by Anne Perry
Actually, given human nature, scandal and the fall of the mighty, or those who were perceived to be so, was always news. The suggestion that Graves had been framed in order to silence him would multiply his sales tenfold! A judicial hanging, connived at to silence him, would give his accusations the power of a dying declaration! They would be carved indelibly into the public mind. People would pay black-market prices for copies of his book.
Had he thought of all that? Even planned it?
Surely not, at the cost of his life! He had not struck Daniel as a crusader of anything that would come at such a price. He was an arrogant man, self-serving. Hanging was a terrible death.
But of course Graves had not planned that! He had not imagined it. He must have known that if those he intended to expose were as corrupt as he said, they would retaliate. But perhaps he had expected to escape them? Why no accusation at trial? It was the ideal place to have exposed them to the world. He would never again have such a stage on which to speak. It made no sense to forego it. Narraway and Vespasia were both dead, but Pitt was very much alive. Why not accuse him? Pitt would have done his best to defend two of the closest friends he’d ever had. Loyalty, friendship, his own passion would have compelled him.
The train jolted forward again. Daniel had not even realised that they had stopped at another suburban station. Where were they? He looked around and could see nothing he recognised. Then his alarm subsided. The stop he wanted was the terminus to the south of central London.
He was glad he was not there yet. He leaned back in his seat. He had a lot to sort out in his mind before he faced Marcus fford Croft. For a start, how much did fford Croft know? Why was he insistent on defending this man? It couldn’t surely be for any personal like of someone so basically unpleasant. Even his own household had seemed united in loyalty to Ebony, and dislike of Graves. Or perhaps it was, even more, care of Sarah and Arthur? And of course the desire to stay in their present positions in the house, together, being as much of a family as they knew. Death was always hard, and one with as much violence as this was doubly so. And with the scandal on top of it, it would be hard for them to find other situations. Even if they did, there was always the uncertainty of settling into a new household. For the younger ones, it was sending them from the only place they had ever known, apart from wherever they had grown up. Daniel could imagine the anxieties and the fears that crowded their minds.
None of which was likely ever to have troubled the thoughts of Marcus fford Croft. And now that it was so much more serious, and involved Daniel so intimately, he would have to ask fford Croft for his reasons. Daniel’s own job might be in peril if fford Croft’s motive for helping Graves in a case he could not have expected to win held dangerous secrets. How much did Marcus know? Would a man fighting for his life not tell him everything? That was a question to which Daniel genuinely did not know the answer.
He went back to the question he really did not want to face, but it lay at the bottom of all of it. Had Victor Narraway been as devious and corrupt as Graves believed? It was difficult even to quantify it. In order to do his job well as head of Special Branch, particularly in the years when Fenian bombers had been so active in London, he had to have as much information as he could about possible bombers and their targets. There was no room for delicacy. ‘I didn’t like to probe his personal affairs,’ was no answer. A single dead body justified any intrusion, let alone half a dozen, and more shattered, with limbs blown off, and any of the other dreadful damage that bombs could do. Daniel did not know very much about Special Branch; it had to be secret to survive, and to do its job. Some people who were the loudest to criticise them for interfering in personal privacy were also the loudest to accuse them if a bomb were undetected and eminent people were killed or maimed for the misfortune of being in the wrong place at the wrong time.
It was a matter of scale.
Graves had accused Pitt of colluding in murder to benefit his own position. That stung to the point that Daniel would see him hang with pleasure!
No, perhaps that was exaggeration. But he would certainly have beaten the daylights out of him with considerable satisfaction. Should he even be trying to find cause for an appeal, given the circumstances? Daniel was compromised. He would be excluded from defending Graves in court again.
Did Marcus know that too?
What in hell was he playing at?
Someone touched his elbow and he was startled. He stared at the man. It was a moment before he recognised it was the ticket collector.
‘Oh – what did you say?’ he asked.
‘Your ticket, sir,’ the man repeated. ‘Sorry to disturb you, sir.’
