Murder on the Serpentine

by Anne Perry

  He had selected the files on all the people he knew might be of use in this case. The information, and the thought of using it, revolted him. The only thing worse was the weight of cowardice to stand by and do nothing.

  There were several questions to which he must find answers. How had Delia learned of Kendrick’s interest in South Africa, and then his intention to profit from it? If she’d had proof, would she have faced him with it, demanded he stop, or turned him in to Special Branch, the Foreign Office…or whoever was capable and willing to deal with the fact that a man so close to the Prince of Wales was a traitor?

  Yes, she would have turned him in, and he knew it. Her death proved that. And perhaps Halberd’s death proved that he was the one she had chosen to tell. That made excellent sense. But somewhere along the way she had made a mistake, because Kendrick had found out.

  Had she trusted someone else, who had betrayed both her and Halberd? Or was it carelessness, something in her manner from which Kendrick had realized she knew?

  It cannot have been absolute proof, or Halberd would have told the appropriate authorities straightaway, probably Pitt himself. But then, he might have been intending to do that after he’d told the Queen. And somehow Kendrick knew it. Deduction, or betrayal? Another loose end to be tied up.

  Finally, Delia had found all the pieces she needed and put them together. She had proof. But how did Kendrick know that, before she was able to tell anyone else? Maybe she had waited for one more piece, one more fact, and it had cost her her life.

  Pitt might never know, but the study of Halberd’s movements on the last two or three days of his life would be a good place to begin. He must go over in more detail the papers he had taken from Halberd’s home. Something like this Halberd would not have done in even the most exclusive of gentlemen’s clubs. He would have gone to a private office. He had his own carriage. Pitt would speak to the driver.

  He might also speak to Kendrick’s driver later, but to do so now would warn Kendrick, and he would very much like to avoid that.

  It took him until the following morning to find Halberd’s coachman. The man had naturally found a new position and was away from those stables, but was expected back in a little more than an hour.

  Pitt thanked the butler and walked round the end of the block to the mews and the stable and carriage house. As in many large establishments, the coachman and groom lived above the stables. This one had room for four horses, but two of them were presently out.

  The groom walked toward Pitt suspiciously, a pitchfork in his hand.

  “Good morning,” Pitt said agreeably. He did not intend to tell the man who he was. It would start speculation that could go anywhere. But he was a stranger, and gentlemen did not often come round to the mews at all.

  “Morning, sir,” the groom replied. “Something I can do for you?”

  Pitt smiled. “No, thank you. I’m waiting for Mr. Spencer, your coachman. I believe he may have some information that would help me. Your butler suggested I wait for him here.”

  “Well, you just be careful, sir. Don’t you touch nothing!” Pitt looked past him at the stables. They were well cared for, nothing out of place, and yet they had a comfortable, used look.

  “Looks like the stables I worked in as a boy,” Pitt remarked. “Except that was out in the country. But a good horse is a good horse, anywhere.”

  The groom looked warily at Pitt’s clean and polished boots, and he mellowed a little.

  Pitt breathed in deeply. The smell of hay, horse sweat, the lingering sharpness of manure, filled his nostrils, and then he smelled leather, saddle soap. It brought back memories, most of them good ones. Since then, more good had been added. He could not afford a mistake; he had so much wealth to lose.

  He talked to the groom sporadically for the hour, mostly about horses. Then the carriage arrived, the horses were relieved of their harnesses, and the carriage itself put into its space.

  The coachman was alarmed at first, but once he accepted that he himself was in no danger of suspicion, or of losing his new place, he was eager to help in any way he could.

  “I’m very sorry about Mrs. Kendrick, sir,” he said with feeling. “Sir John spoke about her once or twice. Said a few more with courage like hers, and we wouldn’t have half the trouble we do. I am…” He hesitated, awkward with emotion. “I’m grateful as you never believed Sir John made a fool of himself over some woman, sir. He was a gentleman—I mean through and through, not just on the outside.”

