments before replying.
“But Quixwood withdrew?” he said at last. “I think we need to know a lot more about the relationship between those two men. Is it the mere acquaintance we assumed it to be? Even in his bereavement, Quixwood has gone out of his way to show that Forsbrook’s son could not have been guilty of raping Angeles Castelbranco. Under the circumstances, that is the act of an extraordinary friend.”
“Thomas does not believe it is true,” she pointed out. “Which leads one to wonder if he is mistaken, or deliberately lying. And if it is a lie, why would Quixwood do such a thing? Does he believe Neville Forsbrook innocent anyway, or has he some other reason?”
Narraway frowned. “I don’t see how that could be connected to the Jameson Raid, or the trial. There seems to be something very important that we have missed. And now we have little time indeed in which to find it.”
“How much longer do you think the trial of Alban Hythe will continue?” she asked quietly. The sitting room was calm, elegant, a little masculine for her taste, but very comfortable. The summer evening was still light. She could see the trees against the sky beyond the windows, clouds of starlings sweeping around in circles, all moving with some infinitely subtle communication, as though they had one mind.
There was no sound inside, not even the ticking of a clock.
“I don’t know,” he admitted. “Perhaps two more days, three at the very outside, but by then Symington could be stretching the judge’s patience, and the public’s credulity.”
She said nothing. There was no need to struggle for hopeful words. Neither their understanding nor their companionship required it.
CHAPTER 17
Stoker came into Pitt’s office and closed the door.
“Morning, sir,” he said as he walked over and sat down on the other side of the desk. Pitt would not have presumed to sit without permission when this had been Narraway’s office, he thought wryly. Stoker was becoming comfortable. Possibly that was a good thing; on the other hand, it might be a mark of the changing times.
“What do you have on Neville Forsbrook?” Pitt asked him.
Stoker pursed his lips. “Not sure it’s a lot of use,” he said a little awkwardly. “He’s never crossed the law, or if he has then his father paid people off for him and they kept quiet. Couple of whispers …” He hesitated.
“What, exactly?” Pitt pressed. “If it’s nothing out of the usual I don’t care: bad gambling debts, or fights … unless someone was very badly hurt. Did he seriously damage anyone? Use a knife? Maim or disfigure anyone?”
“No. Most of his trouble was with prostitutes,” Stoker replied with evident distaste. “One or two brothels had to be paid off, and accepted the money only on the condition he didn’t return.”
“Go on,” Pitt said sharply.
“Well, I don’t know if it’s true,” Stoker said tentatively. “But there’s word going round, very quietly, that Neville beat a prostitute pretty badly, and her pimp returned the favor, but with a knife. Left a few marks Forsbrook’ll carry for the rest of his life. At least that’s how the story goes.”
“How much credit do you give it?” Pitt was interested, but he was well aware that people boasted for many reasons, perhaps to build up their reputations as bad men to cross. It was a part of their image, and their vanity.
“Difficult to check,” Stoker replied. “Couldn’t get a precise date, but I have a guess. Forsbrook took a sudden holiday, and no one saw him at any functions for a couple of months. Told everyone he took a trip to Europe, but I haven’t been able to confirm that yet.”
“Where in Europe did he supposedly go?”
“Somewhere unusual,” Stoker answered with a twisted smile. “Nowhere on the Grand Tour, where he’d expect to be seen. Sofia, or Kiev, or someplace like that. Not going to run into any of your neighbors there.”
“You believe the story?”
Stoker chewed on his lip. “Put it this way: if he raped those two girls-Angeles Castelbranco, and then Alice Townley-it would fit the pattern that he tried it on a prostitute first, and got himself beaten for it. So badly he had to get away from London until he was healed.”
He shifted his weight. “On the other hand, if he didn’t rape either of them, then he could quite genuinely have taken a holiday in Sofia, or anywhere else. We might be able to prove he went to those places, if we dig, but there’s no real way we can prove he didn’t-unless we can show with certainty where he actually was. But I’d give a week’s pay if it turns out his father didn’t cover the tracks so no one’ll find them.”
“Interesting,” Pitt said thoughtfully.
“But of no use,” Stoker pointed out.
“Unless we can find the pimp who allegedly cut him and learn exactly where the scars are.”
Stoker grinned. “Yeah? I can see young Mr. Forsbrook letting us take a good look at the more private parts of his body to verify a pimp’s story!”
Pitt pulled a sour face. “But if it’s true, then it’s undoubtable that Forsbrook fits the pattern of rage and savagery extremely well. Tell me, do you believe it, Stoker?”
Stoker was suddenly grim and very steady. “Yes, sir, actually I do. I talked to quite a lot of people. No one is willing to say much against him. His father’s got a great deal of power in financial circles.”
