Traitors Gate

by Anne Perry

  A footman opened the front door, looking extremely sober—in fact the pallor of his face suggested he had already received some kind of shock and was still reeling from its effects.

  “Yes sir?” he enquired without expression.

  “I require to see Mr. Thorne.” Pitt made it a statement, not a request.

  “I’m sorry sir, he is not at home,” the footman replied, still no emotion whatever in his face.

  “When are you expecting his return?” Pitt felt a surprising frustration, probably because he had liked both Thorne himself and Christabel, and he loathed having to come on this errand. Being faced with postponing it made it even worse because it prolonged it.

  “I am not, sir.” The footman looked confused and distressed, his eyes meeting Pitt’s directly for the first time.

  “What do you mean, you are not?” Pitt snapped. “You mean you don’t know at what hour he will return? What about Mrs. Thorne? Is she at home?”

  “No, sir, both Mr. and Mrs. Thorne left for Portugal yesterday evening, and my information is that they are not returning to England.”

  “Not … at all?” Pitt was incredulous.

  “No, sir, not at all. The household staff have been dismissed, except myself and the butler, and we are here only to take care of things until Mr. Thorne’s man of affairs can dispose of the house and its effects.”

  Pitt was stunned. Thorne had fled. And if Thorne had gone last night, then it was not Soames’s doing. In fact Thorne had left without warning Soames, and he could have.

  “Who was here yesterday?” he said sharply. “Exactly who called at this house yesterday?”

  “Mr. Aylmer, sir. He came in the afternoon shortly after Mr. Thorne returned from the Colonial Office, about four o’clock, and half an hour after that, a Mr. Kreisler—”

  “Kreisler?” Pitt interrupted immediately.

  “Yes sir. He was here for about half an hour, sir.”

  Pitt swore under his breath. “And when did Mr. Thorne inform you he was leaving for Portugal? When were those arrangements made?”

  A delivery cart rumbled along the street behind them and fifty yards away a maid came up the area steps with a mat and began to beat it.

  “I don’t know when he made the arrangements, sir,” the footman answered. “But he left about an hour after that, maybe a little less.”

  “Well, when did he pack? When did he give the servants notice?”

  “They only took two large cases with them, sir, and so far as I know, they were packed just after Mr. Kreisler arrived. Mr. Thorne gave us notice at the same time, sir. It was all very sudden—”

  “Last night?” Pitt interrupted. “They gave you all notice last night? But the other staff cannot all have gone last night. Where would they go to?”

  “Oh no sir.” He shook his head. “One of the upstairs maids was at her sister’s anyway, there being a death in the family, like. So the other one went this morning. They were sisters. Mrs. Thorne’s ladies’ maid had been sent on holiday….” He sounded surprised as he said it. It was an extraordinary thing to do. Servants did not have holidays. “And the cook is going this afternoon. She is a very good cook indeed, and much sought after.” He said that with some satisfaction. “Lady Brompton’ll be only too glad to have her. She’s been angling after her for years. They need a new bootboy next door, and Mrs. Thorne said as she’d called someone for the scullery maid and found her a place.”

  So it was not completely sudden! They had been prepared for the eventuality. Kreisler had merely told him the time was come. But why? Why did Kreisler warn him instead of allowing him to be caught? His part in it, and in Susannah Chancellor’s death, was becoming less clear all the time.

  The footman was staring at him.

  “Excuse me, sir, but you are Superintendent Pitt, aren’t you?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then, sir, Mr. Thorne left a letter for you. It is on the mantelpiece in the withdrawing room. If you’ll wait a moment, sir, I’ll fetch it.”

  “There’s no need,” Pitt said quickly. “I am afraid I am obliged to search the house anyway.”

  “Search the house?” He was startled. “What for? I don’t know that I can allow that … except …” He stopped, uncertain what he meant. Now that his master was gone, apparently never to return, he was about to be without a position, although he had been given handsome notice and an excellent reference. And Pitt was the police.

