Pentecost Alley

by Anne Perry

  Emily had a suddenly bleak picture of family life at the FitzJameses’, a little girl realizing with a rush of coldness how small a part of her life was in her own control, how restricted her choices compared with those of her brother. Her mother’s success or failure depended on how many sons she bore, and it was not something she could help. Perhaps Tallulah would be the same … a failure. Only one thing of importance would be asked of her, and she might not manage to do it.

  Emily’s own life was the same. She had married a man who wanted sons to carry on his title, but she had not felt the same pressure. She could not recall even doubting herself. But then she had had no brothers.

  “Sometimes when Fin was home from school there’d be some terrible quarrels.” Tallulah was still staring into the distance, living the past. “Papa would call him into his study, and Fin would come out white-faced. But it was always all right in the end. Nothing terrible ever happened. I was very frightened at first. I remember I sat on the landing behind the stair rail and looked down into the hall, waiting for him to come out of the study, terrified he’d been beaten or something. I don’t know what I really expected. But it never happened. It was always all right.”

  Someone laughed in the distance, but she barely seemed to hear it.

  “Fin and Papa still made their plans. Fin went back to school, then to University, then into the Foreign Office. If this goes away without any scandal, he’ll be posted to a really good ambassadorship, probably Paris. He’ll have to get married first, but that won’t be difficult. There are dozens of suitable girls who’d be happy to have him.”

  She took a deep breath and turned to look at Emily, her eyes bright with tears.

  “I wish I could help, but I don’t even have any idea what I could do! He won’t talk about it to me, but I know he’s frightened. Mama won’t talk about it either, except to say it will be all right because he can’t be guilty and Papa will see that he isn’t blamed for something he couldn’t possibly have done.”

  Emily had a picture of a frightened woman, loving her son but knowing startlingly little about him, seeing in her heart only the child she had known so many years ago. She did not see the present man who lived in a world outside her experience, with appetites beyond her emotional or physical imagination, a woman clinging to decency because it was what she lived by, perhaps even lived for. What did Aloysia FitzJames know of reality beyond her very handsome, safe front door?

  No wonder modern, outrageous Tallulah could not speak to her or share her fears. It would be cruel and completely pointless even to try. Who did Tallulah talk to? Her society friends who were all totally occupied in seeking suitable marriages? The convention-defying aesthete set who sat up all night talking about art and meaning, the idolatry of the senses, the worship of beauty and wit? Jago? But he had time only for the poor. He did not see the loneliness or the panic behind her extravagant dresses and defiant face.

  “We’ll do something,” Emily stated with absolute determination. “To begin with we’ll deal with this badge which they say is his. If he didn’t leave it there, then someone else must have, either by accident or deliberately.”

  “Deliberately?” Tallulah stared at her. “You mean they stole it and put it there to try to get Finlay hanged?” She shivered in spite of the heat, which was now so intense there was a fine dew of perspiration on her brow and Emily could feel the muslin of her own gown sticking to her uncomfortably.

  “Is that impossible?” she asked.

  Tallulah hesitated only a moment. “No, no it isn’t,” she answered with a catch in her voice. “Papa has quite a few enemies. I’ve come to realize that more lately. They might want to strike out at him where it would hurt the most, and where he was most vulnerable. Finlay does behave like a fool sometimes. I know that.” She shook her head a little. “I think he’s half afraid of being an ambassador, and then going into Parliament, in case he doesn’t live up to all Papa’s expectations for him. It’s almost as if he wanted to do something to prevent it, even before he really tries. Not really,” she added quickly, with a fleeting smile. “Just at moments when he’s … when he has no confidence in himself. We all get times like that.”

  “Who in particular?” Emily pressed, flicking her hand sharply to shoo a fly away.

  Tallulah thought for a moment. “Roger Balfour, for one. Papa just about ruined him in a business deal with the army—over munitions, I think. Peter Zoffany. I used to like him. He told wonderful stories about living in India. I think he rather liked me too. I thought Papa might marry me to him, but then he used him to get to somebody else and there was a terrible row and I never saw him again. But Fin would never do anything like that.” She did not add any assurance, which made it the more absolute.

  She looked at Emily with a frown.

  “Does it matter who? All we could do would be tell the police. I wouldn’t mind telling Mr. Pitt if he comes again, but I wouldn’t tell that other miserable-faced man. I think his name was Tellman, or Bellman, or something like that. He looked at me as if I were a leper. He’d only think I was trying to protect Finlay anyway.”

  “No, I don’t suppose it matters,” Emily conceded. “That club badge is the thing. If we could throw doubt on that, it would weaken this case a great deal.”

  “But they’ve got it!” Tallulah protested. “What doubt could there be? It has Fin’s name engraved on the back. He told me. Anyway, I’ve seen it.”

  “What is it like?” Emily asked quickly. “What is it like exactly? Do you remember?”

  “Certainly. About that size.” She held her finger and thumb apart about three quarters of an inch. “Round. Gray enamel, with ‘Hellfire Club, 1881’ on the front in gold letters and a pin across the back. Why?”

  “And where was his name?”

  “On the back, under the pin. Why?”

