Twenty-One Days

by Anne Perry

  ‘We can’t prove he caused them, can we?’ Daniel held only the faintest hope, but it was worth asking. ‘Someone must know!’

  ‘The lady’s maid probably does. Except he would have got rid of her. I’ll wager you that she has had a series of maids.’

  ‘Wouldn’t she want to keep them, to look after her? She must have wanted someone to trust,’ he insisted.

  She rolled her eyes, in momentary exasperation. ‘Daniel, for heaven’s sake, she wouldn’t hire the servants! He would! And he’d get rid of a maid who knew too much, whether she was brave or rash enough to say so or not.’

  Daniel had a sudden, searing impression of Ebony’s loneliness. What a façade she must have kept from society, from her friends, the people beside whom she fought for the same issues she cared about, and even from her servants.

  How many of them knew anyway, and were too tactful to let her see? Or too afraid? He felt almost overwhelmed with his revulsion for the man! ‘We have to prove it. We can’t let him go back to that again. And Sarah—’

  ‘I wish we could let him hang,’ Miriam said seriously, the light completely gone from her face. ‘But we can’t.’ She looked at him intently. ‘What are you going to do, Daniel?’

  ‘I cannot leave it any longer before telling Kitteridge, whose case this is. And I have to tell Mr fford Croft when I am certain I know what proof I have of anything. But . . .’ He stopped. He wanted to tell her more about the biography, which was always on his mind. He struggled for a way to tell her without admitting that there was some strong element of truth in the accusations about his father – at least about the things that Narraway had known about vulnerable people, people who had made mistakes somewhere, and thus had given a lifetime as hostages to fortune. His father had said there was such a file. One could not work in Special Branch without learning some people’s secrets, at least. It was judgement, a balancing act, weighing one person’s happiness against perhaps someone else’s life.

  Were all Narraway’s judgements right? Were anybody’s?

  Daniel did not want to be in a position to judge anyone, least of all those he cared for, and had never before questioned. Were most people like that? See kindly those you loved, and less kindly anyone you disliked? That was unfair. It was unkind, and impractical. And it was not the law. The very essence of justice was that it was impartial. How often was affection wrong?

  In practical terms, what damage could Graves’ book do to Special Branch and its ability to hold the power it needed in order to perform its functions? Could he possibly report it from his father’s point of view, no matter how much he might wish to? Somebody had told him that a good portion of wisdom was humility; he could not remember who.

  He would see his father, and speak to him. Warn him, if nothing else. But before that, he must see Kitteridge. He owed him that much.

  He found Kitteridge in the law library, where Impney had said he would be. He recognised Kitteridge’s awkward figure as soon as he entered the reading room. He was bent over a huge table and he appeared uncomfortable, because his elbows stuck out and his jacket puckered at the shoulders. He was deep in concentration. Daniel had reached him and his shadow lay across the page before Kitteridge looked up.

  ‘What do you want?’ he whispered. ‘I’ve got the publisher for you, but nothing more.’ His face looked tired and disappointed, rather than angry. He was senior in position, as well as age; it was his duty to lead the way.

  ‘I have something,’ Daniel said.

  ‘Oh, yes?’ Kitteridge rubbed his eyes. ‘What?’ He was trying to be polite, but there was no interest in his voice.

  ‘Come and have a cup of tea,’ Daniel suggested. ‘And I’ll tell you.’

  Kitteridge looked weary. ‘We haven’t time for cups of tea. There are only eight and a half days left to get the appeal in! Can’t you count?’

  ‘It will be enough, if you listen to me and help,’ Daniel said urgently. He did not mean to crow. He needed Kitteridge’s help if he were to trap Graves without letting his book be published, and that was far more important to him than anything Kitteridge was pursuing.

  Kitteridge stood up awkwardly; his legs had been too long to fold easily underneath the stool.

  They walked out of the reading room in silence, along the hallway, out of the double doors and into the street. Kitteridge was not prepared to listen until they had reached the tea room and had sat down.

  ‘What is it?’ he said at last.

  ‘Graves isn’t guilty of killing Ebony,’ Daniel insisted. ‘It’s beyond any doubt at all – because Ebony isn’t dead.’