  “A wise decision,” Pitt said, reading his face. He called the constable standing just beyond the step. “Fetch Hammond from the back, and then begin to look through the house. I shall be in the withdrawing room.”

  “What about Mr. Thorne, sir?”

  Pitt smiled ruefully. “I am afraid that Mr. and Mrs. Thorne left London bound for Portugal last night. And they are not expected to return.”

  The constable’s face fell; he made as if to say something, then changed his mind. “Yes, sir. I’ll fetch Hammond, sir.”

  “Thank you.” Pitt came into the hall and then followed the footman to the withdrawing room.

  It was a comfortable room, unostentatious, with dark green curtains and pale, damasked walls. The pictures were arranged oddly, and it was only after a moment or two he realized that it was because three or four had been removed. Presumably they were either the most valuable or those of greatest sentimental worth. The furniture was old; the mahogany bookcase shone with generations of polishing, and one of its glass panes was cracked. The chairs were a trifle scuffed, as if sat in for long evenings beside the fire; the fender around the hearth had a dent in it and there was a tiny brown mark on the carpet where a spark had caught it. A vase of late tulips, gaudy and wide open like lilies, gave a heart and a perfume to the room.

  A very small marmalade-and-white kitten lay curled into a ball on one of the cushions, apparently sound asleep. Another kitten, equally small, perhaps only nine or ten weeks old, lay in the seat of the chair, but he was smoky black, his shadowy, baby stripes still visible. He lay not curled up but stretched out his full length, and he was equally fast asleep.

  The letter caught Pitt’s eye straightaway. It was propped up on the mantelpiece, and his name was written on the front.

  He picked it up, tore it open and read.

  My dear Pitt,

  By the time you read this, Christabel and I shall be on the boat across the Channel on our way to Portugal. Which will, of course, mean that you are aware that it is I who have been passing information from the Colonial Office and the Treasury to the German Embassy.

  What you do not know is my reason for doing so. Nor, I think, do you know that it was almost all false. Naturally to begin with, it had to be genuine, and then later, when I had earned their trust, it was false only to a very minor degree, but sufficient to do them a considerable disservice.

  I have never been to Africa myself, but I know a great deal about it from my years in the Colonial Office. I know from letters and dispatches more assuredly than you can appreciate, just what atrocities have been committed by white men in the name of civilization. I am not speaking of the occasional murder, or even massacre. That has occurred throughout history, and possibly always will. Certainly the black man is quite as capable of atrocities of that order as anyone else. I am speaking of the greed and the stupidity, the rape of the land and the subjugation, even the destruction of a nation of people, the loss of their culture and their beliefs, the degrading of a race.

  I do not hold out great hope that Britain will settle either wisely or fairly. I am certain we shall do neither. But there will be those among us who will make the attempt, and we have a certain humanity, standards of conduct and honor which will mitigate the worst of it.

  If, on the other hand, Germany takes East Africa, Zanzibar and the whole of that coast—which they are quite capable of doing, especially in our undecided state—then there will certainly be war between Britain in Central Africa and Germany in the east. Belgium in the west will be drawn in, and no doubt
what is left of the old Arab Sultanates as well. What was once only tribal skirmishes with spears and assegais will become a full-scale war of machine guns and cannons as Europe turns Africa into a bloodbath to settle its own old rivalries and new greeds.

  One European power dominant enough to prevent that is a better alternative, and quite naturally, I wish it to be Britain, for both moral and political reasons. To that end I have sent to the German Embassy misinformation regarding mineral deposits, endemic disease and its spread, the areas affected, the cost of various expeditions, their losses, the enthusiasm or disillusion of financial backers. I think you now see my purpose?

  Is it necessary to explain to you why I did not do this through the Colonial Office’s official channels? Surely not! Apart from the obvious danger that the more people who knew of it, the less likely it was to remain undetected and have any chance of success, I am quite sure Linus Chancellor would have had no part in such a scheme. I did sound him out, very tentatively.

