by Anne Perry
‘He was. . killed?’ Croxdale said.
‘At that speed, sir, there can be no doubt.’
Croxdale leaned back. ‘How absolutely fearful.’ He let out his breath slowly. ‘You are right, of course. We had a traitor at Lisson Grove. I am profoundly grateful that it was he and not you who went over onto the tracks. Why on earth did you not tell me this as soon as you returned?’
‘Because I hoped to learn who was the man behind Gower before I told you,’ Pitt answered.
Croxdale’s face went white. ‘Behind. . Gower?’ he said awkwardly.
‘I don’t yet know,’ Pitt admitted. ‘Not for certain. I never found evidence one way or the other whether Frobisher was the power behind a new socialist uprising, perhaps violent, or only a dilettante playing on the edge of the real plot.’
‘We don’t assume it is trivial,’ Croxdale said quickly. ‘If Gower. . I still find it hard to credit. . but if Gower murdered two people, and attempted to murder you also, then it is very real indeed.’ He bit his lip. ‘I assume from what you say that you did not tell Austwick this?’
‘No. I believe someone made it appear that Narraway was guilty of embezzlement in order to get him out of the way, discredit him so deeply that anything he said against them would be disbelieved.’
‘Who? Someone to do with Frobisher? Or Gower again?’
‘Neither Frobisher nor Gower had the ability,’ Pitt pointed out. ‘That has to be someone in Lisson Grove, someone with a considerable amount of power in order to have access to the details of Narraway’s banking arrangements.’
Croxdale was staring at him, his face drawn, cheeks flushed. ‘I see. Yes, of course you are right. Then this socialist plot seems very deep. Perhaps this Frobisher is as dangerous as you first thought, and poor West was killed to prevent you from learning the full extent of it. No doubt Gower kept you along with him when he went to France so you could be duped into believing Frobisher harmless, and sending that misinformation back to London.’ He smiled bleakly, just for an instant. ‘Thank God you were clever enough to see through it, and agile enough to survive his attack on you. You are the right man for this job, Pitt. Whatever else he may be guilty of, Narraway did well when he brought you into the Service.’
Pitt felt he should thank him for the compliment, and for his trust, but he wanted to argue and say how little he was really suited to it. He ended by inclining his head, thanking Croxdale briefly, and moving on to the more pressing problem of the present.
‘We need to know very urgently, sir, what information Gower himself may have passed back to London, and — more specifically — to whom. I don’t know who I can trust.’
‘No,’ Croxdale said thoughtfully. ‘No, neither do I. We need to look at this a great deal more closely, Pitt. Austwick has reported to me at least three times since Narraway left. I have the papers here. We need to go through all this information and you must tell me what you know to be accurate, or inaccurate, and what we still need to test. Some picture should emerge. I’m sorry, but this may very well require all night. I’ll have someone fetch us supper.’ He shook his head. ‘God, what a miserable business.’
There was no question of argument.
Croxdale had other notes, not only of what Austwick had reported to him, but, going back further, what Narraway also had written. It was curious looking at the different papers. Austwick’s writing was neat, his notes carefully thought out and finely presented. Narraway’s Pitt viewed with a jolt of familiarity, and a new sense of how alone he was in Narraway’s place. The writing was smaller, more flowing, as if it were casual, and yet there were fewer words. There was no hesitation. He had thought before he began, and there was no attempt to conceal the fact that he was giving Croxdale only the minimum. Was that an agreement between them, and Croxdale could read between the lines? Or had Narraway simply not bothered to conceal the fact that he was telling only part of what he knew?
Pitt studied Croxdale’s face, and did not know the answer.
They read them carefully. A servant brought in a tray of light toast and pate, then cheese and finally a heavy fruit cake, along with brandy, which Pitt declined.
It was now totally dark outside. The wind was rising a little, spattering rain against the windows.
Croxdale put down the last paper. ‘Narraway obviously thought there was something to this business in Paris, but not major. Austwick seems to disagree, and thinks there is nothing but noise and posturing. Unlike Narraway, he believes it will not affect us here in Britain. What do you think, Pitt?’
