Death on Blackheath

by Anne Perry

  Pitt was the first to speak, in order to fill in the silence. He saw Vespasia in a new light, perhaps more vulnerable than she had ever allowed herself to appear before. He had taken it for granted that all doors were open to her. Now that he considered it, clearly they were not. She was well born and wealthy, perhaps. She was truly beautiful. But she was still a woman. His admiration for her, even love, had allowed him to forget that. But it would be tactless to say so now.

  “Then it seems extremely likely that Talbot is the one also seeking a kind of revenge by selling the secrets of the establishment that has denied him, on a prejudice he finds intolerable,” he observed.

  Charlotte drew in her breath as if to speak, then let it out again in silence.

  “Do you disagree?” Pitt asked.

  They all looked at her, waiting.

  Now she had no choice. “I agree that it is almost certainly Talbot,” she answered. “But I think revenge could have waited, and it will satisfy him little. To succeed would have been far better. I think his more urgent motive may have been money.”

  “Money?” Narraway repeated. “Do you know something of his affairs?”

  She smiled at him. “I’ve seen how he dresses, and I know what such suits cost Thomas. And shirts! Talbot has gold cuff links. I’ve noticed several different pairs. And shoes. And I’ve seen where he dines. I could feed my family for a week on the cost of one of his cigars. And I daresay some of the nice little trinkets that Ailsa wears were gifts from him. Whatever other arrangements lie between them, he desires her physically, and to court a woman like her, one needs to give gifts, flowers, to ride in carriages, dine at the nicest and most fashionable places. Possibly he has to compete with Dudley Kynaston, who has wealth, position, and considerable good looks. He is also charming, and socially at ease. In fact his only disadvantage is that he is already married. And, since she does not love him—in fact she hates him—that is no disadvantage at all to her.”

  Stoker stared at her, then at Pitt, then lowered his eyes.

  “I think you are perfectly right,” Vespasia agreed. “The question is, what are we going to do about it? And I believe we may not have an unlimited amount of time in which to decide.”

  “We need proof, sir.” Stoker looked at Pitt. “If he did it for revenge, I don’t know what proof there would be of that. But if Mrs. Pitt is right, and it was at least partly for money, then there will be proof. Once you know what you’re looking for, there are always tracks of money changing hands, especially if it comes from another country. And if he’s spent anything above what he earns, we can find it.”

  “He would likely imply he’d inherited the money, if anyone asked,” Pitt said, thinking about conversations with Talbot in Downing Street, trying to remember if money had ever been mentioned.

  “We can check that, too, sir,” Stoker said quickly. “I’ll do it straightaway, if you wish.”

  “Yes,” Pitt agreed, looking around the table, first to Narraway, then to Vespasia. A flicker of amusement crossed his mind at the fact that she held no office at all, official or otherwise, and yet he quite naturally sought her opinion, even in front of Narraway, who was his most trusted adviser.

  He thought he saw an answering flash in her silver-gray eyes, but it was so quick he was not sure.

  Narraway nodded and stood up. “I will look more closely at Ailsa Kynaston and her past, and other possible connections, consulting the friend I spoke to earlier. Pitt, I don’t doubt you will follow up on Dudley Kynaston and his associates, on the small possibility that we are wrong. Mr. Stoker …”

  “Yes, sir?”

  “I would rather you did not give us details, but I trust you have Miss Ryder somewhere very safe indeed?”

  Stoker blushed. “Yes, sir!”

  “And her statement in writing, and signed?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Witnessed?”

  There was a short hesitation, less than a second. “Yes, sir.” Narraway caught it. “But you are not sure if the witness is … unbiased?”

  Stoker gulped. “Yes … sir.” He had forgotten how quick Narraway was. He had worked with him for years, but had adapted his thoughts now to working with Pitt. Already Narraway belonged to the past.

