by Anne Perry
The Prince turned to Julius. “You have been through a nightmarish experience, Sorokine. Unjustly suspected. Proved yourself worthy, though. I am sure you could step into your father-in-law’s place. Take a little time to grieve for your wife. I’m very sorry. You have my deepest condolences. Inform me when the funeral is, and, with your permission, I shall attend. The Princess of Wales also. Then meet with me privately, and we can make the appropriate arrangements. You will lead the company from now on.”
“Thank you, sir,” Julius said gravely. “I will, of course, inform you of my wife’s funeral, and be most honored if you, and the Princess of Wales, would attend. But I cannot assume my father-in-law’s place leading the company.”
“After a decent interval, of course,” the Prince agreed. “But my dear fellow, whatever private grief may afflict us, the fate of nations does not wait.”
“It is nothing to do with grief, sir,” Julius said respectfully. “I mean that I am not willing to do it, not that I don’t have the skill, although that is certainly also possible. I do not believe it is the right thing to do. I have had time to give it much thought, and I have come to the conclusion that the African Continent should be opened up slowly, according to the will of the many different nations whose land it is. I believe that the British Empire’s role lies at sea, as it has in the past. We can ship the great wealth of these people from the ports of the Indian Ocean, the Pacific, and the Atlantic around the rest of the world. It will be more than enough power and profit for us, and leave Africa to its own people.”
The Prince stared at him as if he could not believe what he had heard. He looked hard at his face, and saw neither fear nor indecision in it, nor did he see a weakness he could use or ambition he could satisfy. He did not look at Elsa, but Pitt did. Her eyes shone with the radiance of a woman truly in love. She reminded him even more of Charlotte, and the thought was to him a sweetness he could hardly contain.
“You will regret that decision, Sorokine,” the Prince said in a hard, tight voice. He did not elaborate on it, but it was a threat, and for a moment the room was quiet and cold.
“No doubt it will have a cost,” Julius admitted. “But it is what I believe to be right, sir, and that leaves me no choice.”
Liliane moved very slightly in her chair so the rustle of her green-gold silk skirt drew attention to her. “Your Royal Highness, if I may suggest it, my father, Watson Forbes, is an even greater expert in African affairs than Mr. Dunkeld. He has retired from active interest, but in such an extraordinary circumstance as this, he may be persuaded to return, as a service to his country. If you were to ask him, sir, I cannot imagine that he would refuse you.”
The Prince’s face revealed a sudden leap of hope. “Do you think so? My dear Mrs. Quase, how perfectly excellent! How generous of you. I shall write to him immediately and have the letter delivered within the hour. Thank you so much. You have served the Crown and the Empire most nobly. Please be good enough to give me his address.”
“Of course, sir.” She rose to her feet and followed him out of the room.
“The King is dead, long live the King,” Hamilton Quase said very quietly.
CHAPTER
THIRTEEN
THAT’S NOT ENOUGH,” Pitt said. He was standing with his back to the window in the room in the Palace they had given him, and he was still granted the use of it for a few hours longer. It was early afternoon, and time was rapidly running out. Very soon Pitt and Narraway would be thanked and dismissed.
Narraway was standing by the table, facing the light. He looked tired and tense.
“Who was the woman in the box?” Pitt went on. “Who killed her, and where?”
“Well, Dunkeld didn’t kill her,” Narraway pointed out. “He never left the Palace. So either it was the carter, or whoever paid him to bring her.”
“Dunkeld hired Sadie,” Pitt continued. “He must have told her a great deal of what was to happen. So where is she now? Keeping out of sight. Which means he paid her well.” Other thoughts were swirling in Pitt’s mind. “Who would Dunkeld trust sufficiently to have him bring a box to the Palace door, with a murdered woman in it? Would he dare take the risk that the man didn’t know what he had?”
Narraway considered for a moment or two. “Hell of a risk,” he said finally. “Dunkeld is a gambler, but not a fool. He would eliminate any danger he could. I’d say the carter was the accomplice, possibly even the murderer.”