It was the question Pitt had dreaded, but it was inevitable that it would come. There was no room for excuses, no matter how easy to justify. He would be judged on the accuracy of his answer. He had lain awake weighing everything he knew, hoping Croxdale’s information would top the balance one way or the other.
Again he answered with barely a hesitation. ‘I think that Narraway was on the brink of finding out something crucial, and he was got rid of before he could do so.’
Croxdale waited a long time before he answered.
‘Do you realise that if that is true, then you are also saying that Austwick is either incompetent to a most serious degree, or else — far worse than that — he is complicit in what is going on?’
‘Yes, sir, I’m afraid that has to be the case,’ Pitt agreed. ‘But Gower was reporting to someone, so we know that at least one person within the service is a traitor.’
‘I’ve known Charles Austwick for years,’ Croxdale said softly. ‘But perhaps we don’t know anyone as well as we imagine.’ He sighed. ‘I’ve sent for Stoker. Apparently he’s newly back from Ireland. He may be able to throw some light on things. Do you trust him?’
‘Yes. But I trusted Gower, so I’m not sure my opinion is worth a great deal,’ Pitt said ruefully. ‘Do you?’
Croxdale gave him a bleak smile. ‘Touche. Let’s at least see what he has to say. And the answer is “no”, I trust no one. I am painfully aware that we cannot afford to. Not after Narraway, and not, it would seem, Gower also. Are you sure you won’t have a brandy?’
‘I’m quite sure, thank you, sir.’
There was a knock on the door and, at Croxdale’s word, Stoker came in. He looked tired. There were shadows around his eyes and his face was pinched with fatigue. However, he stood to attention until Croxdale gave him permission to sit. Stoker acknowledged Pitt, but only so much as courtesy demanded.
‘When did you get back from Ireland?’ Croxdale asked him.
‘About two hours ago, sir,’ Stoker replied. ‘Weather’s a bit poor.’
‘Mr Pitt doesn’t believe the charge of embezzlement against Narraway,’ Croxdale went on. ‘He thinks it is possibly false, manufactured to get rid of him because he was on the verge of gaining information about a serious socialist plot of violence that would affect Britain.’ He was completely ignoring Pitt, his eyes fixed on Stoker so intently they might have been alone in the room.
‘Sir?’ Stoker said with amazement, but he did not look at Pitt either.
‘You worked with Narraway,’ Croxdale continued. ‘Does that seem likely to you? What is the news from Ireland now?’
Stoker’s jaw tightened as if he were labouring under some profound emotion. His face was pale as he leaned forward a little into the light. He seemed leached of colour by exhaustion. ‘I’m sorry, sir, but I can’t see any reason to question the evidence. It’s amazing what lack of money can do, and how it can change your view of things.’
Pitt felt as if he had been struck. The sting of Stoker’s words was hard enough to have been physical. He would rather it had been.
‘I see,’ Croxdale sighed. ‘And what is the state of affairs in Dublin at present?’
‘Mr Narraway is in prison accused of murdering Cormac O’Neil,’ Stoker answered.
‘Murder!’ Croxdale looked aghast.
Pitt’s thoughts were in disarray. The Narraway he knew was not a murderer. And what of Charlotte? Was she now alone a
nd frightened? Yet Pitt could not ask Stoker.
‘It seems he quarrelled with him rather publicly, making no secret of the fact he believed O’Neil to be responsible for creating the evidence that made it seem he was guilty of embezzling the money intended for Mulhare. And to be honest, that could well be true.’
‘Could it?’ Croxdale asked, a lift of hope in his voice.
‘From what I can make out, yes, sir, it could,’ Stoker replied. ‘Only problem is how he got the information he’d need to get it into Mr Narraway’s account. I’ve been trying to find the answer to that, and I think I’ll get there.’
‘Someone at Lisson Grove?’ Croxdale said.
‘No, sir,’ Stoker answered without a flicker in his face. ‘Not as far as I can see.’
Croxdale’s eyes narrowed. ‘Then who? Who else would be able to do that?’
