by Anne Perry
“Afternoon, Pitt,” he said without standing. He waved to the chair near the desk and Pitt took it. “I presume you have come to report your findings so far? Is it too soon to look for a suspect? Yes, I can see by your face that it is. What have you?” His eyes narrowed. “You look awkward, man. Very stiff. Are you hurt?”
Pitt smiled ruefully. In truth he was beginning to hurt very much. He had almost ignored his own injuries in his fear for Matthew. Now they were too sharp to be forgotten.
“I was hit by a coach a few hours ago, but I very much doubt it had anything to do with this.”
Chancellor’s face reflected real concern and a degree of shock. “Good God! You don’t mean there is a possibility that someone deliberately tried to kill you?” Then his face tightened and a bleak, almost venomous look came into his eyes. “Although I don’t know why I should be surprised. If a man will sell out his country, why should he balk at killing someone who looked like exposing him at it? I think my scale of values needs a little adjusting.”
He leaned back in his chair, his face taut with emotion. “Perhaps violence offends our sensibility so profoundly we tend to think of it as worse than the unseen corruption of betrayal, which in some very essence is immeasurably worse. It is murder behind the smiling face, the thrust in the back”-his fist clenched as if he were dealing the blow himself-“when you are turned elsewhere, and then the sudden realization that all trust may be misplaced.
“It is robbery of everything that makes life worthwhile, the belief in good, the love of friends, honor itself. Why would I think he would not indulge in a simple push in a crowd? A man falls off the curb under the wheels of a carriage?” He looked at Pitt with concern on the surface over a passionate anger beneath. “Have you seen a physician? Should you be up and walking around? Are you sure there is no serious injury?”
Pitt smiled in spite of himself. “Yes, I have seen a doctor, thank you.” He was stretching the truth. “I was with a friend who was considerably more hurt than I, and we shall both be well enough in a few days. But I appreciate your concern. I saw Sir Matthew Desmond this morning and he gave me details of the information which reached the Germans. I read it in the Foreign Office and left it there, but I can recall the essence of it, and I would be obliged if you could tell me if there is any common source or link, or at least anyone who would be excluded from possibility because they could not have known.”
“Of course. Relate it to me.” Chancellor leaned back in his seat and folded his hands, waiting.
With concentration Pitt recalled all the information he had gleaned from Matthew’s papers, set it in an orderly fashion, progressing from one category to the next.
When he had finished Chancellor looked at him with puzzlement and renewed anxiety.
“What is it?” Pitt asked.
“Some of that is information I did not know myself,” Chancellor replied slowly. “It doesn’t pass through the Colonial Office.” He let the words fall on silence, and stared at Pitt to see if he grasped the full implication of what he had said.
“Then our traitor has help, witting or unwitting,” Pitt concluded reluctantly. Then a new thought came to him. “Of course that may be his weakness….”
Chancellor saw what he meant instantly. The spark of hope leaped in his eyes and his body tensed. “Indeed it may! It gives you somewhere to start, to search for proofs, communications, perhaps even payments, or blackmail. The possibilities are considerable.”
“Where do I begin?”
“What?” Chancellor was startled.
“Where else may the other information have come from?” Pitt elaborated. “What precisely is it that does not pass through this office?”
“Oh. Yes, I see. Financial matters. You have included details here of the various loans and guarantees given MacKinnon and Rhodes, among others. And backing from the City of London and from bankers in Edinburgh. The generalities any diligent person with a knowledge of finance might learn for himself, but the times, conditions, precise amounts could only have come from the Treasury.”
His lips tightened. “This is very ugly indeed, Pitt. It seems there is a traitor in the Treasury as well. We shall owe you a great deal if you uncover this for us, and manage to do it discreetly.” He searched Pitt’s eyes. “Do I need to warn you how damaging this could be to the entire government, not only to British interests in Africa, if it becomes public that we are riddled with treason?”
