Long Spoon Lane

by Anne Perry

  “For heaven’s sake, Enid, you don’t know what you are talking about!” Denoon retorted. “He was against the Police Bill! Now we know why; he was totally corrupt, and he had corrupted Simbister as well.”

  “That isn’t the reason,” she argued.

  Denoon’s face was dark with anger.

  “Of course it is. He couldn’t afford to have the police investigated, he was in it up to his neck.” He turned to Pitt. “Isn’t that what you’ve come to say?”

  “Were you investigating the police corruption?” Landsborough asked Pitt.

  “Yes,” Pitt replied. “And it didn’t at any point implicate Sir Charles Voisey.”

  “Then you are incompetent,” Denoon snapped back. “Superintendent Wetron’s evidence shows that Voisey was in it, in fact he was behind it. If you were any good at your job you would have known, and proved it, not had to have Wetron do it for you.”

  Sheridan Landsborough froze. “Edward, Mr. Pitt is a guest in my home,” he said stiffly. “And as such you will treat him with courtesy, or if that is beyond you, then at least with civility. He has come here to tell me he is about to arrest the man who murdered my son. Will you at least respect my wife’s feelings, and mine, if you cannot respect the fact that you also are a guest here, even if you are family.” He invested the last word with such a desperate irony that Pitt had a sudden, agonizing certainty that Landsborough knew the truth about Magnus’s birth.

  Denoon saw Pitt’s face and flushed scarlet. There was rage, and now fear as well in his eyes.

  Cordelia glared at her husband, but she also said nothing.

  Enid stood with her head high, eyes direct.

  “I apologize for my husband’s lack of manners,” she said very clearly to Pitt. “I wish I could think of a reasonable excuse, but I cannot. Would you be good enough, in spite of our lack of grace, to tell us what you have observed. Sheridan, at last, would like to know. He loved Magnus deeply, and did all he could to bring him back from the path of anarchy.”

  Pitt found her compassion almost unbearable. It even raced through his mind to wonder if there was any way at all that he could spare her from her own son’s arrest, and almost certainly his trial and death.

  “Well?” Cordelia broke the silence.

  There was nothing Pitt could do. It was not the first time he had hated catching someone, and many he had understood better than Piers Denoon.

  “It is one of the other anarchists,” he said in answer. “I am not sure if I can arrest him, but I am going to do all I can. I regret it, very much. I wish I could say it was Voisey, and put an end to it, but I can’t.”

  “Why on earth would you wish that?” Cordelia demanded. “We all want whoever it was! Go and arrest him. Don’t waste time standing here. Tell us when it is done.”

  Pitt felt a flicker of anger at her bluntness. It passed in an instant. “I regret it because it was someone Magnus knew and trusted,” he answered. “Possibly even cared for. I am not telling you until I arrest him, because if I do, I may cause unnecessary pain, and make a charge I cannot prove. One way or another, I believe it will be over by this time tomorrow. Good day.”

  Landsborough went with him to the door, and just short of it he stopped.

  “Is it true, Pitt? Do you know who it was?” he said urgently.

  “There seems to be only one possible answer,” Pitt replied.

  “But you needed something from us, which is why you came.”

  “You went after Magnus and tried to dissuade him?” Pitt made it a question, although he knew the answer.

  Landsborough’s face tightened, bleak with misery and a drowning sense of failure. “Yes.”

  Pitt felt brutal, as if he were cutting a man apart while he was still alive. Apologizing would only make it worse.

  “Did you see two men, one with pale skin and red hair, the other thin with a mass of dark hair, curling?”

  “Yes?” Landsborough was confused.

  “They said they were friends of Magnus’s. Is that true?”

  “Yes. I saw them with him several times. They seemed to be quite…close. Does it matter now?”

  “Yes. I want to use them to catch the man who killed him.” Pitt felt guilty that he could not warn Landsborough of the fearful pain to come. But he was so close to his sister that he might very easily betray the truth to her, even if he did not mean to. He might even do it intentionally, to save her some tiny portion of the grief. In fact, Pitt was almost certain he would do so. It was his nature. “Thank you,” he added. “I thought they were telling the truth, but if they were involved, they would lie.”

