Buckingham Palace Gardens tp-25

by Anne Perry

  “What the devil’s the matter with you?” he demanded, spinning round to face them, his face twisted with fury.

  Narraway closed the door behind him. “Naturally, as Special Branch, we do not have the authority to arrest anyone, but in these unusual circumstances, I am obliged to make an exception.”

  “Good,” Cahoon snapped. “You do not need my permission. Get on with it!”

  “I know I do not need your permission,” Narraway replied tartly.

  “Cahoon Dunkeld, I am arresting you for the murder of Wilhelmina Sorokine. You will be-”

  Cahoon’s face turned scarlet. “Her husband killed her,” he said between clenched teeth. “If you seek to avoid your duty and blame this on me, I shall speak to the Prince and have you dismissed. And don’t doubt he can do it.”

  “Probably,” Narraway conceded with a tight smile. “But he won’t, not since he knows that you had a dead prostitute brought in and disemboweled in the Queen’s bed, in order to blackmail him for the rest of his life. He will resent that-I can assure you.”

  “Rubbish! You’re hysterical,” Cahoon said with disgust, but his voice was slurred and his hands were clenched till the knuckles shone.

  “No, Mr. Dunkeld, Minnie was hysterical when she put all the pieces together. She saw the Limoges dish in your luggage; she knew the one in the Queen’s room had been broken; but you must have known in advance that it would be, or why bring one identical? She knew the box came in and went out with the same weight in it, and there were very few new books on Africa, if any at all. And she knew you: your nature, your courage, and your arrogance. And you knew that she would want a price for her silence, possibly the clearing of her husband from blame. Profoundly as you loved her, you could not afford to let her ruin you-and she would have.”

  Cahoon stared at him. “You can’t prove that,” he said at last.

  “None of it.”

  “Yes,” Narraway said, glancing only for a second at Pitt, knowing he could not afford to take his eyes from Cahoon for any longer than that. “I can. A court might not compel your wife to testify, or believe her if she did. They might think your valet merely a distinguished servant, if a frightened one. But they will believe Tyndale, a Palace butler who owes you nothing. He saw the shards of the broken dish, and he saw the new one that replaced it.”

  “Sorokine brought it!” Cahoon’s lips curved in the tiniest smile.

  “How did he know about it?” Narraway asked. “He had never been to the Palace before, still less to the Queen’s bedroom. You did.

  He did not arrange the prostitutes to come that evening, nor did he send for the box of books that don’t exist. Small pieces of evidence, Cahoon, but many of them, and the Limoges dish was a touch of reality too far. The blood was necessary, but that smashed dish was what caught you.”

  Cahoon took a deep breath. “Pity,” he said, in control of himself again. “But you won’t charge me with it. If you think you can ever bring this to the public, then you are an even bigger fool than I supposed, and having seen you and your oaf there,” he glanced at Pitt,

  “even the last few days, believe me, I thought you fool enough!”

  Narraway’s cheeks paled with anger and his eyes glittered. “Of course we won’t!” he said with bitter relish. “I mentioned the murder to disconcert you. I believe in your own way, you loved her. After all, she was a female reflection of yourself, perhaps morally a little better, but then she was younger.” His smile widened a fraction. “All of it needs to be proved, of course, but the charge is for attempting to blackmail the heir to the throne.”

  Cahoon was incredulous. “Blackmail? He’ll never bring a charge, you imbecile!”

  Narraway stood perfectly still. “I’m bringing the charge, Mr.

  Dunkeld, of treason. Naturally, to protect the security of the nation, it will not be a public trial.”

  At last Dunkeld understood. The blood drained from his skin. He swayed very slightly, then, as if catching his balance, he turned and lunged at Pitt, fists flailing.

  Pitt raised his foot hard and caught him in the groin. Dunkeld screamed-a high-pitched, tearing sound-and doubled over, pitch-ing violently into the doorpost with a crack that must have knocked him almost senseless.

  Narraway gaped at Pitt in amazement.

  Pitt shrugged very slightly, a warmth of satisfaction seeping through him. He might be ashamed of it later, but right now it felt good. “No point fighting his fists,” he observed. “I’d lose.”