“And Dunkeld disemboweled her when she was here?” Pitt asked. “I think he broke Minnie’s neck, almost certainly by accident, and cut her afterward to make it look the same, as if it had been broken on purpose. That’s why the injuries on the two women were so similar.”
Narraway’s mouth tightened into a thin line. “And he made them after he’d knocked Julius senseless in order to mark Julius’s face with cuts and bruises, and accounted for the marks on himself. Clever bastard. But who’s the accomplice? Thank God we don’t have to find him to convict Dunkeld!”
Pitt jerked his head up. “No, but I damn well want him! Are you trying to tell me he came across that girl dead just when he happened to need her? Right height, right build, right coloring, face similar enough, and nothing else wrong with her? No rashes, broken bones, scars or blemishes, no missing teeth, nothing to account for her death except the knife slashes we saw? He may have broken her neck, to make sure there was no blood to seep out of the box, but he killed her to meet his needs. I want him, Narraway, and I don’t intend to stop until I get him.” That was a warning and he meant it as such.
“Where do you propose to start?” Narraway asked. “By the way, if you have anything at all to ask anyone here, you’d better do it now. You’ll never get back in again.”
“Not even to trace a murder?”
Narraway gave a short bark of laughter. “Not if your life depended on it, Pitt. You found them the wrong answer.”
“I didn’t choose who was guilty!” Pitt protested. “The Prince chose the wrong man as his friend.”
“A cardinal sin,” Narraway agreed. “In fact completely unforgivable. Don’t fool yourself he will ever excuse you for pointing that out! Now he has to admit to Watson Forbes that he made a mistake, and he will not like that either.”
“Will Forbes accept? You said he’d retired, didn’t you?”
Narraway bit his lip. “He seemed adamant to me that he didn’t believe in the idea. He thought it would be bad for Africa, and in time destroy what was beautiful and unique. He said such a railway would cut through the heart of the country and vandalize the soul of it.”
“He said that?”
“Not in those words.” Narraway looked vaguely uncomfortable at the vividness of his own imagination. He was acutely conscious of the fact that he had never been to Africa. “But that was the essence of it. He might well turn the Prince down.”
“Two women murdered, and for nothing,” Pitt observed. “We don’t even know who the first one was.”
“The African one? We never will.”
“No, I’m not sure she had anything to do with it, except as a tragedy to make us think Dunkeld had to be innocent, and Sorokine guilty. I meant the woman in the linen cupboard, whom we thought was Sadie. Who was she? Did the carter who brought her here kill her simply for Dunkeld to use? Did he do it knowing what it was for? Or does he simply kill for money?”
“Too dangerous,” Narraway said immediately. “Dunkeld would be a fool to put himself in the hands of a man like that.”
“Then he was a conspirator. And he had to know Sadie in order to find a woman sufficiently like her,” Pitt added. “So he’s intelligent, resourceful, devious, and has a hell of a cool nerve. He’s not just an assassin for hire.”
“You’ve made your point, Pitt,” Narraway agreed with the ghost of a smile. “We have to find him, and Dunkeld isn’t going to help us. It is almost certainly the carter, but there is no reason to suppose he actually looks anything like the man the servants glimpsed on the night he
brought the box. His clothes were nondescript and dirty, he wore a hat, and fingerless mittens to protect his hands. Usual enough if you’re driving a horse, or lifting boxes. We’d better start with looking for Sadie.”
“She’ll have disappeared,” Pitt told him. “Dunkeld will have paid her to do that.”
“I know!” Narraway snapped, his temper closer to the surface than he wished to betray. “I mean where she used to be. Dunkeld found her in some brothel, or through a pimp. London can be a small city at times. He met her somewhere. Other women will know her. They might have seen the carter.”
Pitt nodded. “I’ll find him if he’s in London.”
Narraway swore. “We may not have long. Since the scheme has failed, as soon as he knows Dunkeld’s caught, he may make himself scarce. He could go anywhere: Glasgow, Liverpool, Dublin, even the Continent. I’ll call every contact I have in the police. Thank God for inventions like the telephone. I don’t think we have anything more to do here.”