Daniel hunted in his pocket and could not remember whether he had bought a ticket or not. The man waited patiently. Daniel retrieved it and handed it to him. He clipped it and passed it back.
When he arrived at Lincoln’s Inn and went into the chambers of fford Croft and Gibson, he asked Impney, the chief clerk, if he could see Mr fford Croft immediately. He added that he had just returned from Mr Graves’ house. He waited impatiently, and Impney returned in less than five minutes to say that Mr fford Croft would see him straight away.
Marcus fford Croft looked perfectly composed, if a little earnest, when Daniel walked into his study.
‘Sit down, dear boy, and tell me what you have learned,’ he invited him. ‘Thank you, Impney. See that we are not disturbed.’
‘Certainly, sir,’ Impney replied, leaving the room and closing the door quietly behind him.
‘Good morning, sir.’ Daniel sat down opposite the desk. He wondered briefly if everyone else had been so uncomfortable in what was supposed to be an easy chair.
‘What have you to report?’ fford Croft asked. ‘You look troubled. I imagine the household were not able to be particularly helpful.’ He looked bland, as if he had resigned himself to bad news. Maybe he was placing all his hopes on Kitteridge.
‘They were as helpful as they could be, sir.’ Daniel replied. ‘Their hospitality was excellent. One can learn a lot about people from their staff, even if they mean to tell you little.’ Why was he spinning this out? They were sitting here in highly civilised fashion, as if nothing were wrong, that Ebony Graves had not been killed and then disfigured, and that Russell Graves was not going to hang, that there was no book written about people Daniel loved that was going to rip his life apart. Above all, that right now fford Croft did not know anything about it.
fford Croft leaned forward a little. ‘But did you learn anything?’ he asked with a little of his patience beginning to fray.
How much did fford Croft know already? Had he accepted the case in an attempt to control the damage Graves could do? Daniel knew that fford Croft was acquainted with his father. Had he also known Narraway? Had he some motive for involving Daniel in this particular case?
Daniel could read nothing in his face.
He must answer.
‘Do you know what the book is about that Graves was writing, sir? And if he is granted an appeal, that he will then complete and publish?’
fford Croft’s white eyebrows rose. ‘Does it really matter now? It’s a biography of someone, but I don’t know of whom.’
‘Victor Narraway, Head of Special Branch before my father,’ Daniel said. He did not mean his voice to sound so grating, but he could not control it. ‘It purports to be an exposé – of corruption, greed, manipulation, blackmail, and extortion . . .’
Either fford Croft had not known, or he was the most superb actor alive.
‘And the Lady Vespasia,’ Daniel went on. ‘As the most skilled and dramatic whore in the European aristocracy. Furthermore—’
‘Stop!’ fford Croft’s voice was hoarse. ‘Stop this moment! What on earth are you saying?’
Brilliant actor or not, no one could make blood drain from their skin the way fford Croft’s had done now. He was almost grey.
‘And it says that my father is also corrupt,’ Daniel continued. ‘Promoted so that Narraw
ay could continue to use him, more or less to manipulate him, to run the Special Branch.’
‘That is nonsense!’ fford Croft shook his head. ‘Are you sure you did not misunderstand—’
‘Yes, I’m quite sure.’ Daniel cut across him in a way he would not have dared even a day ago. ‘I’ve read his notes. They are incontestable.’
‘The staff let you?’
‘They imagined I was there to save him, if it is possible. They know that you are his lawyer. That is your job.’ He looked straight at fford Croft without flickering or lowering his eyes.
fford Croft said nothing.
‘What is my job, sir?’ Daniel asked. ‘To save the man, if I can? To see if he is being framed by Special Branch, or someone in it? Do we expose this frame, break it? Or is my job to see that it fits, and he’s hanged, and his notes destroyed? All I have done so far is make sure they say what they seem to, lock them away and ask the butler to secure the study door, so no one else reads them.’
fford Croft stared at him as if he were some dangerous creature that had materialised before him without warning. He looked flustered, suddenly very much older and utterly confused.
