Traitors Gate

by Anne Perry

  If she perceived it in him, she did not say so. Charlotte could be the most wildly tactless of people at times. And yet when she loved someone, her commitment was such that she could keep any secret, and refrain from judgment in a way few people matched.

  “He is the last man to have taken laudanum at all,” he said earnestly. “But even if he had, for some reason we know nothing of, I can’t let them say he was senile. It’s—it’s an indignity.”

  “I know.” She reached out her hand and took his. “You don’t speak of him often, but I do know you feel very deeply for him. But regardless of that, it is an injustice one should not let by for anyone at all.” Her eyes were troubled and for the first time since he had begun, she was uncertain of his reaction. “But Thomas …”

  “What?”

  “Don’t let emotion …” She chose the word carefully, leaving the implication of guilt unsaid, although he was certain she knew that was what he felt. “Don’t let emotion prompt you into rushing in without thought and preparation. They are not enemies you can afford to take lightly. They have no honor in the way they fight. They won’t give you a second chance because you are bereaved, or rash, or motivated by loyalty. Once they realize you mean to fight them, they will try to provoke you into those very mistakes. I know you will remember Sir Arthur’s death, and that will fire you to want to beat them: but also remember the way in which they killed him, how successful it was for their purposes, and how completely ruthless.”

  She shivered and looked increasingly unhappy, as if her own words had frightened her. “If they will do that to one of their own, imagine what they will do to an enemy, like you.” She looked for a moment as if she were going to add something—perhaps a plea for him to think again, to weigh the chances of achieving anything—but she changed her mind. Probably she knew it would be pointless now, of all times. He did not suspect her of duplicity ever—she had not the heart for it, nor the temper—but possibly she was learning a little tact.

  He answered the unspoken question. “I have to,” he said gently. “The alternative is intolerable.”

  She did not say anything, but held his hand more tightly, and sat still beside him for a long time.

  In the morning Matthew slept late and Charlotte and Pitt were already at breakfast when he came into the dining room. Jemima and Daniel were already dressed and had walked to school with Gracie. This was a new task in which she took great satisfaction, stretching up to every fraction of her four feet eleven inches and smiling graciously to people she either knew or considered she would like to know. Charlotte suspected she also had a brief word with the butcher’s assistant on the corner on her return, but that was neither here nor there. He seemed quite a respectable youth. Charlotte had made a point of going in on one or two occasions herself, in order to have a good look at him and estimate his character.

  Matthew looked rested, but there were still dark circles of shock under his eyes, and his thick brown hair with its fair streak across the brow looked tousled and ill cut, although it was probably only the result of having combed it with haste and inattention.

  The usual courtesies were exchanged and Charlotte offered him bacon, eggs, kidneys, and toast and marmalade. Automatically she poured tea for him and he drank it while it was still too hot, burning his mouth.

  After several minutes of companionable silence, Charlotte excused herself and withdrew to the kitchen about some domestic chore, and Matthew looked up at Pitt.

  “There’s something else I really ought to speak to you about,” he said with his mouth full.

  “Yes?”

  “This is in your official capacity.” He took another sip of the tea, this time more carefully. “And mine too.”

  “The Foreign Office?” Pitt was startled.

  “Yes. It’s Africa again.” He frowned in concentration. “I don’t know if you know anything about our treaties … no? Well it doesn’t matter a lot for what I’m going to say. But we did make an agreement with Germany four years ago in 1886, and we are looking towards another this summer. Of course it’s all been altered by Bismarck’s losing power and the young Kaiser taking over everything. He’s got this wretched fellow Carl Peters, who is as sharp as a knife and tricky as a load of monkeys. And Salisbury not making up his mind what he really wants doesn’t make anything easier. Half of us suppose he is still looking for British domination of a corridor from the Cape to Cairo. The other half think he prefers to let that go as too costly and too difficult.”

  “Difficult?” Pitt questioned with puzzlement.