  Narraway shook his head. “He couldn’t have escaped.”

  “No, of course not. But he would have half killed me, with nothing to lose, and I think that’s what he wanted.”

  Narraway sighed. “Fool,” he said sadly. “You’d better tie him up.

  Can’t afford to leave him with his hands free, not that one. Then lock the door.”

  “Yes, sir,” Pitt agreed.

  Narraway turned at the door. “Thank you,” he added.

  The guests met in the sitting room with the Prince of Wales present. He was deeply distressed that the project had collapsed, but with the arrest of Cahoon Dunkeld it no longer had the driving force necessary to succeed. His displeasure was profound, overtaking his earlier embarrassment. But then, as Pitt observed to Narraway in a whisper, anger is always less uncomfortable than shame.

  Liliane looked immensely relieved that the ordeal was over. Her eyes shone, her skin glowed, all her old beauty animated her face again. Hamilton seemed sober, the weight of immediate fear lifted from him too.

  Simnel was quiet, the death of Minnie wrapping him in a pall of grief. Whether it had been her husband or her father who had killed her made no difference to him. He was still imprisoned by his need, leaving Olga as alone as before.

  Julius was subdued. He had been too near a lifelong incarceration with the insane to recover in an hour or two. He had looked into an abyss and he could not dismiss or forget it.

  Elsa also sat alone. Her husband had been arrested for killing his daughter. She faced a social nightmare of proportions she could not even guess at, but the man she loved was free, and that joy could not be taken from her. It burned in her eyes with a quiet, beautiful heat.

  “Tragic!” the Prince of Wales said fervently. “A great talent, a great driving energy, lost to. . to. .”

  “The lust for power,” Simnel filled in for him.

  “Quite.” The Prince was irritated by the assistance. He would have found the phrase if he had been given the time. “Now we shall have to struggle to find a man to replace him. Someone who knows the project, understands it, and has the strength of will to guide it through. And the good name and reputation among the people whose investment and support we will need.”

  Several people murmured their agreement.

  The Prince turned to Julius. “You have been through a nightmarish experience, Sorokine. Unjustly suspected. Proved yourself worthy, though. I am sure you could step into your father-in-law’s place. Take a little time to grieve for your wife. I’m very sorry. You have my deepest condolences. Inform me when the funeral is, and, with your permission, I shall attend. The Princess of Wales also. Then meet with me privately, and we can make the appropriate arrangements. You will lead the company from now on.”

  “Thank you, sir,” Julius said gravely. “I will, of course, inform you of my wife’s funeral, and be most honored if you, and the Princess of Wales, would attend. But I cannot assume my father-in-law’s place leading the company.”

  “After a decent interval, of course,” the Prince agreed. “But my dear fellow, whatever private grief may afflict us, the fate of nations does not wait.”

  “It is nothing to do with grief, sir,” Julius said respectfully. “I mean that I am not willing to do it, not that I don’t have the skill, although that is certainly also possible. I do not believe it is the right thing to do. I have had time to give it much thought, and I have come to the conclusion that the African Continent should be opened up slowly, according
to the will of the many different nations whose land it is. I believe that the British Empire’s role lies at sea, as it has in the past. We can ship the great wealth of these people from the ports of the Indian Ocean, the Pacific, and the Atlantic around the rest of the world. It will be more than enough power and profit for us, and leave Africa to its own people.”

  The Prince stared at him as if he could not believe what he had heard. He looked hard at his face, and saw neither fear nor indecision in it, nor did he see a weakness he could use or ambition he could satisfy. He did not look at Elsa, but Pitt did. Her eyes shone with the radiance of a woman truly in love. She reminded him even more of Charlotte, and the thought was to him a sweetness he could hardly contain.

  “You will regret that decision, Sorokine,” the Prince said in a hard, tight voice. He did not elaborate on it, but it was a threat, and for a moment the room was quiet and cold.

  “No doubt it will have a cost,” Julius admitted. “But it is what I believe to be right, sir, and that leaves me no choice.”