  Pitt was quite frank with him. “I believe he was killed because he discovered something very shortly before. I need you to tell me everything you can remember about the five or six days before his death. Where he went, who he saw. And if you can, what his manner was, pleased or disconcerted, angry, whatever it was.”

  “Yes, sir,” Spencer agreed. “I may even have notes of it.”

  Pitt left with far more than he had hoped for, putting him in the position to have to use some of Narraway’s information. It appeared Halberd had spoken to exactly the sort of people he would have were he looking for the final proof of Delia’s discoveries, and one of them had let Kendrick know, intentionally or not.

  He hesitated, thinking hard of the pain he would cause. He would make enemies with power, people who might wait long and carefully for revenge. Narraway was a gentleman of similar social rank to those concerned; Pitt was not, nor would he ever be. Whatever professional position he might earn, to them he would always be a gamekeeper’s son. To embarrass or humiliate any of these men would not be forgiven.

  Was he looking for excuses because he was afraid? Was he still a servant boy at heart?

  Possibly—there was nothing wrong with that. But being a coward was a poverty of the soul, and he refused to own that!

  The first person he visited was General Darlington. He went to the man’s office in Whitehall and announced himself as the commander of Special Branch, on most urgent business.

  Please heaven, he would not have to use the information he’d found out about Darlington. His wife’s recent death was a well-concealed suicide. The man’s grief must be appalling. Pitt could not even imagine it.

  But so would the grief be in thousands of homes if there was another unnecessary war in South Africa.

  Darlington saw him within a quarter of an hour. He was an upright man of military bearing, stiff-backed, still looking as if he faced an enemy who outgunned him. His shelves were filled with books, mostly military, but a couple on gardening caught Pitt’s eye. There was little ornamentation, a model of a cannon in detail, an Eastern dagger with an exquisite jewel-encrusted scabbard. There was one haunting picture of a woman who must have been his wife.

  The man deserved the truth.

  “I believe Sir John Halberd came to see you the week before he died,” Pitt began.

  “It was a private matter,” Darlington replied. “Of military concern. Nothing domestic, which I believe is your area of responsibility.”

  “Yes, sir. If you are willing, I will tell you what I believe, and you may tell me if I am correct.” Pitt could feel his stomach clench at the thought of having to threaten this man, so proud, stiff, and yet appallingly vulnerable. He could never tell Charlotte what he had done. It was unfair to burden her with it. How poisonous secrets could be! Were they as heavy on Narraway’s elegant shoulders?

  “If you must,” Darlington replied. He was looking at Pitt hard, summing him up.

  “I believe Sir John came to ask your opinion of the Mauser rifle, and what difference it would make if a very large number of them were sold to Kruger and the Boers in South Africa, should there be another war. Will it make any difference in the likelihood of that, if they have such arms?”

  Darlington paled, gray replacing white under the sun-and-wind burn on his skin.

  “Where did you get that…idea?” he said hoarsely.

  Pitt’s stomach knotted even tighter. Darlington was going to deny it. Pitt must think of a way to persuade him not to�
��but without mentioning his wife.

  “From information I have received, and followed up,” he said slowly, choosing his words with care. “A great deal of bits and pieces come our way from various sources.” He was fumbling. “I am afraid, General Darlington, of several things. Another damaging war is one of them, the loss of thousands more of our young men. I am also afraid of the effect of certain gun sales on the reputation of the throne. Is that sufficient information for you to tell me what Halberd told you?” He breathed in and out slowly. It was a matter of balance. He must not tip his hand too far. “I hope it is. I would very much dislike having to insist.” What a tame word for the self-loathing he would feel if he had to use Narraway’s information. It should be his job to protect the man from such things.

  They stared at each other as seconds ticked by, then Darlington spoke.