  “Yes,” Matthew said, taking another slice of toast. “For a start it’s over three thousand miles between British South Africa and British-controlled Egypt. That means taking Sudan, Equatoria—currently held by a slippery customer called Emin Pasha—a corridor west of German East Africa: not so easy in the present climate.” He regarded Pitt seriously to make sure he was following. Then to explain more clearly he started drawing on the kitchen table with his forefinger. “The whole area north of Transvaal, and that includes Zambezia and the territories between Angola and Mozambique, is still held by native chiefs.”

  “I see,” Pitt said vaguely. “And the alternative you mentioned?”

  “Cairo to Old Calabar,” Matthew replied, biting into his toast. “Or Niger to the Nile, if you like. That’s through Lake Chad, then westwards nearly to Senegal, taking Dahomey and the Ivory Coast from the French….”

  “War?” Pitt was incredulous, and appalled.

  “No, no, of course not,” Matthew said hastily. “In exchange for the Gambia.”

  “Oh, I see.”

  “No you don’t, not yet. There’s also the question of German East Africa, where there’s been a lot of trouble, uprisings and several killings, and Heligoland….”

  “I beg your pardon?” Now Pitt was totally confused.

  “Heligoland,” Matthew repeated with his mouth full.

  “I thought Heligoland was in the North Sea. I can remember Mr. Tarbet saying it was. I’d no idea it was anywhere near Africa.”

  “It is in the North Sea, just as Tarbet said.” Mr. Tarbet had been Matthew’s tutor as a child, and thus also Pitt’s. “Ideally placed for a naval base to blockade all the principal German ports on the Rhine,” Matthew explained. “We could trade Heligoland to the Germans for some of their lands in Africa. And believe me, they would be glad enough to do that, if we managed it really well.”

  Pitt smiled wryly. “I can see that you have an extraordinary number of highly complex problems. But what exactly do you wish to consult the police over? We have no writ in Africa, or even in Heligoland.”

  “But you do in London. And London is where the Colonial Office is, and the German Embassy….”

  “Oh.” In spite of himself, Pitt was beginning to see, or to fear that he did.

  “And the British Imperial South Africa Company,” Matthew went on. “And the various banks who fund explorers and missionaries, not to mention the adventurers, both literal and financial.”

  “Unarguable,” Pitt conceded. “Why is that relevant?”

  The faint flicker of amusement died out of Matthew’s eyes and he became serious.

  “Because there is information disappearing from the Colonial Office, Thomas, and turning up in the German Embassy. We know that because of the bargaining issues the Germans are aware of, and they shouldn’t be. Sometimes they know things almost before we do in the Foreign Office. It hasn’t done any great damage yet, as far as we know, but it could very seriously jeopardize our chances of a successful treaty if it goes on.”

  “So someone in the Colonial Office is passing information to the German Embassy?”

  “I cannot see any alternative explanation.”

  “What sort of information? Could it not have come from some other source? Surely they have men in East Africa too?”

  “If you knew a little more about African affairs you wouldn’t ask that.” Matthew shrugged. “Every report one gets is different from t
he last, and most accounts are open to a dozen interpretations, especially where the native chiefs and princes are concerned, It is our Colonial Office version the Germans are getting.”

  “Information about what sort of thing?”

  Matthew drank the rest of his tea.

  “So far as we know, at the moment it is mostly about mineral deposits and trading negotiations between various factions and the native chiefs. In particular one in Zambezia called Lobengula. We were very much hoping the Germans were unaware of the stage of negotiations we had reached in that matter.”

  “But they are not?”

  “Difficult to say, but I fear not.”

  Pitt finished his own tea and poured more, helping himself to another slice of toast out of the rack. He had a deep liking for homemade marmalade. Charlotte had a way of doing it that was so pungent the flavor seemed to fill his whole head. He had observed that Matthew liked it as well.

  “You have a traitor in the Colonial Office,” he said slowly. “Who else is aware of what you have told me?”