  “Written how?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Copperplate, Gothic, Roman?”

  “In … copperplate, like a signature, only neater.” Her expression quickened. “Why?” She drew in her breath. “Are you thinking we could duplicate it? Have another one made? But what could we do with it?”

  “Well, if there are two,” Emily was still juggling ideas in her mind, “it will at least raise doubts as to which one is real. One of them has to be false! Why not the one found in the prostitute’s room? At least it would prove that someone could get a false one made and put it wherever they wanted to.”

  “Yes it would,” Tallulah agreed with alacrity, sitting forward. “Where should we put it?”

  “I’m not sure.” Emily was still thinking. “I suppose somewhere it could have fallen accidentally, so Finlay couldn’t find it. At the back of a drawer, or in the pocket of something he never wears.”

  “But if we find it,” Tallulah pointed out, “they will know that we put it there, or they might do.”

  “Obviously we can’t find it,” Emily agreed. “But we can arrange for the police to search again, and they can find it themselves.”

  “How can we do that?”

  “I can. Don’t worry about it.” Emily was certainly not going to explain that Superintendent Pitt, in charge of the case, was her brother-in-law. “I’ll think of a way.”

  “Won’t they check up on all of us, to see if we had the copy made?” Tallulah went on. “I would! And Tellman may be a horrible little man, but I’ve a feeling he’s awfully clever, in his own way. And Mr. Pitt might come back again. He speaks beautifully, even though he’s a policeman, but underneath the good manners I don’t think he’d be fooled either.”

  “Then it’s your job to see that you and your mother can account for your time, and if possible that Finlay can too,” Emily said decisively. “There’s nothing we can do about your father. I’ll take care of getting another badge made. You must draw it for me, as precisely as you can, the right size, with the writing exactly like the other one.”

  Tallulah was alarmed. “I’m not sure if I remember exactly.
”

  “Then you’ll have to find out, from Finlay, without him realizing why you want to know. Don’t ask any of the other members. They might know what you are doing, and even if they wouldn’t intentionally betray Finlay, they might to save themselves, even without meaning to.”

  “Yes …” Tallulah said with increasing conviction in her voice. She rose to her feet, stopping for a moment as the heat and the dizzying perfume overcame her.

  Emily stood also.

  “Yes. I’ll start straightaway.” Tallulah straightened her shoulders. “I’ll draw the badge for you and send it in the post. You’ll receive it tomorrow. Emily … thank you! I don’t know why you should befriend me like this, but I’m more grateful to you than I can say.”

  Emily dismissed it as gracefully as she could. It embarrassed her, because she had done it out of boredom and her own sense of having done nothing valuable for months, and of being unnecessary to anybody.

  They parted at the entrance, surprised to find that everyone else was gone too. It was already well into the hour appropriate for final calls, or even returning home if one was thinking of an early dinner before the opera or the theater.

  Tallulah was as good as her word, and in the midday delivery the following day, Emily received a letter from her, hastily and sprawlingly written, and accompanying two rather good sketches of a badge, both front and reverse. One was in minute detail, larger than scale so it could be seen easily; the other was less exact but of precisely the same size as the original. The materials were also described. With it was a five-pound note, neatly folded, to cover the cost, and Tallulah’s repeated thanks.

  Emily had already decided where she intended to go in order to get the badge made. One or two friends had from time to time had need of a discreet and skilled jeweler who was able to either copy a piece or maybe reproduce it from a drawing or photograph. One had accidents. An original piece had been pawned and sold against a debt one did not care to mention to one’s husband and which could not be met from a dress allowance. One misplaced things sometimes. There were even occasions when it was not advisable to wear an original. A jeweler unknown to the rest of the family, and who knew how to keep his own counsel, was a friend to be treasured.

  Of course, Emily did not tell him who she was. But he was used to ladies who veiled their faces and whose names did not appear in any social register, even though both their-clothes and their manners suggested that they should. He accepted the commission without demur and promised to have it completed for collection in two days’ time. Emily thanked him, paid him half the price, and promised the rest on completion.

  She returned home only just before Jack arrived, coming into her boudoir looking harassed and apologetic.

  “I’m sorry,” he said earnestly, and indeed he did look very disturbed about something. His usually immaculate jacket was a trifle crooked and his eyes were tired.

  “What is it?” she asked, touched with a moment’s anxiety. “What’s happened?” She rose to her feet and went over to him, her eyes searching his face.

  “The Home Secretary has called a meeting this evening,” he said ruefully. “I have to be there or no one will put my point of view. I’m sorry, but it really does matter.”

  “Of course you have to,” she agreed, overwhelmed with relief.

  “But I promised to take you to the opera. We have the tickets, and I know how much you wanted to see it.”

  She had completely forgotten. Beside Tallulah’s troubles it was so unimportant. What was an evening’s entertainment compared with the fears and the loneliness she had seen only an hour or two ago?

  “Never mind,” she said, smiling at him. “It is a matter of priorities, isn’t it? Perhaps I shall go and see Charlotte, or something like that. The opera will play again.” She saw the apprehension iron out of his face and felt a sharp twinge of guilt. She already knew exactly what she would do with the late afternoon and evening.

