Bedford Square

by Anne Perry

  “But you have knowledge of it, real knowledge, from having been there?” she pressed.

  “Of course, but I cannot think it is of any use to present-day explorers and financiers.” He frowned. “Do you think this has anything to do with Africa?”

  “Thomas does … at least he holds it as a possibility. Great-Aunt Vespasia believes it is a very powerful conspiracy, and great profit for someone lies at the root of it.”

  They were passing other flower beds now which were brilliant with color and perfume. The drone of bees was audible above the swish of skirts and a faint murmur of conversation.

  “That seems likely,” he answered.

  “Any other offices?” she asked.

  “I was president of a society promoting young artists, but my term finished last year.” His voice emphasized the triviality of it. “Other than that, newly being a member of a group within the Jessop Club that raises finances for an orphanage. I cannot imagine anyone desiring to take my place in that. It is hardly exclusive anyway. I believe anyone who wished to join it would be welcomed.”

  “It doesn’t sound like the sort of thing one would commit blackmail to achieve,” she agreed.

  They walked in silence for a hundred yards or so, across the pathway which circled the gardens and out into the main part of Regents Park. The sun was growing hotter and the breeze had dropped. Somewhere in the distance a band was playing.

  “I don’t think the fact that the body is that of Slingsby, and not Cole, has made any difference to the police’s believing I could have been responsible for his death,” he said at length. “I suppose he could have been running errands for the blackmailer as easily as anyone else. You say he was a thief?”

  “Yes … from Shoreditch, nowhere near Bedford Square,” she said quickly “He was killed in Shoreditch, by his accomplice. Thomas knows it had nothing to do with you at all.”

  “Then why is his sergeant still making enquiries about me?”

  “To learn what the blackmailer wants,” she said with conviction. “It must be some influence you have, some power or information. What have you in common with the other victims?”

  He smiled bleakly, a flash of hard humor. “Since I don’t know who they are, I cannot even guess.”

  “Oh …” She was taken aback. “Yes … of course. They are a banker, a diplomat, Sir Guy Stanley of course you know …” She saw the wince of pity in his face but went on. “A judge …” Should she mention Cornwallis or not? Pitt might prefer she did not, but the situation was too serious for secrets that were largely a matter of saving embarrassment. “And an assistant commissioner of police.”

  He looked at her. “Cornwallis,” he said softly. “I don’t expect you to answer that … of course. I’m sorry. He’s a very decent man.”

  “You know him well?”

  “No, very slightly. Simply members of the same club … two clubs, actually. Always thought him a good fellow, very straightforward.” Again he lapsed into silence for several yards. “I knew Guy Stanley too. Not well, but I liked him.”

  “You are speaking of him in the past.…”

  His face tightened. “So I am. I’m sorry. That is inexcusable. I’ve been thinking about him a lot since that news broke. Poor devil.” He shivered a little and hunched his shoulders, knotting the muscles as if he were cold in spite of the sun. “I called on him. Wanted to tell him … I don’t know … perhaps only what you came to me to say, that I still regarded him as my friend. I don’t think him guilty of that charge, but I have no idea if he believed me.”

  A dog scampered across their path carrying a stick in its mouth.

  He stared straight ahead. “Perhaps I should have had the courage to tell him I was a victim of the same blackmail, but I couldn’t bring myself to tell even him what it accused me of. I do not admire myself for that. I wish now that I had. Then he might have known I believed him. But I suppose if I were honest, I was afraid he would not believe me.” He swung around to face her again. “That is the thing; I am not sure of anybody anymore. I mistrust where I would never have thought of it even a month ago. People offer me decency, friendship, kindness, and I look at them and doubt. I try to see motives behind which are ugliness and duplicity, double meanings to remarks that are made in innocence. I am tainting even the good that I have.”

  She squeezed his arm more tightly, standing close to him in the bright light. The feathers of her hat fluttered in the breeze, almost close enough to him to touch his cheek.