  Landsborough frowned. “You said it was someone he trusted,” he pointed out.

  “It was. But it couldn’t have been either of them. We know where they were standing at the time. Thank you, Lord Landsborough. Now I must go and do what I have to.” It seemed absurd to say “good day.” He gave a brief smile and left.

  He went straight to the prison where Welling and Carmody were being held. He told the jailer to put them in the same cell, then he went in himself.

  Both men stared at him. The change had disconcerted them and they were afraid of what it might mean. It was as he had intended, but only part of his reason for doing it. He had a plan to trick Denoon, and hoped that he could be driven to testify against Wetron in order to save himself. At the very least he might betray himself in a way that would give Pitt a wedge to drive into the smallest crack, and eventually begin Wetron’s destruction.

  Welling and Carmody were staring at him and waiting.

  “I want you to give a message to Piers Denoon,” he said bluntly.

  There was a sneer on Welling’s face. “You mean like, post a letter?” he said sarcastically. “Post it yourself.”

  “I mean like go and find him,” Pitt replied.

  “Oh yeah? And then come back obediently to prison, so you can lock me away for the rest of my life?” His look said that he would like to have wished Pitt in hell, but did not dare say so, in case Pitt revoked the few privileges he had, or even his promise not to charge him with Magnus’s death.

  “You know,” Pitt said coolly, “if you would be quiet and let me put the offer to you, you might find it was a much better one than you seem determined to frame for yourself.”

  “Be quiet!” Carmody snapped at Welling. “Yes, Mr. Pitt?”

  Pitt acknowledged it with a tight smile. “I want one of you to go and find Piers Denoon and persuade him to go home. Choose whatever manner you know will work. He shot Magnus, and I can’t let him get away with that.” He saw the emotion in their faces, the anger and the hurt. “And if that is not sufficient for you,” he went on, “he also helped finance the dynamite that blew up the houses in Scarborough Street that killed eight people and injured many more, for which anarchists in general are being blamed.”

  “Why would he kill Magnus?” Welling said doubtfully. “They were cousins, family!”

  “Because he was being blackmailed into it,” Pitt replied with the truth. “He may not even have wanted to be involved with anarchists at all, but he had no choice. He committed a rape three years ago. I’ve seen his confession to it, and the supporting statements. The police kept them, and used them to force him to do what they wanted.”

  Carmody used an obscene word about the police, his face twisted with revulsion and hatred.

  “He still shot Magnus, rather than face his own punishment,” Pitt reminded him.

  “It seems like a betrayal.” Carmody bit his lip.

  “Of whom?” Pitt asked. “Piers? Or Magnus?”

  “What if we don’t come back, whichever one of us goes?” Welling asked.

  “I don’t expect you to come back,” Pitt replied with a very slight smile. “If you do what we agree, the other one goes free as well. If you don’t, then he stays here and faces the charges on the Myrdle Street bombing. And considering how many people were killed in Scarborough Street, I don’t think juries feel good about bombers at t
he moment.” He added that because he could not afford to lose, nor could he tell them all that could be won or lost on their decision.

  “I’ll go,” Welling said with decision.

  Pitt looked at him, then at Carmody. “No,” he said flatly. “Carmody will go. Do it straightaway. If you fail, Welling pays the price, and I’ll make very sure indeed that Kydd knows about it.”

  Welling jerked his head up, his eyes sharp.

  Pitt smiled. “You thought I didn’t know Kydd?”

  Welling let out his breath silently.

  “Are you coming?” Pitt said to Carmody.

  Carmody straightened up. “Yes…sir. Yes, I’m coming.”