  Kitteridge’s face tightened. ‘I’m not in the mood for humour, Pitt. They’re going to hang Graves, unless we find a way to take this to appeal.’

  ‘Ebony isn’t dead,’ Daniel repeated. ‘The dead woman was Winifred Graves, his first wife – well, only wife, as it happens. Graves was a bigamist. She found out about the inheritance and came to cash in on it—’

  ‘Damn!’ Kitteridge said savagely. ‘Then who killed her? Ebony? I can’t entirely blame her! God damn him!’

  ‘It was an accident,’ Daniel said earnestly. ‘And I think we can prove it. By the way, her X-rays show that she was pretty consistently beaten over twenty years. Scars, too. And I want to put him in prison for bigamy.’

  ‘An accident? We’ll have to work hard to prove that. Ebony had every reason to kill this woman.’ Kitteridge’s face was twisted in an odd expression of pity. He believed it, and it hurt him.

  Daniel liked him the better for it. ‘It won’t be easy,’ he admitted. ‘But we have to try. Much as we might like to, we can’t hang him for killing a woman we know is alive.’

  ‘It would be deeply embarrassing for him when his first wife showed up. I don’t suppose there’s any chance he killed her, is there?’ Kitteridge asked hopefully.

  ‘No, unfortunately not. He’d have dealt with it before now, and made sure Ebony paid for it, or someone else other than himself. Got rid of the body, probably. It’s about the only sensible thing.’

  ‘But there was a body, we know, so Ebony didn’t do that?’ Kitteridge said.

  ‘That’s why it was burned,’ Daniel pointed out. ‘To pass it off as her.’

  ‘And have Graves hang. Nice.’ From Kitteridge’s face, it was impossible to know how much the last was said sarcastically, and how much bitterly. ‘Why are you telling me now?’

  ‘Because I need your help.’

  ‘Marcus will probably take this case himself. He was pretty outstanding in his day. One last hurrah, and all that,’ Kitteridge said.

  ‘Possibly,’ Daniel agreed. ‘With your assistance. Anyway, let us just get him to see that Graves is charged with bigamy, for the family’s sake. Once his first wife’s existence is established, they’re pretty well ruined anyway. But there’s something else I must do, and it’s even more important to me than . . .’

  Kitteridge was about to protest, but he saw something in Daniel’s face, perhaps in his eyes. ‘But?’

  ‘This book he’s writing,’ Daniel said quietly. ‘I told you it’s an exposé of several people, but mostly two people I care about, even if they’re dead now, and of course, my father, who is very much alive.’

  ‘You mentioned Lord Narraway and his wife . . .’

  ‘Lady Vespasia Cumming-Gould—’

  ‘Lady Vespasia Narraway,’ Kitteridge corrected.

  ‘Most of my life I knew her as Lady Vespasia Cumming-Gould.’

  Kitteridge’s eyes widened. ‘You knew her? Really?’

  ‘Yes, my parents knew her very well. I’ve got to find a way from stopping this book from coming out before we reveal that Graves is innocent, at least of killing Ebony. Guilty of bigamy isn’t enough.’

  ‘Any idea how you’re going to do it?’ Kitteridge went on.

  ‘Not really . . . only vaguely . . . there isn’t long.’

  ‘That’s an understatement.’

  ‘What would you like me to do?’ a
sked Daniel, a little more tartly than he intended.

  ‘Don’t tell fford Croft just yet. I mean . . . wait until tomorrow. Late tomorrow.’

  Daniel would have said later than that, but it was unfair to ask that of Kitteridge. It was his job, too, and he did not owe Pitt anything, either Daniel or his father.

  Kitteridge stared at him.

  Daniel looked back. ‘Sorry,’ he apologised. ‘I suppose I want you to look up all the details of his first marriage. All I know is that it was over twenty years ago, within a hundred miles of here, and her name was Winifred Carter. It would look idiotic if it turns out to be have been invalidated, or even annulled.’

  ‘Or even non-existent,’ Kitteridge pointed out. ‘Don’t worry. It’s not so very hard. It would help if I knew either the date or the place, but I’ll find it. To know the parish would be too easy. It’s just a matter of swotting up the books. Unless it wasn’t the first marriage after all and he was a bigamist twice over!’ He saw Daniel’s expression. ‘Winifred is not such a common name. Just be glad it’s not Mary or Elizabeth. We’ve still got a week – roughly. Although that’s cutting it very fine indeed.’