  Pitt felt vaguely uncomfortable for it, but there was no time to indulge emotions. Stoker had hesitated because no doubt the witness was one of his own family, his sister or her husband. He found himself smiling, but at how much care Stoker had taken, and at his rigid honesty, not at any lapse of judgment.

  Narraway must have seen Pitt’s face, because he did not pursue it. They parted company, each to set about their own task.

  VESPASIA ARRIVED HOME WITH her mind in turmoil. As soon as she was through the door and into the hallway, where the long window at the top of the stairs shed sunlight like a pathway upward, she was met by her maid.

  “M’lady, Mr. Carlisle called to see you. He seemed to feel it was urgent.” She took a breath, uncertainty in her eyes. “I told him I didn’t know when you’d be back. It could be hours, or even all day, but he was determined to wait. So I asked him to make himself comfortable in the sitting room. I hope I didn’t overstep myself …”

  Vespasia glanced at the longcase clock to her right. “You did exactly the right thing, thank you,” she said. “It is rather too early for tea; perhaps he would like something else. If so I shall ring for you. Otherwise I would prefer not to be disturbed.”

  “Yes, m’lady.” Relieved not to have been told she was mistaken, the girl hurried away.

  Vespasia went into the sitting room, her mind racing as to what she should say to Carlisle.

  Carlisle stood up. He was immaculately dressed as usual, but he looked anxious, even distressed, and as if he had not slept.

  “I apologize for troubling you,” he began, “especially at this hour in the morning, but I think the matter is urgent.”

  “Then you are probably right,” she agreed, reasserting the composure for which she was so much respected, sometimes even held in awe. “In all the years we have known each other, I have not seen you panic.” She sat down, so that he might also. “What has happened?”

  His quirky face still held its usual humor, but also a shadow of pain. “I have had time to think very hard about what I have done in my outrage at Kynaston’s treason,” he replied. “And I realize that part of my reaction was fear. We have not so very long to go before the turn of the century. Much will change. The queen is old and, I believe, very tired.” His own voice sounded weary as he said it. “She has been alone for too many years. Because it has been so long in coming, I think the new reign will be very different.”

  She did not interrupt him. She had had these thoughts herself.

  “Powers are shifting,” he went on. “I see shadows in many directions. Perhaps it is just such shadows that are frightening me, but I don’t think so. We cannot afford treason now. The world political situation is growing more tense. Nevertheless, I acted …” He looked for the right word. “I acted without foreseeing some of the results of what I was doing, or how they might affect others. Pitt did not charge me, and he easily could have.” He looked very directly at her, his eyes deeply troubled. “I owe him a debt now that I need to repay.”

  She wished very much to help him, but there were bounds she could not cross. “If you are looking for information, my dear, I cannot help you,” she told him. Her voice was gentle, but there was steel in it. She could not allow him to think that she would relent.

  Amusement flickered across his face and vanished. “If you did, I would hate it more than you can imagine,” he replied. “You are a fixed part in a constantly eroding universe. We have to have a polestar, one true north.”

  She blinked rapidly to hide the tears that sprang suddenly to her eyes. “That is quite the oddest compliment I have ever received,” she said a little huskily. “But unquestionably one of the best. What is it that I can help you with, if not information?”

  “Tell me of
something I can do to help,” he replied.

  “What could you do that they are not already doing?” She was puzzled. Did he have something in mind, or was he searching as discreetly as it seemed?

  “Many things,” he said with a gesture of his hands as if to encompass a vast space. “I am not restricted by the law. I know it quite well, but there are areas of it for which I have little regard. And if I can take risks when it suits me, I can make it suit me now.”

  She looked at his face, the desperation in his eyes, and believed him. “Please do not steal any more corpses and put them in dramatic and important places,” she said wryly. “There are other ways of attracting people’s attention.”

  He gave a very little smile. “You must admit, there are very few that work as well!”

  “I do admit it, but I doubt any judge would dare to, whatever he actually thought. Not many of them have a lively sense of the absurd. How could they? But regardless of that,” she continued before he could answer, “it will not work again for some time!”