  “Halberd told me he had proof that a friend of the Prince of Wales was using the prince’s frequent trips to Germany, and his contacts there, to set up a relationship with the Mauser company, and get a huge shipment of rifles to the Boers. He did not tell me who it was. He wanted information from me on the effectiveness of the weapons, strengths and weaknesses, what we had that was comparable. He left me this note that he said this friend of the prince’s had made on the attributes of the Mauser and that he had acquired through a third party.”

  “In other words, the military capabilities of the gun in general. Is it remarkably good?”

  “Yes. I wish I knew if he was correct, but I can find out nothing, and I dare not speculate because it is a charge that would ruin any man.”

  “And you never saw Halberd again?”

  “No, he was killed that night. Now it seems that it was Mrs. Kendrick who killed him, and for a reason totally unrelated to guns, treason, or South Africa. I am grieved. I had thought far better of Halberd than to have anything to do with such a woman. I’m sorry. If any of what you say is true, I have been of no help to you, except to confirm your worst fears.”

  Darlington was vulnerable. If Pitt could pressure him, then there may have been other people who also could. And what he could use to his advantage could as well be used by them. It was something Pitt should never forget.

  “Thank you, General Darlington.” He wanted to tell him that Delia was not guilty, but it was far too soon to tip his hand. “Good day to you.” He left with the note Halberd had given the general and an almost buoyant feeling of relief that it was over, without his having to use force. But he had been willing to, that was the thing. Or would he have balked at the final moment? He did not know.

  —

  PITT STUDIED THE INFORMATION he had received on the quality of the Mauser rifle. It was not what it said that held his attention, it was the writing itself, the characteristic formation of the t and the way it ran into the h when the letters occurred together in a word. He had seen it before, but he was not certain where.

  Then it came to him. It was in the note sent to Halberd, which had been in the front of his current diary, changing an appointment to “Tuesday, not Thursday.” It had been a Tuesday night that Halberd had been killed, and the night Delia had been with Bentley.

  He looked at it again, carefully, with a magnifying glass. He needed more than memory, but if he was right, then he had Kendrick at last. He had changed Delia’s appointment, and gone himself in her place. Pitt knew how and why. If he could find a note in her diary in Kendrick’s writing…What Kendrick had been going to do with Mauser rifles would be irrelevant if he hanged for the murder of John Halberd. And it would be some vindication for Delia.

  But Pitt needed the right to search Kendrick’s house. Done without a judge’s warrant, anything he found would be valueless, regardless of what it was. How could he get it?

  The answer was right in his hands. One of the men on Narraway’s list was a judge whose son had embezzled from the company he represented in the City. His father had covered for him, granting favors to keep it silent until he could make up the money.

  Wrong. Of course it was wrong. But how many people would not have done the same if they had the power and the means?

  His hand stopped in midair, above the papers. He thought of Daniel, who had been accused of cheating and refused to defend himself because it meant accusing a friend. Could this happen to him one day? Since the charge was on his records? Anyone not knowing him would assume he was guilty, just as Pitt was assuming the guilt of this young man. And perhaps his father believed him as Pitt believed Daniel, but it was too late to make any difference now.

  He swore in blind frustration. He must decide—now! And yet he understood exactly what the judge must feel. And he had caught himself making the exact judgment he so despised.

  Then it was time to decide. He could not walk away and let Kendrick win. Every soldier shot by a Mauser rifle was somebody’s son as well. He must do what Narraway would have done, and use the knowledge if he had to.

  He caught a hansom and told the driver to take him to the law courts at the Old Bailey, where he would find Justice Cadogan.

  He had to wait over an hour and a half before Cadogan was free and said he would give him fifteen minutes.

  Pitt explained who he was and exactly what he needed.

  “I’m sorry,” Cadogan said immediately. “But you really don’t have sufficient cause. And certainly not to search the house of a man of Kendrick’s stature. Good Lord, man, he’s just lost his wife in the most terrible circumstances. I don’t care who you are. The man is a personal friend of the Prince of Wales! Find some other way.” He said it politely, but with finality, standing straight as if for some kind of ceremony. He seemed almost unaware of pushing his hand over his white hair, smoothing it back.