  ‘Too fine!’

  ‘Then get out of here and start seeing Special Branch, or whatever.’ Kitteridge gave a twisted smile, both wry and warm. ‘By the way, the publisher’s name is on your desk.’

  Daniel acknowledged his gratitude with an answering smile, and went out.

  Daniel caught a cab and directed the driver to Lisson Grove. He would stop a block or two short of his father’s offices at Special Branch. It was a habit to conceal the address so ingrained in him he did it without thought. If Pitt were not in, he would wait for him. At least he had been there often enough he would not have to explain who he was, or for that matter, why he was there. They knew enough not to ask him questions.

  In the cab, he sat back and thought about exactly what he would tell his father, whom he would visit, and what it would be better if he did not know. By the time he was there, he was certain.

  When he was inside, he explained to his father’s deputy his need to see Pitt. It was a further ten minutes before the junior Home Office minister left Pitt’s room and Daniel was called in.

  ‘I’m sorry, Father, but it’s very urgent, and it is Special Branch business,’ he said again before he sat down.

  Pitt smiled with bleak amusement, but his face was grave. ‘I assumed as much,’ he responded. ‘You have insufficient evidence to persuade Graves not to publish. The fact that the man was hanged will make it so much more appealing. I foresaw that.’

  ‘No,’ Daniel shook his head. ‘But at least I know no one from Special Branch killed Mrs Graves . . .’

  ‘Are you certain, or do you hope?’ Clearly Pitt was not yet assured.

  ‘Positive. She isn’t dead.’

  Pitt frowned. ‘Her skull was cracked and her face and upper body disfigured by fire, and she’s not dead?’ His disbelief was too heavy for even the faintest smile.

  ‘No – it wasn’t Mrs Graves. At least it was . . . the first Mrs Graves, not the current one.’

  ‘Daniel?’

  ‘I know! Let me tell you.’ He went on to give Pitt the briefest account he could that covered the facts. ‘But I’ll get him for bigamy. Seven years, if possible. I would keep him there for twenty, if the law allowed it.’

  ‘But it would still sell the book, probably even more copies,’ Pitt said quietly.

  ‘Yes,’ Daniel said miserably. ‘I’ve got very few days left to discredit him enough to stop publication. I wish I could bring it to you accomplished, I don’t know where to begin, or how to do it in time. I don’t know where Graves got much of his information from, or how to find out in time.’ He drew in a deep breath and then let it out again. He hated this.

  Pitt waited. And it seemed he was not going to help. He must know what Daniel was going to say!

  ‘Did you do anything?’ Daniel asked instead. ‘You said you were going to.’

  ‘I found out as much as I can,’ Pitt replied. His face was utterly without the light of humour. ‘He appears to be a man who keeps his promises when it suits him, but always keeps his threats. But if you were asking, did I find a weapon against him, no I didn’t. I didn’t even find the one you did! Have you proof?’ It was asked softly, not even a shred of implied criticism.

  Daniel wondered why. Was Pitt too gentle with him because he was his father? Did Daniel not have to meet the same standard as anyone else?

  ‘I’ve got Kitteridge looking,’ he replied, trying to keep the emotion out of his tone. ‘All we know about her is her name, Winifred Carter, and that she married Graves well over twenty years ago. And I suppose, less than forty. That’s a very wide window. That much is proved, and we shouldn’t take anything for granted, and certainly not trust Graves over anything. What I was going to say was, have you any information in your secret papers – Narraway’s secret papers – that can help?’ He felt himself blush that he could say such a thing. A week ago, he wouldn’t even have imagined it. Perhaps his integrity was perfect, only so long as he didn’t have to use it?

  ‘I don’t believe Narraway ever used his knowledge to save himself. And whether he did or not is irrelevant to whether I would. What do you suggest? That I threaten to ruin people if they don’t help me suppress the book?’