  It was a long and miserable wait, watching the house, not only because of the time involved, or the possibility that Carmody would fail, but that he deliberately might not even try. Pitt had threatened to charge Welling if that were so, but he was reluctant actually to do it. There was an injustice in punishing one man for another’s weakness or cowardice that he found repellent. Worse than either of these was the knowledge of what success would mean: the arrest of Piers Denoon in his home, in front of his father. It was the only way to turn Edward Denoon against Wetron. It was not Edward Denoon’s feelings Pitt cared about—he was not proud of the pleasure he would take in inflicting some injury on such an arrogant man, one who might even take over Wetron’s leadership of the Inner Circle, if he were not prevented. But he grieved already for Enid, and for Landsborough, even as he stood stiff in the areaway of the house opposite, Tellman beside him. The latter was off-duty, but Pitt still needed a policeman there to make an arrest possible. Besides, Tellman deserved to be here.

  Narraway himself had taken his turn, and was now waiting only a hundred feet away.

  It was after six. The morning was bright with a slight wind coming up from the direction of the river when Pitt realized with a jolt that Tellman was poking him in the side.

  “That’s him!” Tellman whispered as a deliveryman with a bag on his arm went quickly down the areaway steps of the Denoon house. Instead of knocking on the scullery door, he let himself in.

  Pitt went up his own steps, calling a warning to Narraway. He took Tellman quickly across the street and knocked on the Denoons’ front door.

  It was opened by a downstairs maid with an apron on and hands smutted with ash from cleaning out the withdrawing room fireplace.

  “Yes, sir?” she said doubtfully.

  “Police,” Tellman said, and pushed past her.

  “You had better waken your master,” Pitt added.

  Tellman was already on his way towards the kitchen. Pitt followed him, passing a bemused boot boy who was half awake and a scullery maid with a bucket of coals.

  They found Piers in the kitchen itself, pouring a cup of tea from the pot the staff must have made for themselves.

  “Don’t bother trying to go out the back door,” Pitt said quietly. “There’s someone waiting if you do.”

  Piers froze. The cup dropped out of his hand and slopped over onto the kitchen table. Closer to, his face was gaunt, his cheeks darkened with stubble, his eyes hollow, haunted. Terror mixed with a kind of strange, desperate relief as if at last the chase were over and he could resign himself to the worst.

  “Piers Denoon,” Tellman said stiffly. “I arrest you for the murder of Magnus Landsborough. You’d best come without trouble, sir. Sake of your family.”

  Piers remained as if unable to move. Tellman was confused as to whether to put manacles on him or not.

  “Go through to the front of the house, Mr. Denoon,” Pitt told him. “There’s no need to do this in front of the servants.”

  As if he were an old man, Denoon began to walk out to the corridor and through to the front, Tellman half a step behind him.

  They came through the green baize door almost together, and found Enid Denoon standing at the bottom of the stairs. She was wearing her night attire with a gown wrapped around her. Her hair was loose, still luxuriant despite her haggard face.

  “What has happened?” she asked Pitt.

  He had a terrible feeling that perhaps she guessed.

  “I’m sorry, Mrs. Denoon.” He meant it intensely. He would have given a great deal to have had it differently. It would have hurt him far less if it could have been Edward Denoon. But Denoon was too careful of himself and his ambitions to have done such a thing personally, and perhaps she knew that. He was a man who used others, as Wetron did, in all but the most desperate circumstances.

  Piers looked at his mother, but it was not for help. He knew there was nothing anyone could do. “I couldn’t face it, and I thought I could get away,” he said simply.

  Enid looked beyond him to Pitt.

  She deserved an explanation. He made it as simple as he could. “Three years ago he committed a crime,” he said. “The police kept his confession and the witness statements. They used them to blackmail him into acting for the anarchists, obtaining money for them. They wanted the bombings to provoke public feeling to the point where the vast majority would be willing to arm the police and give them greater powers.”

  Her face was ashen; she knew what was coming next. “And Magnus knew?”

  “I don’t know,” he admitted. “Magnus was killed in order to raise public outrage and get it in all the newspapers. A lesser man, someone without a famous family, and it might not have mattered so much.”

  “Police?” she repeated. “Who? The man Simbister? Or the leader who just killed Voisey? No, you don’t need to answer that. It must be Wetron, or you wouldn’t still care so much. You do. I can see the anger in you.” She looked at her son. “I shall inform your father. I doubt he can help you, but I am sure he will try. I will do what I can.” She looked back at Pitt. “Please see yourself out. I have duties to fulfill. I understand that you have done what you had to, now so must I.” And she turned and climbed the stairs slowly, her hand on the banister rail as if it were all that held her upright.