“No,” Pitt said simply, rising to his feet. “I shall do everything in my power to deal with it discreetly, even secretly if possible.”
“Good. Good.” Chancellor sat back and looked up at Pitt, his handsome, volatile face released of some of its tension at last. “Keep me aware of your progress. I can always make a few minutes in the day to see you, or in the evening if necessary. I don’t imagine you keep exact hours any more than I do?”
“No, sir. I shall see you are acquainted with my progress. Good day, Mr. Chancellor.”
Pitt went immediately to the Treasury, but it was nearly five o’clock, and Mr. Ransley Soames, the man he needed to see, had already left for the day. Pitt was tired and aching profoundly. He was not sorry to be thwarted in his diligence, and able to stop a hansom in Whitehall and return home.
He had debated whether or not to tell Charlotte the full extent of the incident with the coach. It would be useless trying not to mention it at all. She would be aware that he was hurt the instant she saw him, but it would not be necessary to mention the gravity of it, or that Matthew had been injured even more. He decided it would only worry her to no purpose.
“What happened?” she pressed him the moment he had finished telling her the barest outline. They were sitting in the parlor with a hot cup of tea. Both children were upstairs, having had their meal. Jemima was doing homework. There were only four more years to go before the examinations which would decide her educational future. Daniel, two years younger, was still excused such rigorous study. At five and a half he could read quite tolerably, and was learning multiplication tables by heart, and a great deal more spelling than he desired. But at this time in the early evening he was permitted simply to play. Jemima was endeavoring to master a list of all the Kings of England from Edward the Confessor in 1066 to the present Queen in 1890, which was a formidable task. But when it was time for her examinations she would be required to know not only their names and order of succession, but their dates and the outstanding events of their reigns as well.
“What happened?” Charlotte repeated, watching him closely.
“A coach had apparently run out of control, and brushed me when it came ’round the corner at close to a gallop. I was knocked over, but not hurt more than a few bruises.” He smiled. “It is really nothing serious. I wouldn’t have told you at all, except I don’t want you to fear I am crippled with old age just yet!”
There was no answering smile in her face.
“Thomas, you look dreadful. You should see a doctor, just to make sure….”
“It is not necessary.”
She made as if to stand up. “I think it is!”
“No, it isn’t!” He heard the edge to his voice, and was unable to curb it. He sounded sharp, frightened.
She stopped, looking at him with a pucker between her brows.
“I’m sorry,” he apologized. “I have already seen a doctor.” He told her the same stretching of the truth he had told Chancellor. “There is nothing at all except a few bruises, and a sense of shock and anger.”
“It is not all. Why did you go to a doctor?” she asked, looking at him narrowly.
It was too complicated to lie, and he was too tired. It was only to protect her that he had evaded it. He wanted to tell her.
“Matthew was with me,” he replied. “He was more seriously hurt. The doctor came for him. But he will be all right,” he added quickly. “It was simply that he was insensible for a few moments.”
She looked at him closely, her eyes clouded with worry.
“Was it an ac
cident, Thomas? You don’t think the Inner Circle came after Matthew as well, do you?”
“I don’t know. I doubt it, because dearly as I would like to think he is a danger to them, I don’t.”
She looked at him doubtfully, but said no more on the matter. Instead she went to run him a hot bath and find some ointment of arnica.
“Good morning, Superintendent.” Ransley Soames made it a question, although the wording was not such. He was a good-looking man with regular features and thick, wavy, fair hair brushed back off his brow. His nose was rather high at the bridge and his mouth had a hint of softness in it. Without self-discipline he might have been indulgent. As it was he had a considerable presence and he looked at Pitt steadily and with gracious interest. “What may I do for you?”
“Good morning, Mr. Soames,” Pitt answered, closing the office door behind him and accepting the seat offered. Soames was sitting behind a high and very finely carved desk, a red box to one side, closed and with its ribbons tied. “I apologize for troubling you, sir, but I am enquiring, at the request of the Foreign Office, into certain information which has been very seriously misdirected. It is necessary that we know the source of the information, and all who may have been privy to it, in order to rectify the error.”