  Liliane moved very slightly in her chair so the rustle of her green-gold silk skirt drew attention to her. “Your Royal Highness, if I may suggest it, my father, Watson Forbes, is an even greater expert in African affairs than Mr. Dunkeld. He has retired from active interest, but in such an extraordinary circumstance as this, he may be persuaded to return, as a service to his country. If you were to ask him, sir, I cannot imagine that he would refuse you.”

  The Prince’s face revealed a sudden leap of hope. “Do you think so? My dear Mrs. Quase, how perfectly excellent! How generous of you. I shall write to him immediately and have the letter delivered within the hour. Thank you so much. You have served the Crown and the Empire most nobly. Please be good enough to give me his address.”

  “Of course, sir.” She rose to her feet and followed him out of the room.

  “The King is dead, long live the King,” Hamilton Quase said very quietly.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  That’s not enough,” Pitt said. He was standing with his back to the window in the room in the Palace they had given him, and he was still granted the use of it for a few hours longer. It was early afternoon, and time was rapidly running out. Very soon Pitt and Narraway would be thanked and dismissed.

  Narraway was standing by the table, facing the light. He looked tired and tense.

  “Who was the woman in the box?” Pitt went on. “Who killed her, and where?”

  “Well, Dunkeld didn’t kill her,” Narraway pointed out. “He never left the Palace. So either it was the carter, or whoever paid him to bring her.”

  “Dunkeld hired Sadie,” Pitt continued. “He must have told her a great deal of what was to happen. So where is she now? Keeping out of sight. Which means he paid her well.” Other thoughts were swirling in Pitt’s mind. “Who would Dunkeld trust sufficiently to have him bring a box to the Palace door, with a murdered woman in it? Would he dare take the risk that the man didn’t know what he had?”

  Narraway considered for a moment or two. “Hell of a risk,” he said finally. “Dunkeld is a gambler, but not a fool. He would eliminate any danger he could. I’d say the carter was the accomplice, possibly even the murderer.”

  “And Dunkeld disemboweled her when she was here?” Pitt asked.

  “I think he broke Minnie’s neck, almost certainly by accident, and cut her afterward to make it look the same, as if it had been broken on purpose. That’s why the injuries on the two women were so similar.”

  Narraway’s mouth tightened into a thin line. “And he made them after he’d knocked Julius senseless in order to mark Julius’s face with cuts and bruises, and accounted for the marks on himself. Clever bastard. But who’s the accomplice? Thank God we don’t have to find him to convict Dunkeld!”

  Pitt jerked his head up. “No, but I damn well want him! Are you trying to tell me he came across that girl dead just when he happened to need her? Right height, right build, right coloring, face similar enough, and nothing else wrong with her? No rashes, broken bones, scars or blemishes, no missing teeth, nothing to account for her death except the knife slashes we saw? He may have broken her neck, to make sure there was no blood to seep out of the box, but he killed her to meet his needs. I want him, Narraway, and I don’t intend to stop until I get him.” That was a warning and he meant it as such.

  “Where do you propose to start?” Narraway asked. “By the way, if you have anything at all to ask anyone here, you’d better do it now.

  You’ll never get back in again.”

  “Not even to trace a murder?”

  Narraway gave a short bark of laughter. “Not if your life depended on it, Pitt. You found them the wrong answer.”

  “I didn’t choose who was guilty!” Pitt protested. “The Prince chose the wrong man as his friend.”

  “A cardinal sin,” Narraway agreed. “In fact completely unforgivable. Don’t fool yourself he will ever excuse you for pointing that out!

  Now he has to admit to Watson Forbes that he made a mistake, and he will not like that either.”

  “Will Forbes accept? You said he’d retired, didn’t you?”

  Narraway bit his lip. “He seemed adamant to me that he didn’t believe in the idea. He thought it would be bad for Africa, and in time destroy what was beautiful and unique. He said such a railway would cut through the heart of the country and vandalize the soul of it.”

  “He said that?”

  “Not in those words.” Narraway looked vaguely uncomfortable at the vividness of his own imagination. He was acutely conscious of the fact that he had never been to Africa. “But that was the essence of it.

  He might well turn the Prince down.”

  “Two women murdered, and for nothing,” Pitt observed. “We don’t even know who the first one was.”

  “The African one? We never will.”