He chewed his lip uncertainly. “There is a bit of a whisper that Pelham took a pretty hard fall over this Jameson Raid affair. Put more money into it than he can afford to lose. Bit of bad advice, I should think. Reckoned on us annexing the Transvaal.”
“Bad advice?” Pitt questioned. “From whom?”
“Well, you’d have to think you knew something before you risked your shirt on a raid like that, wouldn’t you?” Stoker said reasonably. “Inside information somewhere.”
“Yes,” Pitt agreed. “But that doesn’t excuse Neville Forsbrook of anything, even if it’s true.”
“And it would be difficult to trace Pelham Forsbrook’s dealings,” Stoker said. “A lot of it’s confidential, and there’s no way to judge why he backed one person and not another.”
“You’re right,” Pitt agreed. “It’s a waste of time, and could make us a lot of enemies where we need friends. Just look for anything recent in young Forsbrook’s life that seems odd.”
“There’s nothing Portuguese,
” Stoker said straightaway. “Him or his father, I looked at that already.”
“And what about Neville Forsbrook’s income? Is all of it directly from his father? Any inheritance from his mother?”
“Not much, and he doesn’t come into it until he marries,” Stoker said with a shrug. “He’s tried one or two things, a couple of years in the army, but he didn’t take kindly to the discipline. Gave it up. Good leader, not such a good follower.”
“Thank you, Stoker. See what else you can find that’ll tie into rape.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Let me know as soon as you can. Now I have to go and see the Home Secretary.”
“About this?” Stoker was concerned.
Pitt smiled bleakly. “I don’t know. He didn’t inform me.”
Pitt stood on the carpet in front of the Home Secretary’s desk, too angry, and too aware of his own guilt, to do anything but remain at attention.
“The situation in Africa is very delicate, Pitt,” the Home Secretary said irritably. “You can hardly be unaware of the Jameson fiasco, and the massive reparations we are going to have to pay to Kruger and the Boers.” He said it with considerable bitterness, and Pitt could not help wondering if he too had suffered some personal reversal in the disaster.
“Yes, sir, I am aware of that,” Pitt said grimly. “And of Mr. Churchill’s warning that sooner or later, if we are not very careful, we will find ourselves at war with the Boers in Africa, which will include the Cape as well. In my own judgment he is probably correct. I am also aware that feeling is very divided here in England, and many regard Jameson as a hero. We are doing what we can to forestall any violent demonstrations-either for him or against him-but it is largely a police matter of public order.”
“I know it is not Special Branch’s responsibility!” the Home Secretary snapped. “That’s not why you are here. I want to know why the devil are you inquiring into the personal affairs of Pelham Forsbrook. I thought I made it clear in my note to you that the very nasty scandal surrounding the Portuguese Ambassador and his family was to be left alone. What was it about my orders that you failed to understand?”
Explanations raced through Pitt’s mind, but he knew none of them were what the Home Secretary wanted to hear.
“For God’s sake, Pitt!” the Home Secretary went on furiously. “Even Castelbranco himself understands that there is no proof of anything, and irresponsible accusations will serve no one. The poor girl is dead and nothing can bring her back. Let what is left of her reputation be preserved from further speculation, for her parents’ sake, if nothing else.”
He prodded a finger in Pitt’s direction. “You are not a policeman to hound the case to its bitter end, you are head of Her Majesty’s Special Branch! Your concerns are the safety of this nation within its own borders, the catching of anarchists, traitors, enemies of the state and its people. Didn’t Narraway make that clear to you, for heaven’s sake?”
Pitt clenched his hands behind his back, where the Home Secretary could not see them, and let his breath out slowly.
“Yes, sir. Lord Narraway explained my responsibilities in some detail, and the width of my remit, in pursuit of those ends. I believe that an attack on the family of a friendly nation’s ambassador falls very clearly within that realm. We cannot afford the reputation of being a country where foreign women are not safe from rapists. Still less can we appear to be indifferent to such atrocities, as if they were commonplace in London, and we thought nothing of it.”
“Don’t be absurd!” the Home Secretary snapped, his face scarlet. “And offensive. Nobody is dismissing the tragedy, but to say that it is rape is irresponsible. There is only a hysterical girl’s account, totally without proof, that anything at all took place. You cannot and must not slander a man’s reputation with such a suggestion. Not to mention the wretched girl’s. What on earth do you imagine people are saying about her? Have you thought of that?”
Pitt made an intense, almost painful effort to keep his self-control. His body ached. His mouth was dry. “I have made no remarks at all to suggest that Miss Castelbranco was raped, or even assaulted, sir,” he said between his teeth. “Her own church has declined to give her proper rites of burial, on the assumption that she lost her virginity, became with child in an illicit affair, and then intentionally took her own life.” He was unable to stop his voice from shaking. He was angry enough to face down the Queen, never mind a mere Cabinet Minister.