Less than half an hour later, when Pitt was in the sitting room and Narraway had returned to his office, the Prince came in, closely followed by Watson Forbes. It was instantly apparent that Forbes had accepted the Prince’s offer. How it had been phrased, or what additional incentive had been offered, was not mentioned. Everyone was introduced, although only Olga Marquand had not previously known him. Pitt was merely mentioned. Forbes’s eyes lingered on him in a moment’s interest, but he did not speak.
“Mr. Forbes has accepted the responsibility of Dunkeld’s position to lead the building of a Cape-to-Cairo railway,” the Prince announced with a smile. “He is by far the best man in England for the task; in fact, very possibly the only man who could succeed. We are very fortunate that he has agreed to pick up this burden, immediate from today. I have promised him that he will have the total co-operation of everyone involved, and the freedom to make any decision in the furtherance of our cause that he considers wise and just.”
Complete control. Was that the power Dunkeld had had? Or was it Forbes’s price? The very slight emphasis the Prince placed on the words suggested that it was the latter.
“Her Majesty will return from Osborne in two days,” the Prince continued. “I am very pleased at that time to present to her such a magnificent project for the Empire she loves so dearly.” He turned to Forbes and made a small gesture of invitation.
Watson Forbes stepped forward, smiling. “Thank you, sir. It will be my privilege to serve my country, and future generations in that great Continent of Africa. Gentlemen, we have a momentous opportunity before us. It will call for every resource of mind and body that we possess. Let us not underestimate it. We shall require all the honorable assistance that we may be offered, or lay claim to. And we must be of a single mind. This is not for the glory of any one man, but of our Queen and country.”
Pitt slipped away without excusing himself, and no one except Julius Sorokine noticed.
PITT LEFT THE Palace and took a hansom cab to Narraway’s office. It had been only a matter of days that he’d been on the case, and yet his sudden sense of freedom was immense, as if he had escaped from enclosing walls, opulent as they were and hung with some of the greatest works of art in Western civilization. Now he was surrounded by the noise of traffic, hoofs, wheels, voices shouting, and occasionally the barking of dogs. It was midafternoon, hot and dusty, but the sense of space, even crowded as it was, and the urgency that drove him, was exhilarating. He found himself sitting forward as if it would somehow add to his speed.
Dunkeld was to blame for much. He was an arrogant and callous man, but he had not killed the prostitute, whoever she was. Whether the man who had was a willing colleague, Pitt did not yet know, but he was guilty of a brutal murder, purely for the convenience of having a body with which to blackmail the Prince of Wales. He, at least, would be someone they could charge, try, and, in the end, hang. There would be no secret incarceration in an asylum for him. Not that death, even on the end of a rope, might not be better than the rest of one’s life in a place like Bedlam.
Pitt alighted a street away from Narraway’s office—a precaution of habit—and ten minutes later was upstairs in his usual chair at the far side of Narraway’s desk.
“Forbes accepted,” Pitt said briefly. “Complete control.”
Narraway nodded. “I think the carter was a colleague, not an employee. Dunkeld would never be fool enough to trust anyone with that sort of power over him.”
“I’m not sure what I think,” Pitt said thoughtfully. “I’m not certain if the plan originally was Dunkeld’s or the other man’s, or even if it changed halfway through, when Minnie died. Perhaps each of them thought the plan was theirs, and in fact there were two?” He saw the wry look in Narraway’s face. “But I am absolutely certain that I want to find the man who killed that girl, whoever she was. If we don’t care about justice for her as much as for Minnie, or Julius Sorokine, or the Prince of Wales, then we are the wrong people for this job.”
Narraway’s face was wry, and for a minute uncharacteristically gentle. “There are plenty of wrong people in jobs, Pitt, but I admire the sentiment, even if we may not be able to live up to it. I’ve sent orders to every police station in the city within an hour’s travel of the Palace to see if they know of a prostitute missing from her usual patch, if any brothel’s lost a girl, or any street woman known as missing, whatever the reason.”
“We can’t sit here and wait!” Pitt protested. “How long is it going to take before someone reports her, or any police station cares? It could be—”
“Hours,” Narraway cut across him. “Or less.”