  “My immediate superior, and the Foreign Secretary, Lord Salisbury.”

  “That’s all?”

  Matthew’s eyes widened. “Good heavens, yes. We don’t want people all over the place to know we have a spy in the Colonial Office. Nor do we want the spy himself to know we are aware of him. We need to clear up the whole matter before it does any real damage, and then keep quiet about it.”

  “I can’t work without authority,” Pitt began.

  Matthew frowned. “I will write you a letter of authority if you like. But I thought you were a superintendent now. What more authority do you need?”

  “My assistant commissioner’s, if I am to start questioning people in the Colonial Office,” Pitt replied.

  “Oh, well, him of course.”

  “You don’t believe this has any connection with the other matter, do you?”

  Matthew frowned for a moment, then his face cleared as he understood.

  “Good God, I hope not! The Inner Circle is pretty low, but I had not imagined it was involved in treason, which is what this amounts to. No. So far as I know, and from everything Father said, the Inner Circle interests are bes served by Britain remaining as powerful and as rich as possible. Britain’s loss in Africa would be theirs as well. Their robbing us is one thing; the Germans doing it is quite another.” He smiled bitterly at the irony of it. “Why do you ask? Do you think there are Inner Circle members in the Colonial Office?”

  “Probably, but I’m quite sure there are in the police. Of what rank I have no idea.”

  “As high as assistant commissioner?” Matthew asked.

  Pitt ate the last of his toast and marmalade.

  “Certainly, but I meant of what rank in the Inner Circle. The two have no connection, which is one of the things that makes it so appallingly dangerous.”

  “I don’t understand you.”

  “You can find that someone in a position of great financial or political power,” Pitt explained, “is quite junior in the Circle, and owes some kind of obedience to an Inner Circle member who appears to be nobody significant in the world. You don’t ever know where the real power lies.”

  “But surely that …” Matthew began, then trailed off, his eyes puzzled. “That would account for some very strange discoveries….” he started again. “A web of loyalties under the surface, conflicting with, and stronger than, all the ones you can see.” His face was pale and tight. “God, that’s very frightening. I hadn’t perceived it quite like that. No wonder Father was so distressed. I knew well enough why he was angry, but not the helplessness, at least not the depth of it.” He stopped and sat silent for several moments. Then he went on suddenly. “But even if it is all hopeless, I shall still try. I can’t let it … just lie like this.”

  Pitt said nothing.

  “I’m sorry.” Matthew bit his lip. “You were not trying to dissuade me, were you? I’m a little frightened of it myself. But you will take up the matter of the information from the Colonial Office?”

  “Of course. As soon as I go in to Bow Street. I assume you are making the official Foreign Office request? I may use your name?”

  “Yes, certainly.” He put his hand in his pocket and pulled out an envelope. He passed it to Pitt. “Here is a letter of authority. And Thomas … thank you.”

  Pitt did not know what to say. To brush it aside as a small matter also dismissed their friendship and reduced it to mere good manners.

  “What are you going to do now?” he asked instead.

  Matthew looked so inwardly weary, the night’s sleep, if indeed he had slept, was merely a superficial relief. He set his napkin aside and stood up.

  “There are arrangements to be made. They—” He took a deep breath. “They are having the inquest the day after tomorrow.”

  “I’ll be there.”

  “Thank you.”

  “And … the funeral?”

  “Two days after that, on the sixth. You’ll be there, won’t you? It’s in Brackley, naturally. He’ll be buried in the family vault.”

  “Of course I will.” Pitt stood up also. “Where are you going now? Back to the Hall?”

  “No. No, the inquest is here in London. I still have things to do.”

  “Is there anyone … if you want to come back here?”

  Matthew smiled. “Thank you, but I really should go and see Harriet. I …” He looked faintly embarrassed.

  Pitt waited.

  “I recently became betrothed,” Matthew went on with a faint color marking his cheeks.