Daniel felt guilty for talking to him this way. He could not now say he had not suspected fford Croft of some sort of complicity; it was all too plain in his manner that he had. It would add insult to injury for him to pretend.
‘This is appalling!’ fford Croft breathed out slowly. He seemed to have shrunk in his chair. ‘I . . . I had no idea . . .’
Daniel had no right to ask, but he needed to know. ‘Why did you take this case, sir? We had very little chance of winning it. The evidence is overwhelmingly against Graves, and I didn’t find anything to mitigate it at all, except that he had enemies, well-deserved ones.’ He did not add that he refused to believe Special Branch had framed him to silence him, although as it filled his mind, he knew the first suspicion would fall on his father, but it might extend further as well. His colleagues were very loyal to him and to the service in general. Or perhaps the detail Graves gave implicated others even beyond Special Branch.
fford Croft was biting his lip. He seemed to be having some difficulty in deciding what to say. He looked at Daniel, but Daniel did not look away, even though he now was embarrassed, even sorry for his employer. That might be something fford Croft would not forgive, from anyone, let alone someone as junior as Daniel. This could be the end of his job. How would he explain that to his father?
But then that might be the least of his worries.
‘A long time ago,’ fford Croft began, ‘thirty years, perhaps – it doesn’t matter now; some things are timeless . . .’
Daniel sat without moving.
‘. . . I knew Graves’ father. He and I were friends.’ fford Croft looked down at the desk. ‘He got into a spot of trouble. Rather serious trouble. I was newly qualified then, but I was good. I had a few notable victories. Not unlike you, maybe, in a year or two.’ His smile was sad, regretful. ‘He asked me for my help. I . . . I let him down. I made a mistake. Not a big one, but enough to lose the case. He was guilty, I knew that. But there were mitigating circumstances. In defending Russell now, I’m repaying that old debt.’
The seconds ticked by, and then he looked up at Daniel at last. ‘I owe him this much. It is as simple as that. And before you say so, I know that my chief obligation is to the law, and not to what I may consider my own idea of justice. Andrew Graves lost everything. He need not have, had I been wiser and more diligent. I owe Russell Graves the best effort I have, even if I despise him personally and think him guilty. We are not judge or jury, Pitt. We are advocates. Russell Graves never told me he was guilty of his wife’s death. He has always insisted he was not. It is my job before the law to defend him to the best of my ability. And that means of yours, too. This other . . . is monstrous. I know nothing of it. But it does not mean he killed his wife. In fact, it gives sufficient motive to several others to raise reasonable doubt. We have let him down also.’
‘No, sir!’ Daniel said loudly. ‘He knew he was writing such a book. He did not tell any of us. I can well see why he did not tell me, but in honesty he should have told you.’
‘I have known your father for years, Pitt, not well, but well enough to know that the suggestions you say Graves makes are not true. Unfortunately, the public does not know what Special Branch does. They do not know of all the disasters they prevent. That is the nature of the office.’
‘And we are going to use it to seek another trial? Or is it too late?’
fford Croft’s face lit with a bitter humour. ‘That is surely the last thing you want? Apart from destroying your father’s reputation, to open up the security services to such public review would be little short of treason. We cannot even mention it in open court. And Russell Graves must have known that.’
‘Then wouldn’t it be treasonous to publish this book?’ Daniel asked.
‘Possibly, but it could be veiled in such implication as merely to be libellous, although Victor Narraway is dead, and so is Lady Vespasia. They cannot sue; one cannot libel the dead. And if Thomas Pitt decided to sue for libel, because Graves called him deceitful or corrupt, it would be pointless. Once you have lost the public’s confidence, you cannot regain it.’
‘Why would Graves write such a thing?’
‘Possibly for money,’ fford Croft said wearily ‘To draw attention to himself. To have some imagined revenge.’ He shrugged. ‘It doesn’t matter. The thing is to see that it is not published. And hanging him will not necessarily do that. There may be other pages, notes that the publisher already has.’
