“My dear, if a distinguished person has a dozen children, one will find, in a generation or two, that half the Home Counties are related to him,” Vespasia pointed out. She turned again to Thelonius. “But you used the term ‘realism.’ Was it a fortunate marriage? Are there children?”
“I believe there are two or three, all daughters. One died young, the other two are recently married.”
“Married!” Charlotte was amazed. “But she looks—so …”
“She was seventeen when she married Oakley, and her daughters also married at about that age.”
“I see.” She pictured a man disappointed without sons, although perhaps the judgment was unjust. Why had the daughters both married so young? Love? Or a desire to grasp the first opportunity that was remotely acceptable? What had that family been like when the doors were closed and the polite faces set aside?
There was no more time for speculation because they had arrived at the house of Lord and Lady Winthrop. They alighted and were welcomed in by servants in full mourning and shown into a large reception room with a table laden with rich food set out on exquisite linen. Silver gleamed discreetly under the chandeliers, fully lit even though the day was bright, because the curtains were half closed and the blinds lowered as a sign of death in the house. The most conspicuous ornamentation in the room were bowls and sheafs of white lilies, and the cloying perfume of them was redolent of the hothouse.
“Good heavens, it looks like an undertaker’s,” Vespasia said under her breath, at the same time smiling as she saw Emily and Jack Radley only a few yards away. “Heaven knows what the funeral must have been like! Hello, Emily, my dear. You look quite charming, and obviously in excellent health. How is Evangeline?”
“Growing, and really quite well behaved,” Emily replied with pride. “She is very pretty.”
“What a surprise!” Vespasia did not try to conceal her humor. “Jack, how is your campaign progressing? How long is it until the by-election?”
Jack gave her his entire attention. He had made his way in society on his good looks and very considerable charm before marrying Emily, but Vespasia was one person with whom he would never have dared anything but the utmost honesty. He knew she had been George’s great-aunt, and although he entertained no doubts that Emily loved him, in his darker moments he still walked in George’s shadow. George had been handsome too, and his charm was that of a man who was born to wealth, title and effortless grace. That he had achieved nothing personal was canceled by his early death.
“A little under five weeks, Lady Cumming-Gould,” he replied gravely. “I think the government will announce it very soon. As for the campaign, I am still very uncertain about that. I have an extremely strong opponent.”
“Indeed? I know little of him.”
“Nigel Uttley,” he replied, watching her face to see if she wished further information or if she was merely making polite conversation. He must have judged the former, because he went on to describe him. “A little over forty, younger son of a wealthy family, but not socially prominent. He has been a strong supporter of the government for a long time, and quite honestly they fully expect him to win.” He pulled a rueful face. “I think they gave him the opportunity as a reward for loyalty in the past.”
“What does he believe in?” she asked perfectly seriously.
He laughed, a spontaneous, infectious sound. “Himself!”
“Then upon what platform is he campaigning?” she amended with a smile.
“Restoring the old values which made us great, in general,” he replied. “More specifically, on imposing law and order in the cities, altering the police force to make them more efficient, harsher sentences for crime …”
“The Irish question?” she interposed.
His amusement was quick again. “Oh no, he is not foolish enough to tackle that one! It brought Gladstone down, and it will probably ruin anyone else who advocates Home Rule, which is the only real solution.”
They were passed by a group of elderly gentlemen murmuring in low voices who glanced at Thelonius and nodded, then proceeded on their way. A naval officer in uniform spoke overloudly in a sudden silence and blushed.
“You won’t catch Uttley committing himself to any grand statements,” Jack continued. “He’d execute a few Fenians with pleasure, and make speeches against anarchy in general, but we can all do that.”
“He is very critical of the police,” Emily said with a glance at Charlotte. “I loathe him for it,” she added cheerfully.