  Pitt followed Tellman and Piers Denoon outside where Narraway was waiting. There was a cab also. Tellman put the manacles on Piers Denoon, just in case he should suddenly panic and run, or even try to throw himself out of the cab once they were moving. Narraway got in beside them.

  “Well done, Pitt,” he said without pleasure. “You’ll have to get another cab. Sorry.”

  “Yes, sir,” Pitt replied. “But after I’ve been to see Lady Vespasia. I think Mrs. Denoon needs all the comfort she can be given.”

  “It’s not yet seven in the morning!” Narraway protested.

  Pitt was determined. His own distress demanded an earlier balm for Enid than at eight, or nine. “I know. If I have to wait, then I will do.” He did not wait to hear what Narraway would say, but turned and strode towards the nearest cross street where he might find a hansom. If there were none, then he would walk. It was not above a mile and a half.

  In the event, when he saw a cab he was within ten minutes of his destination, and he ignored it.

  Naturally Vespasia was not up, but her maid answered the door and invited Pitt to wait in the drawing room while she woke Vespasia.

  “Please tell her that Mrs. Denoon will need her comfort as soon as possible,” Pitt added.

  “Yes, sir. And I’ll have the scullery maid bring you tea and toast, shall I?”

  “Oh, yes, please,” Pitt suddenly realized how empty he was, how clenched with unhappiness. He had found the truth, but Piers Denoon was only a pawn. Wetron was still free, still winning. That Edward Denoon would somehow stop him was a gamble, and a very long one. It was far more likely that Wetron would buy him off by using his power of corruption to obtain some kind of pardon or escape for Piers. Maybe he would even find a way to blame someone innocent, at least of that particular crime, like Simbister!

  The tea and toast came, and he welcomed it. He had just finished when Vespasia appeared. It had been barely twenty minutes but she was fully dressed in outdoor clothes and obviously ready to leave.

  �
��What has happened, Thomas?” she asked, dread in her voice as if she already knew, although she could not have.

  He rose to his feet immediately.

  “I just arrested Piers Denoon for the murder of Magnus Landsborough,” he answered. “Wetron blackmailed him into it, but that doesn’t alter the facts. And no. I can’t prove it was Wetron. It was Simbister who began it, and it is his name on the papers.”

  Vespasia lost the last trace of color in her face. “And Enid knows?”

  A tightness inside him clenched like a locked fist. “I meant it to reach Denoon first. I sent the servant for him, and she woke Enid instead.”

  “I daresay she is frightened of Denoon,” Vespasia said, walking to the door. “My carriage is waiting.” Her voice was hoarse with emotion. “Piers is her only child. Hurry, Thomas. We may already be too late.”

  He did not ask for what, but did as she requested, dreading that Enid Denoon might have taken her own life, unable to bear the shame and the grief. He should have made sure her husband was there to care for her, or at the very least a strong, capable servant—the butler, or a long-serving ladies’ maid. He had been stupid. Now he cursed himself for it. He had been so occupied with his loathing of Wetron he had not thought to see that she was coping with the initial shock.

  But it was not Enid’s address Vespasia gave her coachman, it was Wetron’s, and she climbed in without waiting for Pitt to give her his hand.

  “Wetron?” he exclaimed.

  “Hurry!” was all she said.

  The coachman obeyed, urging the horses forward. In the almost deserted morning streets, where there was no trade but domestic deliveries, they careered through the silent avenues and squares as if there were almost no one else alive.

  There was no opportunity for speech and Pitt was glad of it. Thoughts raced through his mind, but they were too hectic to make sense. They pulled up and he threw the door open, swiveling to hand Vespasia out, almost catching her in her urgency to follow him. Enid’s carriage stood silently on the far side.

  Together they sped across the pavement and up the steps. It was the second time this morning he had banged on a front door and had a startled servant open it to him.