  “You must keep not only your head but also your heart,” she said gently. “You know it is not true. You must think better of us than to imagine we are so easily misled or so quick to be cruel.” She made herself smile. “You have only one enemy that we know of, and even he does not actually believe it is true. He knows better.”

  The wind caught a loose strand of her hair and blew it across her brow.

  “Thank you,” he said very quietly; it was little more than a breath. Then he put out his hand and pushed the hair back where it had come from, under the brim of Vespasia’s hat. In that one gesture he had committed himself, and he knew it. In this isolated moment in the sun it did not matter. Tomorrow perhaps it would, but today could not be taken from the memory.

  She felt a moment of sweetness, and pain, and a realization that she was guilty of a wild kind of carelessness that she had never intended, and could similarly never be undone.

  A little way off a woman with a blue parasol laughed. Two little boys chased each other, tumbling in the grass and getting happily dirty.

  She must start to walk again, say something natural.

  “As I mentioned, Aunt Vespasia thinks it may have something to do with Africa,” she remarked. “The situation there is so volatile, with fortunes to be made and lost.”

  “She is right,” he agreed, also beginning to move forward, his mind returned to the matter in hand. “That would explain the various men he has apparently chosen.”

  “The Cape-to-Cairo railway?” she suggested.

  They discussed African politics for some time: Cecil Rhodes and the expansion northwards, the possibilities of vast quantities of gold to be discovered, land, diamonds, the conflicting interests of other European countries, most particularly Germany.

  But by noon when they parted they were no closer to knowing what any such political adventurers could demand of Balantyne, or anything he knew which could stand in any man’s way to the fortunes to be exploited in Africa or anywhere else.

  While Charlotte was in the Royal Botanical Gardens talking to Balantyne, Pitt returned to see Sigmund Tannifer, at his request. He found him in a grave mood, and this time Parthenope was not present.

  “I have discussed this with my wife,” Tannifer said as soon as the formalities had been met and he and Pitt were sitting facing each other in his handsome, rather ornate study. “We have given a great deal of thought to who may be involved, and even more as to what they may demand of me, when they finally reach that stage.” He also appeared haggard and as if his nerves were stretched almost to the breaking point. His left hand constantly fidgeted, and Pitt noticed that the crystal decanter on the chiffonier behind him was less than a quarter full of brandy. He would not have blamed any man in these circumstances for seeking a little extra comfort.

  “And you have some conclusion?” he asked aloud.

  Tannifer bit his lip. “Not really conclusions, Superintendent, more speculation I would like to put before you.” He gave a half smile. “Perhaps I am looking for excuses to speak with you, obtain some reassurance. I fear it is rather like pulling the dressing off a wound to see if it is healing … or not.” He shrugged his heavy shoulders. It was an oddly defeated gesture. “It doesn’t help in the slightest, neither the wound itself nor one’s ease of mind, and yet the compulsion is irresistible.”

  Pitt understood perfectly. “And what are your thoughts, Mr. Tannifer?”

  Tannifer looked slightly self-conscious. “I am not trying to usurp your office,
Superintendent. I am sure you know far more about it than I do, but I was considering all the areas in which I might have some ability to act and which could be misused to someone else’s advantage.” His fingers drummed silently on the arm of his chair. “It always comes back to finance of some sort.” He stopped, regarding Pitt gravely.

  Pitt nodded, indicating that he understood, but he did not interrupt.

  Tannifer could not hide his nervousness.

  “The first thing that came to my mind was to wonder what we may have in common. Of course, I do not know the identities of the other victims, beyond what I may deduce with a little common sense. Poor Guy Stanley is obvious, although since in his case the threat has been carried out …” His fingers increased in their rhythm of drumming on the chair arm. “And I can assume Brandon Balantyne …” He waited to see if Pitt would confirm it or if he could read it from his expression. His lips tightened. Apparently, he could. “And as I believe my wife mentioned—she told me she had spoken with you—I am certain in my own mind that Leo Cadell is also threatened in the same way. He believes he will be asked for money. At least that is the impression he has given me. But I have never thought that was at the root of the blackmailer’s aim.”