Stoker did not hesitate. ‘Looks like it could be someone at Mr Narraway’s bank, sir. I dare say one time and another he’s made some enemies. Or it could just be someone willing to be paid. Nice to think that wouldn’t happen, but maybe a bit innocent. There’d be those with enough money to buy most things.’
‘I suppose so,’ Croxdale replied. ‘Perhaps Narraway found out already? That would explain a great deal. What other news have you from Ireland?’
Stoker told him about Narraway’s connections, who he had spoken to and their reactions, the confrontation with O’Neil at the concert. Never once did he mention Charlotte. At least some of what he described was so unlike Narraway — panicky and protective — that it seemed as if his whole character had fallen apart.
Pitt listened with disbelief and mounting anger at what he felt had to be a betrayal.
‘Thank you, Stoker,’ Croxdale said sadly. ‘A tragic end to what was a fine career. Give your report on Ireland to Mr Pitt.’
‘Yes, sir.’
Stoker left, and Croxdale turned to Pitt. ‘I think that makes the picture clearer. Gower was the traitor, which I admit I still find hard to credit, but what you say makes it impossible to deny.We may have the disaster contained, but we can’t take it for granted. Investigate as fully as you can, Pitt, and report to me. Keep an eye to what’s going on in Europe, and if there is anything we should inform the French about, then we’ll do so. In the meantime there’s plenty of other political trouble to keep us busy, but I’m sure you know that.’ He rose to his feet, extending his hand. ‘Take care of yourself, Pitt. You have a difficult and dangerous job, and your country needs you more than it will ever appreciate.’
Pitt shook his hand and thanked him, going out into the night without any awareness of the sudden chill. The coldness was already inside him. Narraway arrested for murder — it seemed unbelievable! What Stoker had said of Narraway’s bank betraying him could be true, although he did not believe it. The rest seemed a curious set of exaggerations and lies. Pitt could not accept that Narraway had fallen apart so completely, either to steal anything in the first place, or to so lose the fundamental values of his past as to behave in the way Stoker had described. And surely Stoker must at the very least have noticed Charlotte?
Or was Stoker the traitor at Lisson Grove?
He was floundering, like a man in quicksand. None of his judgements was sound. He had trusted Stoker, he had even liked Gower. Narraway he would have sworn his own life on. . He admitted, he still would do.
Croxdale’s carriage was waiting to take him home. He half saw the shadow of a man on the pavement who moved towards him, but he ignored it. The coachman opened the door for him and he climbed in, sitting miserable and shivering all the way back to Keppel Street. He was glad it was late. He did not want to make the intense effort it would cost to hide his disillusion from Daniel and Jemima. If he were fortunate, even Minnie Maude would be asleep.
In the morning he was halfway to Lisson Grove when he changed his mind and went instead to see Vespasia. It was too early for any kind of social call, but if he had to wait until she rose, then he was willing to. His need to speak with her was so urgent he was prepared to break all the rules of etiquette, even of consideration, trusting she would see his purpose beyond his discourtesy.
In fact she was already up and taking breakfast. He accepted tea, but he had no need to eat.
‘Is your new maid feeding you properly?’Vespasia asked with a touch of concern.
‘Yes,’ he answered, his own surprise coming through his voice. ‘Actually, she’s perfectly competent, and seems very pleasant. It wasn’t. .’ He saw her wry smile and stopped.
‘It wasn’t to seek recommendation for a new maid that you came at this hour of the morning,’ she finished for him. ‘What is it, Thomas? You look very troubled indeed. I assume something new has occurred?’
He told her everything that had happened since they last spoke, including Narraway’s arrest for murder and Pitt’s own dismay and disappointment over Stoker’s sudden change of loyalties, and the brutal details with which he had described Narraway’s falling apart.
‘I seem to be completely incompetent at judging anyone’s character,’ he said miserably. He would like to have been able to say it with some dry wit, but he felt so inadequate that he was afraid he sounded self-pitying.
Vespasia listened without interrupting. She poured him more tea, then grimaced that the pot was cold.
‘It doesn’t matter,’ he said quickly. ‘I don’t need more.’