  “No, I’m not sure she had anything to do with it, except as a tragedy to make us think Dunkeld had to be innocent, and Sorokine guilty. I meant the woman in the linen cupboard, whom we thought was Sadie. Who was she? Did the carter who brought her here kill her simply for Dunkeld to use? Did he do it knowing what it was for? Or does he simply kill for money?”

  “Too dangerous,” Narraway said immediately. “Dunkeld would be a fool to put himself in the hands of a man like that.”

  “Then he was a conspirator. And he had to know Sadie in order to find a woman sufficiently like her,” Pitt added. “So he’s intelligent, resourceful, devious, and has a hell of a cool nerve. He’s not just an as-sassin for hire.”

  “You’ve made your point, Pitt,” Narraway agreed with the ghost of a smile. “We have to find him, and Dunkeld isn’t going to help us.

  It is almost certainly the carter, but there is no reason to suppose he actually looks anything like the man the servants glimpsed on the night he brought the box. His clothes were nondescript and dirty, he wore a hat, and fingerless mittens to protect his hands. Usual enough if you’re driving a horse, or lifting boxes. We’d better start with looking for Sadie.”

  “She’ll have disappeared,” Pitt told him. “Dunkeld will have paid her to do that.”

  “I know!” Narraway snapped, his temper closer to the surface than he wished to betray. “I mean where she used to be. Dunkeld found her in some brothel, or through a pimp. London can be a small city at times. He met her somewhere. Other women will know her.

  They might have seen the carter.”

  Pitt nodded. “I’ll find him if he’s in London.”

  Narraway swore. “We may not have long. Since the scheme has failed, as soon as he knows Dunkeld’s caught, he may make himself scarce. He could go anywhere: Glasgow, Liverpool, Dublin, even the Continent. I’ll call every contact I have in the police. Thank God for inventions like the telephone. I don’t think we have anything more to do here.”

  Less than half an hour later, when Pitt was in the sitting room and Narraway had returned to his office, the Prince came in, closely followed by Watson
Forbes. It was instantly apparent that Forbes had accepted the Prince’s offer. How it had been phrased, or what additional incentive had been offered, was not mentioned. Everyone was introduced, although only Olga Marquand had not previously known him.

  Pitt was merely mentioned. Forbes’s eyes lingered on him in a moment’s interest, but he did not speak.

  “Mr. Forbes has accepted the responsibility of Dunkeld’s position to lead the building of a Cape-to-Cairo railway,” the Prince announced with a smile. “He is by far the best man in England for the task; in fact, very possibly the only man who could succeed. We are very fortunate that he has agreed to pick up this burden, immediate from today. I have promised him that he will have the total co-operation of everyone involved, and the freedom to make any decision in the further-ance of our cause that he considers wise and just.”

  Complete control. Was that the power Dunkeld had had? Or was it Forbes’s price? The very slight emphasis the Prince placed on the words suggested that it was the latter.

  “Her Majesty will return from Osborne in two days,” the Prince continued. “I am very pleased at that time to present to her such a magnificent project for the Empire she loves so dearly.” He turned to Forbes and made a small gesture of invitation.

  Watson Forbes stepped forward, smiling. “Thank you, sir. It will be my privilege to serve my country, and future generations in that great Continent of Africa. Gentlemen, we have a momentous opportunity before us. It will call for every resource of mind and body that we possess. Let us not underestimate it. We shall require all the honorable assistance that we may be offered, or lay claim to. And we must be of a single mind. This is not for the glory of any one man, but of our Queen and country.”

  Pitt slipped away without excusing himself, and no one except Julius Sorokine noticed.

  Pitt left the Palace and took a hansom cab to Narraway’s office. It had been only a matter of days that he’d been on the case, and yet his sudden sense of freedom was immense, as if he had escaped from enclosing walls, opulent as they were and hung with some of the greatest works of art in Western civilization. Now he was surrounded by the noise of traffic, hoofs, wheels, voices shouting, and occasionally the barking of dogs. It was midafternoon, hot and dusty, but the sense of space, even crowded as it was, and the urgency that drove him, was exhilarating. He found himself sitting forward as if it would somehow add to his speed.