  Pitt nodded.

  “You agree?” Tannifer said quickly, his voice gaining strength. “I am sure we are right. I have been making certain very discreet enquiries into their affairs, and thinking back upon my own responsibilities. It is within my powers to grant very large loans for investment in certain areas, most particularly land and the development of mining for precious metals such as gold.”

  Pitt found himself sitting a trifle more upright in spite of his intention to not betray any of his own feelings.

  If Tannifer noticed he did not show it. He sat slumped in his own chair, his face heavy with concentration.

  “It would be corrupt of me to agree to such loans without proper security,” he said thoughtfully. “But not beyond my actual power. In seeking to learn which areas might be involved, so as to decide who might be concerned, I looked into Leo Cadell’s recent travels, and what I could discover, with discreet enquiry, of his interests.” He was watching Pitt with intense concentration. “In all cases, Superintendent, they centered in Africa. The possibility is barely realized of the enormous treasure lying in the areas Cecil Rhodes is developing. A man who could involve himself now could, in the next twenty years, amass a king’s ransom and perhaps build himself an empire.”

  It was what Vespasia and Theloneus Quade had feared. Now Tannifer was saying virtually the same thing.

  Tannifer was watching Pitt acutely, his eyes unblinking, his shoulders hunched.

  “I see you follow me perfectly.” He took a deep breath. “I was speaking with Cadell, and he let slip a remark which leads me to believe that Mr. Justice Dunraithe White might be another victim.…”

  Pitt was startled. How could Cadell have known that? Was it observation of White’s erratic behavior, or the emotional strain under which he labored, almost to the verge of illness? Perhaps it was not so difficult to detect a fellow victim, being acutely aware of one’s own suffering?

  “I cannot comment,” Pitt said quietly. “But you may assume that at least one judge is involved. Does that make your deductions any plainer?”

  “I am not sure. I see it very murkily, I admit.” Tannifer smiled grimly. “Perhaps I am wasting your time, but I find it almost impossible to sit and wait until the blow falls, and do nothing to try to ward against it.” He seemed embarrassed, uncertain how to continue, and yet obviously there was something further he wanted to say.

  “Be frank, Mr. Tannifer,” Pitt urged. “If you are correct, then this conspiracy is wide and deep, and the effects, if it succeeds, will be far greater than the ruin of a few good men and their families.”

  Tannifer looked down. “I know. It is only some feelings for the privacy of others which hold me, and perhaps at this stage such delicacy is misplaced.” He looked up quickly. “Cadell indicated to me that there was some incident in the naval career of Assistant Commissioner Cornwallis which could be open to misinterpretation, and therefore to the same kind of pressure as is being exerted upon me.” He was watching Pitt with acute concern. “I am deeply afraid that the blackmailer may attempt to have this whole enquiry dropped in order to protect himself. Perhaps Cornwallis could not further his African ambitions, but he might be persuaded to manacle you ….” He let out his breath in a heavy sigh. “This is hideous! Everywhere we turn we are faced with blind alleys and new threats.”

  Pitt made some sign of assent, but his mind was racing on the remark Tannifer had made about Cadell without realizing its importance. The incident in Cornwallis’s naval career was not questionable; only the blackmailer had seen it as such. Tannifer would not know that, but Pitt did. He must not betray his understanding.

  “It is a profound danger,” Pitt said, and he had no need to invest his expression of face and voice with any false anxiety. The fear was very real. His regard for Cornwallis made it the more painful, because he could foresee it happening. It was the next, obvious step for the blackmailer, and he now knew Cornwallis would suffer, perhaps already was suffering. If it happened, would he even tell Pitt?

  He hated himself for allowing the thought to enter his mind, but it was there like a knife, pricking him at every turn, and surprising in its painfulness.

  “But you will not permit it to … prevent you?” Tannifer said huskily. “You will …” He let the rest of the sentence fall away.