“Days,” Pitt contradicted him. “Or not at all.”
“I don’t think you understand the importance, Pitt,” Narraway observed drily. “One has only to mention bombers or anarchists and even the busiest and least sympathetic policeman will take notice. If there is any report at all, we will have it before dark.”
Pitt had to be content. Narraway forbade him to leave, and it was as dusk was beginning to close in that the report came. It was still barely dark when they alighted at the police station on the Vauxhall Bridge Road, less than three miles from the Palace.
Narraway did not waste time or energy on niceties. He introduced himself and came immediately to the point. “You reported a prostitute missing, possibly dead,” he said to the constable on duty. “I need to see your superintendent.”
“He’s busy with—”
“Now,” Narraway said grimly.
“But—”
“Don’t argue with me, Constable, unless you wish to be charged with treason,” Narraway snapped.
In less than five minutes a local dignitary had been hurried out, and they were in Superintendent Bayliss’s office where he stood uncomfortably, a pile of papers on his desk, and a mug of gently steaming tea.
“Who is missing?” Narraway asked quietly. “When, and from where? Describe her.”
“I don’t know what she looks like,” Bayliss began, then changed his mind. “Charming enough, I’m told. Brown hair, nicely built.”
“When was she last seen, and where?”
“About a week ago, Bessborough Street, just short of the Vauxhall Bridge, sir. There’s a house there that looks perfectly respectable, but it’s a rather good brothel. Caters to the carriage trade.”
“Who brought in the report?”
“Constable Upfield.”
“Get him. I need him to take us there, in an hour. They’ll be open for business, and I want a local man who knows them to be with us.”
“Can you tell me what it’s about, sir?” Bayliss asked reasonably.
“No, I can’t, and you would prefer not to know.”
“If it’s on my watch, sir, I need to know, whether I like it or not.”
“It’s not on your watch. This is Special Branch business. Get me Constable Upfield.”
“He’s off duty…sir.”
“Then get him back on,” Narraway snapped.
“Yes, sir.”
It was a long night of questioning, arguing, threatening. It was after midnight by the time they elicited the information that Kate, the missing girl, had gone out to see a client in the mews. He had wanted to look at what he was buying and she was willing to oblige. This particular man had had very precise tastes. Apparently he had already tried one or two other houses, and found nothing to his liking. However, Kate suited him, according to the boot boy, and she had gone with him.
“Gone?” Pitt said quickly. “Not into the house?”
“No, poor stupid cow.” The boot boy shook his head. “’E spoke nice, but that don’t mean nothin’. Don’t even mean ’e got money, let alone sense. Some o’ them up-market toffs is the worst.”
“When did she go?”
“Gawd knows.”
“Didn’t you go after her?” Narraway snapped. “Later, if not then.”
The boot boy gave him a dirty look. “I’m ’ere ter ’elp business, not drive it away!”
Pitt knew that whether the boot boy had followed her or not—and he probably had—he was not about to admit it. He would have known roughly what had happened, and been very willing to keep it secret rather than help the police investigate the establishment. The quality trade they aspired to would take their patronage somewhere else rather than risk visiting a house that was the subject of any kind of police interest. In the service of survival he would have concealed the crime, had there been one. If they could find who had killed her themselves—and they would try—then they would execute their own justice. Pitt realized he should have told Narraway that before they came.
“Of course,” Pitt agreed aloud. “No one wants a Peeping Tom when they’ve taken a girl along the street a little. Who found her? You? Or should we ask someone else?”
“I…er…I dunno.”
Narraway glanced at Pitt, and was silent.
“It would be better,” Pitt began judiciously, “if we didn’t have to discuss this with anyone else. Let us just suppose you were unlucky enough to have been the one who found her. The wisest thing would be to move her somewhere else, wouldn’t it.” He said it as an observation of fact, not a question. “It all comes down to the same thing in the end. She’ll be found by police, if it makes any difference, which it doesn’t really. If it was a toff, they’re never going to find him. She’ll get a decent burial, and your business is safe. Isn’t that right?”