“My darling, you would have to loathe him for something.” Jack put his arm around her. “But I agree, that is an excellent cause. And it gives me some solid foundation on which to oppose him.” He sighed. “Although this latest murder doesn’t help. It appears to be the second grisly lunatic loose in London in two years, and they didn’t catch the first one.”
Emily looked at Charlotte, a question in her eyes.
“Yes,” Charlotte acknowledged. “He is.”
“Thomas is on the case?” Jack said quickly. “Is there any progress? One can hardly ask the family, although Lord Winthrop keeps making dark noises about what he will have done and who he knows.”
“I don’t think it’s a madman at all,” Charlotte replied, her voice sinking lower and lower. “From all that we know, it seems undeniable it was a personal crime. That is why we are here—to help Thomas.”
“Does he know that?” Jack asked.
“Don’t be foolish,” Emily said quickly. “We’ll tell him when we can offer something useful. That will be quite soon enough.” In a single sentence she had included herself in whatever was to be done. Vespasia noted it with dry amusement, but made no comment.
Further discussion was prevented by Nigel Uttley himself joining them. He was not quite as tall as Charlotte had thought, seeing him in the distance, but his blue eyes were sharper and there was an inner energy in him which was initially belied by a casual manner and a self-confidence which masked effort.
“Good afternoon, Lady Cumming-Gould,” he said with a slight bow. “My Lord,” he acknowledged Thelonius, addressing him as if he had been in court. “Really—Mrs. Radley …” He waited to be introduced to Charlotte.
“My sister, Mrs. Pitt,” Emily obliged.
“How do you do, Mrs. Pitt.” He inclined his head in something which was not quite a bow. “How nice of you to support the Winthrops at this wretched time. I fear it is going to become even more unpleasant for them as the days go on. I wish I could believe the police were competent to catch the wretch, but the very fact that such a hideous crime could happen in the heart of London indicates the miserable state to which we have fallen. Still we shall improve on it after the by-election.” He looked at Jack with a smile, but the underlying seriousness of his meaning was quite plain.
“Oh, I am so glad,” Charlotte said with a tart edge to her voice and an expression which was intended to be eager. “It would be wonderful if such things were never to happen again. All London would be grateful to you, Mr. Uttley, indeed all England.”
He looked at her with surprise, his fair eyebrows high.
“Thank you, Mrs. Pitt.”
“How are you going to do it?” she went on, almost without drawing breath, and staring at him with intense interest. He looked back at her, momentarily appalled. “Well—er …”
“Yes?” she encouraged. “More policemen? Perhaps a patrol through the parks all night? It would rather interfere with privacy, I’m afraid.” She shrugged. “But then only those doing something which they would prefer not to have seen would have to worry about that.”
“I don’t think patrols through the parks would be the answer, Mrs. Pitt,” he said, relief gushing through his voice at having some concrete proposal to deny. “What we need is better efficiency when a crime has occurred, so that people keep the law in the first place.”
“Yes, perhaps you are right,” she agreed. “Someone of your quality, your skill and intelligence, would be the answer.”
“As a member of Parliament—should you win.”
“Should I win,” he said with a broad smile and a glance at Jack.
“But even before that moment, Mr. Uttley, you could give us the benefit of knowing what you would do. How does someone with skill and perspicacity, and knowledge of human nature and an understanding of society, how does such a person set about catching someone who commits so dreadful a crime?”
For a moment he looked uncomfortable again, then his face smoothed out. Emily glanced at Jack. Neither Vespasia nor Thelonius moved.
“Madmen are notoriously difficult to catch, Mrs. Pitt,” Uttley said in the silence. “We simply need more police diligence, more men who will work hard and have a better knowledge of what is going on, what people in their areas are strange and dangerous.”
“And if it is not a madman?” she said very quietly.
But this time he was prepared.
“Then we need men in charge who are strong and who have influence! We need men who can command the loyalty of those who have power in their own spheres.” His voice was growing in certainty. “I am sure you can understand that, ma’am, without my having to elaborate what should surely remain discreet?”