‘Let us sum up the situation,’ she said gravely. ‘It would seem unarguable that you were wrong about Gower, as was everyone else at Lisson Grove, including Victor Narraway. It does not make you unusually fallible, my dear. And considering that he was your fellow in the service, you had a right to assume his loyalty. At that point it was not your job to make such decisions. Now it is.’
‘I thought Stoker was Narraway’s man too,’ he pointed out.
‘Possibly, but let us not leap to conclusions. You know only that he brought news of Victor’s arrest, and that what he reported to Gerald Croxdale about the embezzlement charge seemed to blame Victor, and also was untrue in other respects. He made no mention of Charlotte, as you observed, and yet he must have seen her. Surely his omission is one you are grateful for?’
‘Yes. . yes, of course. Although I would give a great deal to know she is safe.’ That was an understatement perhaps only Vespasia could measure.
‘Did you say anything to Croxdale about your suspicions of Austwick?’ she asked.
‘No.’ He explained how reluctant he had been to give any unnecessary trust. He had guarded everything, fearing that because Croxdale had known Austwick a long time perhaps he would be more inclined to trust him than to trust Pitt.
‘Very wise,’ she agreed. ‘Is Croxdale of the opinion that there is something very serious being planned in France?’
‘I saw nothing except a couple of faces,’ he answered. ‘And when I look back, it was Gower who told me they were Meister and Linsky. There was talk, but no more than usual. There was a rumour that Jean Jaures was coming from Paris, but he didn’t.’
Vespasia frowned. ‘Jacob Meister and Pieter Linsky? Are you sure?’
‘Yes, that’s what Gower said. I know the names, of course. But only for just one day, maybe thirty-six hours, then they left again. They certainly didn’t return to Frobisher’s.’
Vespasia looked puzzled. ‘And who said Jean Jaures was coming?’
‘One of the innkeepers, I think. The men in the cafe were talking about it.’
‘You think? A name like Jaures is mentioned and you don’t remember by whom?’ she said incredulously.
Again he was struck by his own foolishness. How easily he was duped. He had not heard it himself Gower had told him. He admitted this to Vespasia.
‘Did he mention Rosa Luxemburg?’ she asked with a slight frown.
‘Yes, but not that she was to coming to St Malo.’
‘But he mentioned her name?’
‘Yes. Why?’
‘Jean Jaures is a passionate socialist, but a
gentle man,’ she explained. ‘He was a campaigner for reform. He sought office, and on occasion gained it, but he fights for change, not for overthrow. As far as I know, he is content to keep his efforts within France. Rosa Luxemburg is different. She is Polish, now naturalised German, and of a much more international cast of mind. I have Russian emigre friends who fear that one day she will cause real violence. In some places, I’m afraid real violence is almost bound to happen. The oppression in Russia will end in tragedy.’
‘Stretching as far as Britain?’ he said dubiously.
‘No, only in so far as the world is sometimes a far smaller place than we think. There will be refugees, however. Indeed, London is already full of them.’
‘What did Gower want?’ he asked. ‘Why did he kill West? Was West going to tell me Gower was a traitor?’
‘Perhaps. But, I admit, none of it makes sufficient sense to me so far, unless there is something a great deal larger than a few changes in the laws for French workers, or a rising unease in Germany and Russia. None of this is new, and none of it worries Special Branch unduly.’
‘I wish Narraway were here,’ Pitt said with intense feeling. ‘I don’t know enough for this job. He should have regarded Austwick as his protege — unless he knows Austwick is a traitor too?’
‘I imagine that is possible.’ She was still lost in thought. ‘And if Victor is innocent, which I do not doubt, then there was a very clever and carefully thought-out plan to get both you and he out of London. Why can we not deduce what it is, and why?’
Pitt went to his office in Lisson Grove, aware as he walked along the corridors of the eyes of the other men on him, watching, waiting. Austwick’s particularly.
‘Good morning,’ Austwick said, apparently forgetting the ‘sir’ he would have added for Narraway.
‘Good morning, Austwick,’ Pitt replied a little tartly, not looking at him but going on until he reached Narraway’s office door. He realised he still thought of it as Narraway’s, just as he still thought of the position as his.