  “Thank you, my dear,” Jack said, touching her gently on the cheek. Standing so close to him she could see the fine lines of tiredness around his eyes and mouth and she realized with a jolt how hard he was working, for the first time in his life, at making a success of something which was a challenge to him. It was something which he cared about for himself and for her, and which he feared might be beyond him. He had grown up a younger son, handsome and idle, with a charm which enabled him to live quite easily on those who found his company such a pleasure he could move from one to another of them and never have to think further ahead, or behind, than a few weeks.

  Now, because he loved Emily and wanted to fit into her life and her circle, he had looked for depths in himself and discovered them. He had committed himself to a difficult task in which failure was more than possible, and many vested interests were ranged against him. The time of charm without battles, smiling his way out of conflict, was past.

  She wanted to reach up to kiss him, but she knew it was not the right time. He was weary. There was a busy, arduous and not entirely pleasant evening ahead of him, and already his mind was straggling with its problems, anticipating them and what he would say or do.

  She caught his hand and held it, feeling his fingers close around hers in a moment’s surprise and warmth.

  “Don’t be silly,” she said quickly. “I’m not going to sulk over an evening at the opera when what you are doing is really important. I hope I’m never so shallow. I do know what matters, you know.”

  He smiled, his eyes lighter with amusement, and for a moment his tiredness vanished.

  “I do!” she said fiercely. “More than you know!”

  As soon as Jack had left for his engagement, Emily herself dressed for the evening in one of her older gowns, something she did not intend to wear again, then took the second carriage and directed the coachman to Keppel Street in Bloomsbury.

  When they arrived she alighted, gave instructions that they should wait for her, and knocked on Charlotte’s door. As soon as it was answered, by Gracie, she swept in and went straight through to the parlor, where Charlotte was mending one of Jemima’s pinafores.

  “Please listen to me,” Emily said. She sat down in Pitt’s chair without bothering to arrange her skirts. “I know the case Thomas is working on at the moment. I have quite a good acquaintance with the sister of his chief suspect, and I know a way we might be able to prove his innocence.” She ignored Charlotte’s surprise. “Believe me, he would be very grateful. It is not a man he would wish to prosecute, but unless someone can show that he was there at the time, he may have to.”

  Charlotte put down her sewing and stared at Emily with gravity and growing suspicion.

  “I assume from your manner that you already have a plan as to how we shall do this, when the police have failed to?” she said guardedly.

  Emily swallowed, then took a deep breath and plunged in.

  “Yes I have, actually. He does not really remember where he was, but his sister, Tallulah, was at a party, and she saw him there.”

  “Oh yes?” Charlotte said skeptically. “And why has she not told the police this?”

  “Because nobody would believe her.”

  “Except you, of course.” Charlotte picked up her sewing again. The matter was not of sufficient sense to keep her from it.

  Emily snatched it away.

  “Listen to me! This really matters!” she said urgently. “If Finlay was seen at this party, in Chelsea, then he could not have been in Whitechapel murdering a prostitute. And if we can prove it, we will not only save Finlay from disaster, we will save Thomas from having to arrest the son of one of London’s wealthiest men!”

  Charlotte retrieved the sewing and put it away tidily.

  “So what are you suggesting? Why can … Tallulah? … Tallulah … not find some of the other people who were at this party and have them swear that Finlay was there? What does she need you for? Or me?”

  “Because she has already denied being at the party,” Emily said exasperatedly. “Please pay
attention! She was only there for a few minutes, perhaps half an hour at the most, and she does not remember who else was there either.”

  “It seems altogether an extremely forgettable party,” Charlotte said with a wry expression too close to laughter for Emily’s temper. “Do you really believe all this, Emily? It’s ridiculous. She doesn’t remember anyone there except him, and he not only doesn’t remember anyone at all, even his own sister, he doesn’t even remember being there himself!”

  “They were taking opium,” Emily said furiously. “The place was a … a shambles. When Tallulah saw what it was like she left. She didn’t remember the other people because she didn’t know them. Finlay didn’t remember because he was out of his senses.”

  “That last part I can believe,” Charlotte conceded dryly. “But even if it is all true, what could we do?”

  “Go back to the house where the party was and see if it really happened and if it was as she said,” Emily replied, although as she heard herself, it sounded increasingly foolish. “Well … we could at least see if there had been a party that night and if anyone remembered seeing either Tallulah or Finlay. It would prove something.”

  “I suppose we might find someone….” Charlotte said dubiously. “But why doesn’t Tallulah go herself? Presumably at least she knows these people? We don’t.” Her eyes narrowed. “Do we?”

  “No! No, of course not!” Emily denied it hastily. “But that is precisely why we would be better. We are important witnesses.”

  “Where is it?”

  “Beaufort Street, in Chelsea. You’d better change into something a little more formal, as if you were going to a party.”

  “Since everyone seems oblivious of their surroundings, it hardly seems worth it,” Charlotte answered. But she did rise to her feet and go towards the door. “I’ll be down in a few minutes. I hope you know what you are doing.”