  “Congratulations!” Pitt meant it. He would have been delighted for him at any time, but now it seemed particularly fortunate that he had someone who could support him and share this time of loss. “Yes of course you should see her, tell her what has happened before she sees it in some newspaper, or hears it from someone else.”

  Matthew pulled a face. “She won’t be reading newspapers, Thomas!”

  Pitt realized with a jolt that he had committed a social gaffe. Ladies did not read newspapers, except for the court circulars or fashion columns. He had become accustomed to Charlotte and her sister, Emily, who, since leaving their father’s home, accepted no restrictions whatever upon what they would read. Even Lord Ashworth, Emily’s first husband, had allowed her that unusual latitude.

  “Of course. I should have said until someone who has read a newspaper mentions it to her,” he apologized. “That would seem a thoughtless way of allowing her to hear of it. I am sure she would wish to be every support to you that she can.”

  “Yes … I …” Matthew shrugged. “It seems so heartless to be happy in any respect now….”

  “Nonsense!” Pitt said fervently. “Sir Arthur would be the first person to wish you any comfort you can find, and happiness too. You really don’t need me to assure you of that. You must know it for yourself, unless you have forgotten completely what manner of man he was.” It seemed strange and painful to speak of him in the past, and suddenly without warning he was caught by grief again.

  Matthew must have felt something of the same emotion. His face was very pale.

  “Of course. I … can’t … just yet. But I will go and see her, of course. She is a very fine woman, Thomas. You will like her. She is the daughter of Ransley Soames, at the Treasury.”

  “Again, congratulations!” Pitt held out his hand; it was an automatic gesture.

  Matthew took it, smiling briefly.

  “Now we had both better go,” Pitt said. “I to Bow Street, and then to the Colonial Office.”

  “Yes indeed. I must find Mrs. Pitt and thank her for her hospitality. I wish … I wish you had brought her to meet Father, Thomas. He would have liked her….” He swallowed hard and turned away to hide his sudden loss of control.

  “So do I,” Pitt agreed intensely. “It is one of the many things I shall regret.” He went out of the room tactfully, to permit Matthew the privacy in which to compose himself. And he went upstairs to look f
or Charlotte.

  In the Bow Street police station he was fortunate to find Assistant Commissioner Giles Farnsworth present. He came only occasionally, being in command of a very considerable area, and this was an unusual time for him to visit. Pitt had expected to reach him only after a considerable effort.

  “Ah, good morning, Pitt,” Farnsworth said briskly. He was a handsome man in a smooth, well-bred manner, with sleek fair hair, clean-shaven face, and clear, very level blue-gray eyes. “Glad you are here in good time. Nasty robbery last night in Great Wild Street. Lady Warburton’s diamonds stolen. Haven’t got a full list yet, but Sir Robert will have it ready by midday. Most unpleasant. See to it personally, will you. I promised Sir Robert I’d have my best man on it.” He did not bother to look at Pitt to receive his answer. It was an order, not a suggestion.

  When Micah Drummond had retired he had recommended Pitt to take his place with such fervor that Farnsworth had accepted it, but with considerable reservations. Pitt was not a gentleman, as Drummond had been, nor had he any previous experience of commanding men, such as a commissioned rank in the army, again, as Drummond had had. Farnsworth was accustomed to working with men of Drummond’s social rank in the position of superintendent. It made matters so much easier. They understood each other, they knew the rules as lesser men do not, and they were comfortable as something approaching equals.

  Pitt would never be socially equal with Farnsworth, and there would never be friendship between them. The fact that Drummond had regarded Pitt as a friend was one of those inexplicable lapses that even gentlemen make from time to time. Although usually it was with people who had some particular skill or art to recommend them, such as the breeding of fine horses, or the design of a great garden with follies, parterres of box or lavender, or some brilliant new mechanical device for waterfalls and fountains. Pitt had never before encountered anyone who had such a lapse of judgment over a professional junior.