  Also Lord Salisbury is, as you well know, very ambivalent in his attitude towards Africa, and not to be trusted to remain in his present ebullient mood.

  Poor Ransley Soames is very gullible, as easily duped as any man I know. But he has no worse sin than an overbearing vanity. Do not be too hard upon him. The fact that he is a fool will be punishment enough for him. He will not recover from that.

  I have no knowledge as to who murdered poor Susannah, or why. Had I, I should most certainly have told you.

  Be careful of the Inner Circle. Their power is wider than you know, and their hunger is insatiable. Above all they never forgive. Poor Arthur Desmond is witness to that, and one you will not forget. He betrayed their secrets and paid with his life. But again, I know that only because he spoke to me of his convictions, and I know enough of the Circle to be convinced his death was not accidental. He knew he was in danger. He had been threatened before, but he considered the game worth the stake. He was one of the best of men, and I miss him sorely. I do not know who contrived his death, nor how … only why.

  I have given all my servants notice, a month’s pay and good references. My man of affairs will dispose of the house and its contents, and the proceeds are to be given to Christabel’s charity. It will do much good. Since you cannot prove treason against her, I think you will not interfere with that bequest?

  My household staff are good, but they will be confused and alarmed. Therefore I have a personal favor to ask of you. Christabel’s two kittens, Angus and Archie, have perforce been left behind. I do not feel at ease that they will be taken with any of my staff, who have no facilities to care for them. Will you please take them with you and see that they are found a good home … together, if you don’t mind. They are devoted to each other. Archie is the marmalade one, Angus the black. I am greatly obliged to you. To say ‘yours’ seems absurd, when I am most patently not! But I write candidly, as one man of conviction to, I believe, another.

  Jeremiah Thorne

  Pitt stood with the paper in his hands as if he could scarcely comprehend what was written. And yet now that he saw it, it all made excellent sense. He could not condone what Thorne had done, nor could he entirely condone the means he had employed. His battle was as much against the Inner Circle as against Germany, yet there he was helpless. All he could do was warn as explicitly as possible.

  He had known Sir Arthur. If there had been even a vestige of doubt lingering, that would have swept it away.

  Yet he still believed British dominion of Africa was better than German, or a divided nation. What he said about war was almost surely true, and that would be a disaster of immeasurable proportions.

  Why had Kreisler warned him? Their beliefs were not the same. Or was it not deliberate? Had Kreisler asked his questions and Thorne understood the meaning behind them?

  It was all academic now. It explained why none of Hathaway’s figures had reached the German Embassy. Thorne had altered them all anyway.

  He looked around him at the gracious, comfortable room: the ormolu clock ticking on the mantelshelf from which he had taken the letter, the pictures on the walls, mostly dark Dutch scenes of landscapes with animals and water. He had never before appreciated how beautiful cows were, how a body with so many protruding bones could still have about it such an air of peace.

  On the chair beside his elbow, Archie, the orange kitten, uncurled himself, stretched out a silken paw with claws spread, gave a little squeak of satisfaction and began to purr.

  “What on earth am I going to do with you?” Pitt asked, unconsciously admiring the perfection of the creature. It had a star-shaped face with bright, sea-blue-green eyes and enormous ears. It was watching him with curiosity, and no fear whatever.

  He put out his hand and rang the bell. The footman appeared immediately. He had obviously been waiting in the hall.

  “Mr. Thorne has requested that I take these two cats,” Pitt said with a frown.

  “Oh, I am glad,” the footman responded with relief. “I was afraid we were going to have them disposed of. That would be a terrible shame. Nice little things, they are. I’ll get a basket for you, sir. I’m sure there’ll be one suitable.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Not at all, sir. I’ll do it right away.”

  Pitt took them home because he had very little alternative. Also he wanted to tell Charlotte about Soames, and knew it would devastate Matthew. Last night he had not told her of it, hoping in some way it would prove mistaken, although she knew there was something deeply wrong. Matthew had left without waiting to eat, or to speak with both of them, and she had watched him leave with anxious face and troubled eyes.