  “Please?” he begged. “Something …”

  What could she tell him, without breaking Pitt’s trust?

  Carlisle leaned forward a little in his chair, his face grave. “Kynaston is selling our country’s secrets, and God knows to whom they will go. Lady Vespasia, it matters too much to indulge in emotional self-protection. I don’t know why he is doing it! But I do know he is. I suspect that perhaps his sister-in-law is involved, and maybe that rather rough lover of hers, Talbot. Although I have no idea whose side he is on. Possibly his banker’s. And I apologize if I malign the man.”

  “Do you think so?” she asked quickly. “That he lives beyond his means? A judgment, not merely an impression.”

  He looked at her very steadily, unblinking. “Would you like to know? More than just out of … curiosity?”

  She knew what he was asking. She hesitated only an instant. It was like jumping off a cliff into an ice-cold sea, far below you. If you hesitated, actually looked down, you would never do it.

  “Yes. I think I might like to know that very much,” she replied. “I do mean know, not suppose. I suppose it already.”

  He leaned forward and kissed her gently on the cheek. It was a touch of the lips, an impression of warmth, no more. Then he stood up and left. She heard his voice saying good-bye to the maid in the hallway, and thanking her for allowing him to wait for Vespasia, then the sound of the front door closing.

  She sat quite still for half an hour. She watched it on the mantel clock. Then she rose and went to the telephone to call Pitt. She did not panic until she found that she could not reach him.

  What danger had she pushed Carlisle into? This was not some game; it was treason. If not yet murder, it could be any day. They hanged people for murder, piracy—and treason. If he was guilty, then Talbot had nothing to lose by killing him.

  She must steady herself. She had prompted Carlisle to go after proof of Talbot’s involvement. It was her responsibility to take care of him now. Since she could not reach Pitt, she had to call Narraway. What he thought of her was irrelevant, however much it might hurt. And it would. Now, when she might be about to lose it, she realized his good opinion of her mattered more than that of anyone else, and in a different kind of way. She understood with an amazing degree of pain that she loved him.

  One did not fall in love at her age. It was undignified and absurd! And yet it was also as real as the passions of youth, and deeper. There was all the past hunger and laughter and experience to add to it, as well as her experiences of pain, and the infinite sweetness, of life.

  She picked up the telephone and asked for Narraway’s number, her hands shaking. It seemed like minutes before she heard his voice at the other end, but it was actually barely a few seconds.

  She began immediately. “Victor, when I arrived home I found Somerset Carlisle waiting for me, in a state of some distress …”

  “What has happened?” he interrupted. “Are you all right?”

  She sounded panicky. She must control it. “Yes, thank you, I am perfectly all right. It is not myself I am concerned for. Please listen to me.” She could not allow him to think of her comfort now—it would make it impossible to tell him about Carlisle’s danger.

  “He cares desperately about the treason,” she continued more levelly. “He sees a darkness coming, more than just a change. He is afraid for the future for all of us. The turn of the century will bring much that is new, shifts of power in Europe …” Her voice was rising and beginning to sound panicky again.

  She took a breath and resumed, more calmly, “He is afraid that time is short to stop Kynaston, and that if we delay he may escape, or whomever he is giving the secrets to may find other ways to continue.”

  “I know that, my dear,” Narraway cut across her. “Time is very short. But if we do not find proof of Talbot’s involvement, there is nothing we can do. And to arrest Kynaston and not Talbot, if he is our go-between, is only half a result …”

  “Victor! Please … Carlisle seems to know that Talbot is involved. It all fits together too well for him not to. He has gone to try to find proof that Talbot has money he has not earned …”

  “Gone where?” Narraway said with surprising calm; there was barely an edge to his voice.

  “I don’t know. I imagine to Talbot’s house, or wherever he might hope to find proof of his income …”

  “Have you told Pitt?”

  “I can’t reach him. He doesn’t answer his telephone.”

  “You said Carlisle has gone to find proof of Talbot being paid fairly large sums of money that he can’t account for?” he repeated carefully.