The blood drained from the Home Secretary’s face, leaving him gray. “The matter is tragic indeed,” he said quietly. “But it is not our fault-”
“It is our fault if we do nothing about it,” Pitt cut across him, quite aware of what he was doing. He was past caring for the niceties.
“Slandering Neville Forsbrook’s name will not help.” The Home Secretary was growing angrier as the exchange slipped out of his control. “One injustice does not help another. And if you imagine it will, you are the wrong man to have replaced Narraway. I didn’t like the man, but by God, he had better judgment than this!”
“Actually, sir, my inquiries about Neville Forsbrook’s past behavior had nothing whatever to do with the death of Angeles Castelbranco,” Pitt said very carefully, measuring every word. “The Portuguese ambassador will become aware of it only in the future, if it should prove relevant. Which is why I considered it prudent, as well as morally right, to inquire now.”
The Home Secretary glared at him. “What the devil do you mean? Explain yourself,” he demanded.
“Another young woman was raped, and survived the assault, although she was injured,” Pitt replied, fixing his gaze on the Home Secretary’s eyes. “The family does not wish to make a complaint, for the girl’s sake. She is only seventeen. It would ruin her socially, prevent her from making a fortunate marriage, and ensure that for the rest of her life this repulsive violation follows her everywhere.”
The Home Secretary stared at him, aghast. “And what has this to do with Forsbrook?” It was clear in his face that he knew what Pitt was going to say. He had tensed, as if anticipating a physical blow.
“She named Neville Forsbrook as her rapist,” Pitt said. “She described the circumstances, the time, and the place. Naturally I had it looked into. She refused to tell me the house in which it happened, but it was very easy to find out. There were not so many balls held in London that night. Her attendance was not secret, nor was that of Forsbrook. The rooms, the paintings, the other details were simple to ascertain.”
The Home Secretary let out his breath slowly.
“I see. And what is it you imagine this will accomplish? Let alone what it has to do with Special Branch?” he asked.
Pitt raised his eyebrows. “I would like to find out if Neville Forsbrook raped Angeles Castelbranco and thus brought about her death. I think that is the concern of Special Branch, but if you think the Foreign Office better equipped to handle the investigation, I shall be delighted to turn over all the facts that I have so far obtained.”
“Don’t be so damned impertinent, sir!” the Home Secretary snapped. Then he leaned back in his chair and stared at Pitt, still standing on the carpet in front of the desk, towering over him. “Be careful! Pelham Forsbrook is a very powerful man indeed. If you malign his son and you cannot prove it, he’ll have your job, and I can’t save you. Not that I shall try.”
Pitt felt the cold seep through him as if he were sinking into icy water. “I shall be very careful, sir,” he said in little more than a whisper. “But the man has to be stopped. The next victim could be your daughter.”
“Granddaughter,” the Home Secretary corrected him bitterly. “Again, be careful!”
“Yes, sir.”
Late in the afternoon Pitt went again to the Portuguese Embassy. He must see Castelbranco and tell him the latest news, as he had promised he would.
When he reached the embassy, Rafael received him immediately in the quiet study. Pitt had considered what he was going to say, and knew perfectly well w
hat it might cost him, but he had no doubt as to what it would cost him if he did not.
“You have news,” Castelbranco said softly. “I can see it in your face. What has happened?” There was anxiety in his voice and his eyes looked Pitt up and down.
His gentle tone stiffened Pitt’s resolve. He had gained a profound regard for the Portuguese ambassador over the last weeks, even a kind of affection. In many people grief shows more vividly their weaknesses; it shakes the fault lines in their character. In Castelbranco, though, it had marked more profoundly his strengths. There was a fortitude in him that was rare.
“It is good of you to come,” the ambassador said quietly. “May I offer you some refreshment? I have whisky, if you wish it, but in view of the pleasantness of the weather, you might prefer something lighter? I have been drinking a concoction my wife enjoys, a mixture of fruit juices.” He stood still, waiting for Pitt’s answer.
“That sounds excellent,” Pitt agreed honestly. “We’ll keep the whisky for the autumn.”
Castelbranco took a glass from the cupboard and filled it from a jug on the sideboard, then they both sat down. Under different circumstances, Pitt reflected sadly, they would have truly enjoyed each other’s company.
On the way to the embassy, he had been trying to reach a decision. Now in this calm room he no longer wavered. It was disobedience to the spirit of the Home Secretary’s orders, but to obey would be a betrayal of this man Pitt had come to think of as almost a friend.
Castelbranco was waiting for Pitt to speak. The silence would stretch comfortably only so long.
“They are almost certainly going to find Alban Hythe guilty in the next few days,” Pitt said at last. “I’m not certain it is the correct verdict, but there is little to refute it. However, the man who was head of Special Branch before me, and for whom I have an immense regard, believes Hythe is innocent.”