  First he presented her with the cats. They were angry in the basket and in a considerable temper to be out, which took precedence over news of any other thought.

  “They’re beautiful,” she exclaimed with delight, putting the basket on the kitchen floor. “Oh, Thomas, they’re exquisite! Where on earth did you get them? I wanted a cat as soon as we moved, but no one has had any.” She looked up at him with delight filling her face, then immediately turned back to the basket. Archie was playing with her finger, and Angus was staring at her with round, golden eyes. “I shall think of names for them.”

  “They are already named,” he said quickly. “They belonged to Christabel Thorne.”

  “Belonged?” She jerked her head up. “Why do you say that? What has happened to her? You said she is all right!”

  “I expect she is. Jeremiah Thorne is the traitor at the Colonial Office, if traitor is the right word. I’m not sure that it is.”

  “Jeremiah Thorne?” She looked crushed, her face filled with sudden sadness. The kittens were temporarily forgotten, in spite of the fact that Archie was quietly biting her finger, and then licking it, holding it between his paws. “I suppose you are sure? Have you arrested him?”

  He sat down on one of the wooden chairs beside the kitchen table.

  “No. They have both gone to Portugal. They left last night. I think Kreisler’s constant questions warned them.”

  “They’ve got away?” Then her expression sobered. “Oh. I’m sorry. I …”

  He smiled. “There’s no need to apologize for feeling relieved. I am myself, for a lot of reasons, not least because I liked them.”

  Her face was filled with a mixture of curiosity, guilt and confusion. “What other news? Is it not bad for you, for England, that they escaped?”

  “For me, possibly. Farnsworth may be angry, but he may also come to realize that if we had caught them there would have been a considerable conflict as to what to do with them.”

  “Try them,” she said instantly. “For treason!”

  “And expose our own weakness?”

  “Oh. Yes, I see. Not very good, when we are busy negotiating treaties. It makes us look incompetent, doesn’t it?”

  “Very. And actually all the information he gave was inaccurate anyway.”

  “On purpose? Or was he incompetent too?” She sat down oppos
ite him, temporarily leaving the kittens to explore, which they did with enthusiasm.

  “Oh, no, definitely on purpose,” he replied. “So if he defended himself by saying that, then we ruin the good he has done, as well as making ourselves look stupid. No, on the whole, I think it is best he goes to Portugal. Only he left his cats behind, and asked me if I would look after them so their servants don’t dispose of them. Their names are Archie and Angus. That is Archie, presently trying to get into the flour bin.”

  Her face softened into pure pleasure again as she looked down at the little animal, then at the other one, whose soft, black face was wide-eyed and filled with interest. He moved a step closer, then jumped back, then took another step forward, tail high.

  It was hard to spoil the moment.

  “I shall probably go and see Matthew this evening….” he began.

  She froze, her fingers motionless above the kitten, then she looked up at him, waiting for him to tell her.

  “Soames was the traitor in the Treasury,” he said. “Matthew knew it.”

  Her face filled with pain. “Oh, Thomas! That’s dreadful! Poor Harriet. How is she taking it? Did you have to arrest him? Can Matthew be with her? Wouldn’t it be better if … if you didn’t go?” She leaned across the table, putting her hand over his. “I’m sorry, my dear, but he is not going to find it easy to understand that you had to arrest Soames. In time, I expect he will realize …” She stopped, seeing from his face that there was something she had not understood. “What? What is it?”

  “It was Matthew who told me,” he said softly. “Harriet Soames confided to him, in ignorance, a telephone call she had overheard her father make, not understanding its meaning, and he felt honor-bound to repeat it to me. I am afraid she will not forgive him for it. In her eyes he has betrayed both herself and her father.”

  “That’s not fair!” she said instantly, then closed her eyes and shook her head from side to side in a sharp little movement of denial. “I know it is natural to feel that way, but it is still not fair. What else could he do? She cannot expect him to deny his own life’s work and belief and be party to Mr. Soames’s treason! It’s not Matthew!”