  Daniel was hurt. ‘No! Of course not. But some of them might be in it. If they knew, they might have the power to suppress the book for their own sakes. Graves must make specific charges, or it will be too vague to be worth anything as an exposé. He’ll ruin specific people for specific . . . weaknesses, failings, even crimes not prosecuted, ones on which the statute of limitations has not run out. Things that are not crimes, just scandals or tragedies. They’ll have to pay for old griefs all over again, innocent or guilty. He’s . . .’ Daniel would not use the word he was thinking of in front of his father.

  Now, Pitt smiled twistedly, but there was humour in it. ‘I agree,’ he said quietly. ‘And in a way, he would be fulfilling exactly what he says of us.’

  ‘So, we do nothing!’ Daniel could not keep his anger hidden.

  ‘No. You have only a few days left. You must use them well—’

  ‘Aren’t you going to do anything?’ Daniel cut across him.

  ‘When you give me the facts, I will, if there’s anything I can do.’

  ‘They were your friends! I can remember them sitting in the kitchen at home, half the night—’

  ‘You were in bed.’

  Daniel was unabashed. ‘I wasn’t! You thought I was, and Jemima, but we sat on the stairs and listened.’

  ‘Did you, indeed?’

  ‘Yes, we did. But that isn’t the point. You worked the cases together, you and Mama and Narraway and Aunt Vespasia. Gracie was there for the early ones, too. You fought the same battles, and even if you thought were going to lose, you never gave up. That’s what friendship is about – winning or losing together because you believe in the same causes. You can’t sit back now and let them be ruined by this . . . this . . . this guttersnipe! You—’

  ‘I won’t,’ Pitt interrupted him. ‘But if I let Graves drive me to use the very weapon he is accusing Narraway of using, then he has won.’

  ‘And Aunt Vespasia? Are you going to let him call her no better than a whore?’ Daniel demanded.

  A faint blush stained Pitt’s cheeks. ‘And if I react with anger like yours, what do you suppose he will think, and no doubt will say?’

  For a moment, Daniel did not understand, then it came in a flood, and he, too, felt the blood in his cheeks. ‘That you, too . . .’ He could not bring himself to say the words, not of his own father. Thoughts were one thing, words another. He swallowed hard, almost a gulp. ‘Then we must find someone who really did use such a weapon, and is not ashamed of it. Someone powerful, who would crucify Graves for making it public,’ he began.

  ‘Not quite,’ Pitt argued.

  ‘Why not? If you don’t, then I
will!’

  ‘Not crucify Graves. With any luck, you will send him to prison for bigamy. It will be far more effective to crucify the publisher.’

  Daniel shut his eyes. ‘Of course! How could I have been so . . . stupid?’

  ‘You’re a beginner at this,’ Pitt said gently. ‘Find the people who cared about Vespasia, or who could not afford to have their parents’ frailties exposed. And find all the people whom he said Narraway blackmailed, and we’ll see which charges are the most useful to us. Preferably, those that are false: the possibility of law suits may make the publishers change their mind very quickly.’

  ‘Wouldn’t they check anyway?’ Daniel said reasonably. ‘I imagine they would have to look true, or be half true, for Graves to get away with it. Many famous people have weaknesses. He wouldn’t put in those he knew who could prove themselves innocent.’

  ‘Some of the charges may be true,’ Pitt agreed. ‘You need a few that are untrue, or which may spread further and wider than the intended target, and the publishers will thank you. They have interests, too. Read the manuscript, and tell me. We haven’t long. So, move quickly, but carefully. We cannot afford mistakes.’

  Daniel stood up slowly. He was relieved, he was determined, but most of all he was filled with respect for his father, even admiration. It was like sweet wine, almost a little heady. ‘Yes, Father – I will!’

  Chapter Nineteen

  Daniel went back to his lodgings and asked Mrs Portiscale if he could have sandwiches and a pot of tea in his room. He assured her that he was perfectly well, just had a mountain of work to get through.

  And he had. When he took the manuscript out of its box, there were over four hundred pages of it. He put it down carefully on the bedside table. It was roughly formed notes, rather than narrative. If he dropped it, it might take him the rest of the night to put it back in order. It was a daunting task. Exactly what was he looking for? Names of important people who might still care about Vespasia, or Narraway: people whose reputations could be injured.