Soames frowned at him. “Your language is very diplomatic, Superintendent, one might even say obscure. What sort of information are you referring to, and where has it gone that it should not?”
“Financial information regarding Africa, and I should prefer at this point not to say where it has gone. Mr. Linus Chancellor has asked that I be as discreet as possible. I expect you understand the necessity for that.”
“Of course.” But Soames did not look as if he thought well of being included in the proscription. “You will also understand, Superintendent, if I require some confirmation of what you say … simply as a formality?”
Pitt smiled. “Naturally.” He produced a letter of authority Matthew had given him, with the Foreign Secretary’s countersignature.
Soames glanced at it, recognized Lord Salisbury’s hand, and sat up a little straighter. Pitt noticed a certain tension in him. Perhaps he was becoming aware of the gravity of the matter.
“Yes, Superintendent. Precisely what is it you wish to learn from me? An enormous amount of financial information passes across my desk, as you may appreciate. More than a little of it is to do with African matters.”
“That which concerns me is to do with the funding of Mr. Cecil Rhodes’s expedition into Matabeleland, which is presently taking place, among other things.”
“Indeed? Are you not aware, Superintendent, that the greatest part of that has been funded by Mr. Rhodes himself, and his South Africa Company?”
“Yes sir, I am. But it was not always so. It would help me greatly if you could give me something of the history of the finances of the expedition.”
Soames’s eyes widened.
“Good gracious! Going back how far?”
The window was open, and amidst the faint rumble of traffic came the sound of a hurdy-gurdy, then it was gone again.
“Let us say, the last ten years,” Pitt replied.
“What do you wish to know? I cannot possibly recount to you the entire matter. I shall be here all day.” Soames looked both surprised and irritated, as if he found the request unreasonable.
“I only need to know who dealt with the information.”
Soames sighed. “You are still asking the impossible. Mr. Rhodes first tried to secure Bechuanaland from the Cape. Back in August of ’eighty-three he addressed the Cape Parliament on that issue.” He sat back farther in his chair, folding his hands across his waistcoat. “It was the gateway to the enormous fertile northern plains of Matabeleland and Mashonaland. But he found Scanlen, the prime minister, to be quite uninterested. The Cape Parliament was in debt to an immense degree with a railway obligation of some fourteen million pounds, and having just suffered a war with Basutoland which had been a crippling additional expense. It was at that time that Rhodes first turned to London for finances … unwillingly, I may say. Of course that was during Mr. Gladstone’s Liberal government. Lord Derby was Foreign Secretary then. But he was no more interested than had been Scanlen of the Cape.” Soames regarded Pitt narrowly. “Are you familiar with all this, Superintendent?”
“No sir. Is it necessary that I should be?”
“If you are to understand the history of the financing of this expedition.” Soames smiled belatedly, and continued. “After our fearful losses at Majuba, Lord Derby wanted nothing to do with it. However, the following year there was a complete turn in events, largely brought about by fear of the Transvaal pushing northwards and eclipsing our efforts, our very necessary efforts for the safety of the Empire, the sea lanes ’round the Cape, and so on. We could not afford to allow the Cape ports to fall solely into the hands of the Afrikaners. Are you following me?”
“Yes.”
“Kruger and the other Transvaal delegates sailed to London the following year, ’eighty-four, to renegotiate the Pretoria Convention. Part of this agreement-I won’t bore you with the details-included Kruger letting go of Bechuanaland. Boer freebooters were moving northward.” He was watching Pitt closely to see if he understood. “Kruger double-crossed Rhodes and annexed Goshen to the Transvaal, and Germany entered the scene. It became increasingly complicated. Do you begin to see how much information there is, and how difficult to ascertain who knew what?”
“I do,” Pitt conceded. “But surely there are usual channels through which information passes which concerns Zambezia and Equatoria?”