A coldness settled around Daniel’s chest, almost too tightly for him to breathe. ‘Apart from that, sir, if he did not kill Ebony Graves, then who did?’
Marcus looked at him.
‘He could defend himself, sir,’ Daniel went on, ‘by saying he was being made to look guilty by someone in Special Branch. That would be his ultimate revenge. He can say that to anyone – to Kitteridge, next time he sees him. To an appeal judge, if we get an appeal. Even to a journalist! I suppose he could raise his father’s case and say that you are trying to silence him . . . if he’s desperate enough.’
fford Croft started to speak, then faltered to a stop.
Daniel said nothing.
fford Croft began again. ‘Do you want to be released from this case, Pitt?’
‘No!’ The answer was instant, and not thought out.
This time, it was fford Croft who was silent.
‘No,’ Daniel said again, leaning forward a little towards the desk. ‘I have established a relationship . . . with the household of Russell Graves. I care what happens to his children. I gave them my word. And . . . and for my father. At least I know his nature, and that includes his integrity. And I can’t leave finding this to someone else. My father may have made mistakes. It’s a very difficult job, and there’s not always a right and a wrong. I had . . . I have to know as much as I can to defend him, if it ever comes to that. I can’t go and bury my head in the sand. This isn’t going to go away, especially as we are trying to prove that Graves did not, in fact, kill his wife,’ Daniel said.
‘Yes,’ fford Croft agreed. ‘But at least let us say we have to find the truth. If it exonerates Graves of his wife’s murder, then it might well implicate someone else. To summarise, it would seem to be either someone in the house, or someone who was allowed in by one of the servants. The police are certain there was no break-in. Of the people in the house, Graves himself is most likely. The alternatives are only the servants, or one of the children. Arthur is in a wheelchair. By every account we have, Sarah and her mother were close. There is no word of any quarrel at all, let alone one terrible enough for a girl to have killed her mother and then burned her face and hair, till she was barely recognisable.’
fford Croft’s voice held level, but Daniel knew the intensity of self-control he was exercising, because he saw the white knuckles of the hand resting on his desk and the
pulse beating in his temple.
‘Yes, sir,’ Daniel said quietly. All the time his mind was racing over what he could remember about his father and Special Branch. He had memories of conversations. Mention of crime, often murder, of pretence and deceit. He could remember bombings, and his father coming home desperate to stop them. Frightened people wanted quick answers. If Pitt had taught him anything, it was that there were many sides to any story.
As Daniel had grown older, he had begun to realise how difficult it was to make a judgement, and that the answer often contained tragedy as much as any intentional evil. It was so much easier to be angry, to blame, rather than be drenched with pity.
‘I have an idea,’ fford Croft said. ‘First, we must go back to the beginning. The police didn’t give us much to go on. We need to know more about the science.’
‘What science, sir? Fingerprints aren’t going to help us. Everybody’s prints are all over the place,’ Daniel pointed out.
‘There is more to the science of forensics than that,’ fford Croft answered. ‘My daughter has studied medicine . . . and chemistry. Her name is Miriam. I’ve asked her to come in. Tell her what we have, and see if she has any ideas. Don’t be put off by her. She’s clever. Very clever, although her achievements are not recognised among her male peers and she was not awarded her degrees although she passed all her examinations.’
Daniel said nothing. He couldn’t imagine that this was going to turn up any new evidence.
‘I’ll let you know when Miriam’s here. We’ve only got another seventeen days left after today!’
‘Yes . . . sir.’ Daniel stood up slowly. He wanted to say something else, but his mind was whirling like a dust storm, everything banging into each other: Arthur in his chair, with the exquisite birds, all wings and dreams on his walls; the blood and the scorched carpet in Ebony’s room. The servants facing the break-up of the only family they knew. Graves’ pointless words about the people Daniel loved the most. And fford Croft wanted to call in his daughter, who was a doctor and a chemist!