  “I regret this, sir.” Pitt heard his own voice as if it were from a stranger. “I require this, as much in the Prince of Wales’s interest as anyone else’s. I don’t wish to use force, but I will, if I have no other choice.”

  “Force?” Cadogan’s eyebrows shot up. “What on earth are you talking about, man? I have told you I will not give you any permission to search Kendrick’s house. Now get out! Before I call an usher and have you thrown out.”

  “On moral grounds?” Pitt said quietly. “You’ve let a good few people evade the law, covered for them, looked the other way. Now you can redress the balance a little.”

  “I have not! I don’t know what you think you’re talking about.”

  “Don’t make this more unpleasant than it has to be. The interest of the state has to override the career or the well-being of one young man.”

  Cadogan stared at him. Gradually his belligerence turned into fear. Slowly, in a scrawling hand, he wrote out the permission Pitt had asked for.

  Pitt checked it, then thanked him and walked out of the room. He hated what he had done. There was no sense of victory in it. Cadogan was not the only one frightened by the power of one piece of knowledge in the hands of someone willing to use it.

  A year ago, he would not even have contemplated what he’d just done. Had he changed so much? Or was it only a matter of opportunity, and a reason to justify it?

  He went first to collect a police sergeant. Special Branch had no power to arrest anybody. If he found what he was looking for, he would need to have Kendrick arrested immediately. Warned, he could so easily escape, possibly even to Germany.

  The sky was darkening from the east, the light fading when they arrived at Kendrick’s house and were admitted by a very nervous butler. They found Kendrick in the withdrawing room. He was relaxing with an open newspaper on his knee. He did not bother to stand up.

  “What the devil do you want now?” he asked with exasperation, but no loss of self-control. He glanced beyond Pitt to the other man, but did not bother to ask who he was.

  “To look a little further through Mrs. Kendrick’s papers,” Pitt replied. “Household accounts will do, and diaries. I’m sorry to disturb you.”

  “You’re not going to disturb me,” Kendrick snapped with a very
slight twisted smile. He picked up the newspaper again.

  Pitt told the policeman to remain in the hall, although he did not think Kendrick would run. He was still perfectly confident there was nothing Pitt could do that would damage him.

  There was little to search. Most of Delia’s personal effects had already been moved, given away, or otherwise disposed of. But the household accounts would be with the housekeeper and kept at least a year—for financial reasons, if nothing else. All Pitt needed was a verifiable example of Delia’s handwriting, and of Kendrick’s, and if possible someone’s note of which night Delia had expected to be out in the park, and if this had necessitated some change of arrangements with any of the servants.

  The handwriting was easy. Pitt had Kendrick’s; the housekeeper had a note written by Delia two or three weeks ago; in fact, she had more than one. The hand was sloping like Kendrick’s, the letters forward similarly, but the characteristic colliding of the t and h when they occurred together was not there, and both the l and the g were looped in the lower case, unlike the single, hard line of Kendrick’s.

  He thanked the housekeeper and put them in the inside pocket of his coat.

  “Do you remember Mrs. Kendrick’s diary from the week of Sir John Halberd’s death, Miss Hornchurch?” he asked as casually as he could. “Perhaps you have notes on such things as who would be home for dinner?”

  “Of course I have,” the housekeeper said a little stiffly. “I don’t know what good it can do now. You can’t charge a dead woman, no matter what you think she did.”

  Pitt took a chance. “I don’t think she did anything, Miss Hornchurch, at least nothing wrong. I think she gave her life in the service of her country, and one day I shall be able to prove that. Would you please look at your housekeeping book for that week, and tell me if there are any written notes of what was planned, and any changes? While you look, I’ll go and speak to your coachman. I presume he has written notices of any engagements where he might be required to drive anybody?”