“Certainly. What about the Cape, Bechuanaland, the Congo and Zanzibar?”
The sounds from the open window seemed far away, like another world.
“Exclude them for the time being,” Pitt directed.
“Very well. That makes it easier.” Soames did not look any less concerned or irritated. His brow was furrowed and there was a tension in his body. “There are only myself, Thompson, Chetwynd, MacGregor, Cranbourne and Alderley who are aware of all of the areas you mention. I find it hard to think that any of them have been careless, or allowed information to pass to anyone unauthorized, but I suppose it is possible.”
“Thank you.”
Soames frowned. “What do you intend to do?”
“Pursue the matter,” Pitt replied with a noncommittal smile. He would have Tellman deal with it, see if there were any connections between one of these men and Miss Amanda Pennecuick, among other things.
Soames was regarding Pitt steadily. “Superintendent, I presume the information has been used inappropriately, for personal gain, speculation of some sort? I trust it in no way jeopardizes our position in Africa? I am aware of how serious it is.” He leaned forward. “Indeed it is imperative that we obtain Zambezia and the entire Cape-to-Cairo route. If it falls to the wrong powers, God alone knows what harm may be done. All the work, the profound influence of men like Livingstone and Moffatt, will be overtaken by a tide of violence and religious barbarism. Africa may be bathed in blood. Christianity could be lost in the continent.” His face looked bleak and sad. It was obviously something he believed in profoundly and without question.
Pitt felt a sudden wave of sympathy for the man. It was so far from the opportunism and the exploitation Sir Arthur had feared. Ransley Soames at least had no part in the Inner Circle and its manipulation. Pitt could like him for that alone. It was an overwhelming relief. After all, he was to be Matthew’s father-in-law.
“I’m sorry. I wish I could say that it were,” he answered gravely. “But it has been passed to the German Embassy.”
The color drained from Soames’s face and he stared at Pitt in horror. “Information … accurate information? Are you sure?”
“It may not yet have done any irreparable harm,” Pitt strove to reassure him.
“But … who would do such a … a thing?” Soames looked almost desperate. “Will the Germans press in from Zanzibar with armies? They
do have men, weapons, even gunboats there, you know? There has already been rebellion, suppression and bloodshed!”
“That may be enough to prevent them pressing inland just yet,” Pitt said hopefully. “In the meantime, Mr. Soames, thank you for this information. I shall take this with me.” He rose to his feet and was at the door before he took a sudden chance. After all, Harriet Soames was a young woman of fashion and society. “Sir, are you by any chance familiar with the name of Miss Amanda Pennecuick?”
“Yes.” Soames looked startled. “Whatever makes you ask such a question? She can have nothing to do with this. She is a friend of my daughter’s. Why do you ask, Superintendent?”
“Is she acquainted with any of the gentlemen on this list?”
“Yes, yes I believe so. Alderley has met her in social circumstances in my house, that I am aware of. He seems very taken with her. Not unnaturally. She is an unusually charming young woman. What has that to do with the financial information on Africa, Superintendent?”
“Possibly nothing.” Pitt smiled quickly and opened the door. “Thank you very much, sir. Good morning.”
The following day was Sunday, and for Nobby Gunne it was the happiest day she could remember. Peter Kreisler had invited her to go down the river with him, and had hired a small pleasure boat for the afternoon. They were to return by carriage through the long, late spring evening after supper.
Now she sat in the small craft on the bright water, the sun in her face, the breeze just cool enough to be pleasant, and the sounds of laughter and excited voices drifted across the river as women in pale muslin dresses, men in shirtsleeves, and excited children leaned over the rails of excursion boats, or looked down from bridges or across from either bank.
“All London seems to be out today,” she said happily as their boatman steered dexterously between a moored barge and a fishing trawler. They had boarded at Westminster Bridge under the shadow of the Houses of Parliament, and were now well down the outgoing tide beyond Blackfriars, almost to the Southwark Bridge, with London Bridge ahead of them.