  “Yes.” She sounded steadier. “He knew Talbot was involved. I told him nothing.” She hesitated. She must explain before he asked. It was acutely painful that she had behaved with such little discretion, even more so since she knew she might well do so again. Her pity for Carlisle, and her understanding of exactly what he felt, was too powerful to ignore.

  “Vespasia?” Narraway prompted urgently.

  “Yes. I … Carlisle felt a terrible guilt over the way in which he drew Pitt into the investigation. He wants to redeem that debt, regardless of the cost to himself.”

  “We’ll deal with that later,” he told her. “Right now we must consider where he may have gone. As you fear, if he is caught by Talbot himself, he will suffer nothing as simple as being arrested in the act of burglary. And worse than that, Talbot will know that we are after him. At best he will disappear, possibly to Sweden where we will not be able to reach him, and taking with him whatever else he knows. At worst, he may kill Carlisle …”

  Vespasia felt herself freeze inside. She could have stopped him. She should have, however much it hurt or seemed a rebuff.

  Narraway was silent on the other end of the telephone line.

  She seemed to wait for ages. The ticking of the longcase clock was counting into eternity.

  “There’s less likely to be anything damning in the house,” Narraway said at last. “Far more likely to be in his bank. I wonder if Carlisle will have thought of that.”

  “But we can’t gain access to anything in his bank,” she said reluctantly. “I don’t even know if Thomas could.”

  “Not easily,” he replied. “Probably not at all, unless he thought of a really imaginative lie … but then that seems to be what Carlisle is rather gifted at.” There was a slight trace of amusement in his voice, not just anger. “We must find out where Talbot banks. That may take a little while, but it will have to for Carlisle as well. Please stay—”

  She cut across him, something she would never ordinarily do. “Victor, he is a social climber. It is intensely important to him to belong. He will be at the most exclusive bank there is.” Vespasia named her own bank.

  She heard his sigh of relief. “Yes, of course he will. Thank you. Do you think Carlisle will have thought of that?”

  “Yes.” She had no doubt at all. It was a deep, instinctive knowledg
e Carlisle would share. “I’ll meet you there,” she added.

  “No! Vespasia!” His voice was sharp. “It could be unpleasant …”

  “I don’t doubt it,” she agreed. “But Carlisle will listen to me more than to you.” And, before he could argue any further, she replaced the earpiece on its hook, cutting the connection.

  NEARLY AN HOUR LATER she and Narraway stood in the manager’s office of the most prestigious bank in London. Vespasia was, of course, known and respected there. Narraway was not, but because of his previous position as head of Special Branch, and now a member of the House of Lords, he was known by repute.

  The manager was an exquisitely dressed, aquiline-faced man in his early sixties. He concealed his nervousness behind a mask of propriety, but Vespasia could see that he was trying desperately to salvage the bank’s reputation out of a disaster he could barely comprehend.

  “But he was a member of Parliament!” he said yet again. “He said it was state business of the utmost importance. A constituent of his was involved in a financial transaction that could start a war, if it were not dealt with immediately. He proved his identity to me, beyond any doubt. And, apart from that, I know him by sight anyway. He banks with us! Has done for years. You must be … mistaken, my lady.”

  Narraway glanced at the manager, then at Vespasia, but did not interrupt.

  “Permit me to guess, Sir William,” she said with a very faint smile. “Mr. Carlisle wished to know if Mr. Edom Talbot had received regular and very substantial payments from Sweden over the last year or so.”

  His eyebrows shot up.

  “Yes! Yes, indeed. He said they were fraudulent and could involve Mr. Talbot, and even the prime minister himself, in an appalling scandal, if his fears were well founded. I assured him they were perfectly legitimate, and the funds were all accounted for.”

  “But spent,” she said drily.

  “Of course.” His face was bleak. “It was his money, quite legally obtained. All the paperwork was in order, I assure you. The money was transferred in the usual way …”