Charlotte had a sudden cold feeling that she knew very well what he meant. She glanced at Jack and saw his face tighten. Thelonius Quade shifted from one foot to the other, his skin oddly a shade paler.
Nigel Uttley’s smile beamed even more.
Perhaps she should have said nothing now, but she heard her own voice blindly continuing, filled with an assumed innocence.
“You mean you are uncertain of their loyalty now, Mr. Uttley?”
A flash of exasperation crossed his face, and he kept his voice civil with an effort. “No, Mrs. Pitt, of course not. I mean people who have …” He searched for a word and failed. “Other powers—influence which perhaps they had not thought to exercise in quite that way. A sense of civic and social responsibility a little deeper than mere duty.” His face relaxed, pleased with the way he had described what he meant.
The hum of conversation in the room was rising. There was a clink of glass and the discreet murmur of servants offering food and wine.
“I see,” Charlotte said with wide eyes. “A sort of tacit understanding to betray certain information which at present they would not. A change of loyalties?”
“No!” Uttley’s face was pink. “Certainly not! You have quite misunderstood me, Mrs. Pitt.”
“I’m so sorry.” She tried to sound contrite and knew she had failed. “Perhaps you had better explain again. I seem to be slow of understanding.”
“Maybe it is a subject you are not familiar with,” he said between his teeth, his smile so slight as to be almost nonexistent. “It is not one that lends itself to explanation.”
Charlotte lowered her eyes, then glanced at Jack.
Jack grinned, a charming easy expression without malice, but underneath his apparent ease his attention was total.
“Well, you will need to do better than that in the hustings, or you will confuse the voters as much as you have Mrs. Pitt,” he observed lightly. “I’m sure you don’t want anyone thinking you are advocating a sort of secret society.”
The color spread up Uttley’s broad cheeks and his mouth hardened into a thin line. Vespasia stared at him. Thelonius drew in his breath sharply. Emily waited in anticipation, looking from one to another.
At the far side of the room someone dropped a glass.
“Nonsense, Jack!” Charlotte said in ringing tones. “How can you possibly advocate a secret society in an electoral address? It would hardly be very secret, would it?” She turned to Uttley. “Isn’t that true?”
“Yes,” he said grudgingly. “Of course it is. This whole conversation has become absurd. I was simply saying that with the right people in charge in the police we would get greater respect from certain persons—and with it, cooperation. Surely even the most … naive … can understand that?”
“I can,” Charlotte said with self-mockery, looking at Uttley.
He had the grace to blush, stammer for words to deny his intention, and then fall silent.
“What sort of person would do?” She was relentless. “The disadvantage of gentlemen is that they might not know how to detect, especially ordinary crimes like robbery and forgery and so on.” She turned to Thelonius, Vespasia, and finally back to Uttley. “Or should we have two types of policeman, one for the ordinary criminals, another for the special ones? The difficulty is, how do we tell which crime has been committed by which sort?”
Uttley’s face was tight and hard.
“If you will forgive me, ma’am, this is an excellent subject to illustrate why women are so naturally suited to making home the beautiful place both of art and of spirit, which raises fine children and gives a man the resources from which to fight the world’s battles and deal with the spiritually draining matters of trade and finance. You have a different sort of brain, and that is as nature, and God, intended, for the good and the happiness of humanity.” He smiled without a shred of humor, an automatic wrinkling of the lips. “And if you will excuse me, I must speak to one or two other people. I see Landon Hurlwood over there. It has been charming to meet you, Lady Cumming-Gould, Mr. Quade, Mrs. Pitt.” And without giving any of them a chance to reply, he bowed and turned on his heel.
Charlotte let out her breath in a little grunt of fury.
“There you are, dear,” Emily said gratingly. “Go home and sew a fine seam, bake your bread and don’t think too much. It is unwomanly, and your brain is not built for it.”