  Pitt did not answer. What would he do if Cornwallis were threatened in such a way, and if he asked Pitt to protect him? He had not doubted Cornwallis’s innocence. Would he allow him to be ruined, shamed, publicly driven from all he valued? He could not honestly make such promises.

  Tannifer looked away. “It is not so easy, is it?” he said softly. “We like to think we would have the courage to tell him to go to the devil … but embarrassment, loneliness and humiliation are real.” He looked back at Pitt levelly. “To speak of ruin is one thing, to face it is another. I thank you at least for your honesty.”

  “We had considered the possibility of the extortion of agreement to large funds for expedition into Africa, north from the Cape into Mashonaland and Matabeleland,” Pitt said thoughtfully. “Or an investment in a Cape-to-Cairo railroad …”

  Tannifer sat up sharply. “Brilliant!” He clenched his fists on the arms of his chair. “I commend you, Superintendent. Your perception is more finely attuned than I had given you credit for, I admit. I am most encouraged … perhaps foolishly so, but I shall cling onto it.” He rose to his feet and held out his hand.

  Pitt took it, and was startled by the strength of Tannifer’s grip. He left feeling as if at last he had taken a step for ward, even if it was towards an unknown and certainly harsh conclusion.

  He had no alternative but to go again to see Leo Cadell. He was unable to do this at the Foreign Office, where Cadell was fully engaged for the afternoon, but he called at his home and was waiting for him when he arrived. It was not an interview he was looking forward to, and Cadell’s weary face made it more difficult.

  He rose to his feet from the sofa where he had been sitting.

  “Good evening, Mr. Cadell. I am sorry to trouble you at the end of the day, but I am afraid there are matters I need to discuss with you, and you were not available earlier.”

  Cadell sat down. He did it as if his body ached, and it was apparent he was using all his reserves of inner strength to maintain an air of courtesy.

  “What is it you wish to discuss, Mr. Pitt?”

  “I have been giving a great deal of thought to what unjust pressures might be brought to bear upon you, particularly with regard to your position in the Foreign Office,” Pitt began. It was difficult to maintain the anger he had felt when he was in Tannifer’s house. He had to remind himself of the pain the man opposite him might be inflicting on others, of the ruin that the blackmailer had unquestionably already unlea
shed on Guy Stanley without giving him any chance to fend it off, even dishonorably. It was not impossible that the blackmailer might disguise himself as one of the victims. What better way to ensure that he knew the direction of the investigation or its success? Who knew what lay behind Cadell’s anxious face and the polite, patient smile? He was a diplomat. He had made his career successfully masking his emotions.

  He was watching Pitt now, waiting for him to make his point.

  “You have considerable interest and responsibility in African affairs,” Pitt continued. “Particularly in the exploration of such areas as Mashonaland and Matabeleland.”

  “I am concerned with relations with other European powers who have interests in the area,” Cadell corrected slightly. “Germany, in particular, is also concerned in East Africa. The situation is far more sensitive than perhaps you are aware. The potential for making vast amounts of money is immense. Most of the population of South Africa is not British but Boer, and their feeling towards Britain is not kindly—nor, I fear, in any way to be relied upon.” He watched Pitt’s face as he spoke, trying to gauge his understanding. “Mr. Rhodes is a law unto himself. Dearly as we would wish it, we have little control over him.”

  Pitt was unwilling to allow Cadell to know too much of his thoughts. Perhaps the knowledge Tannifer had given him was his only advantage. However smooth a face a blackmailer wore, he was a ruthless man without scruples as to whom he hurt, or how deeply. It would seem he enjoyed the taste of his own power. The ruin of Guy Stanley would suggest as much.

  He looked steadily at Cadell. “If you were to be asked by the blackmailer, Mr. Cadell, what would be within your ability to do to serve his ends, were he interested in African expansion, a private fortune in that country, or perhaps domination of a Cape-to-Cairo railroad?”

  Cadell was startled. “Good God! Is that what you think he wants?”