“It most certainly is!” Jack said, giving Charlotte an impulsive hug. “Listening to you it is quite obvious that political debate is one of your natural gifts. If I do half as well I shall have him destroyed entirely.”
“You will have made a powerful enemy of him,” Thelonius said very quietly. “He is not a man who will be mocked lightly. But beating him at the polls will be a different matter. People will laugh with you, but not necessarily because they understand what you mean. And believe me, his threat was not idle. He is assuredly a member of the Inner Circle, and will call on it to defeat you if he thinks it necessary.”
The smile died on Jack’s face, and he moved away from Charlotte again.
“I know. But I wouldn’t be Prime Minister if it were at the cost of joining them.”
“You may not be anything without,” Thelonius warned. “That is not to advocate that you do, simply realism.” His eyes became suddenly very intent. “But I give you my word on this, if you do not, I will give you every assistance within my power, for whatever that is worth.”
“Thank you, sir. I accept.”
Emily clasped his arm and squeezed it tightly.
Vespasia moved a step closer to Thelonius, and there was a brilliance in her eyes which might have been pride, or possibly merely affection.
Charlotte turned to watch Nigel Uttley walk towards the tall elegant figure of Landon Hurlwood, who swung around and smiled as he recognized him, as if seeing an old friend. Uttley spoke, but of course she could not hear his words. Hurlwood smiled and nodded. They both greeted a passerby, then resumed their conversation. Uttley laughed, and Hurlwood put his hand on the other man’s shoulder.
Further private speech was prevented by Lord Winthrop requesting silence and then giving a brief address of gratitude to those who had come to honor the memory of his son, and praise of that most excellent man and an expression of the deep loss his passing was to his family, his friends, and indeed he was not unwilling to say, to the country.
There were murmurs of assent, nodded heads, and several distinct looks of embarrassment.
Charlotte looked, as discreetly as she was able to, at the widow, now unveiled and standing white-faced, chin high, next to her brother. Her features were calm, almost beautiful in their repose, and quite devoid of expression
. Was she still numbed by shock or grief? Was she a passionless woman, not moved even by this appalling death so intimately close to her? Did she have the most superb, almost superhuman mastery of the outward show of her inner self? Or was it that there were other emotions conflicting within her and canceling each other, frightening her so she dared not show anything at all for fear it betrayed her?
The only flicker Charlotte could see that indicated she had even heard her father-in-law was a slow movement of her pale hand against her black skirt where she reached to clasp Bart Mitchell’s stronger, larger hand, and held it.
His face too was beyond Charlotte’s skill to read. His eyes were very blue and clear on Lord Winthrop’s, but there was no softness in them at all, and certainly nothing that could be taken for grief. His hand still held Mina’s.
Then another very different woman caught Charlotte’s eye; her smooth fair hair shone in the light and the expression on her handsome face was one of rapt attention. Lord Winthrop could not have desired a more admiring audience, or one who seemed more totally at one with him.
“Who is she?” Charlotte whispered to Emily.
“I’ve no idea,” Emily whispered back. “I saw her with the widow earlier on and they seemed very affectionate and definitely quite familiar. I suppose she is a family friend.”
“She doesn’t seem to share the widow’s emotions, or lack of them.”
“Maybe she was fonder of him than the widow,” Emily suggested. “Perhaps she is what you are looking for. Or at least what Thomas is looking for?”
“A mistress?”
“Ssh!” A thin woman in front of them turned around and glared.
Emily lifted one shoulder a little and stared back, eyebrows raised.
The woman snorted. “Some people have no idea how to behave!” she said loudly enough for Charlotte and Emily to hear.
“Ssh!” hissed a woman a little to the left of her.
“Well!” the thin woman gasped, filled with outrage.
Lord Winthrop finally wound to a close, and footmen began to pass among the guests again, carrying trays of glasses filled with Madeira wine, heavy and sweet. Others came with glasses of white wine for the ladies, or lemonade for those who preferred it.
Anne Perry - [Thomas Pitt 14] Page 10
