Ashworth Hall - Anne Perry [2]
“I am fully involved with the Denbigh case,” Pitt replied. He had no intention of handing it over to anyone else, regardless of this new issue.
Greville smiled. “I personally would appreciate your assistance, Superintendent, for reasons which I shall explain.” He pursed his lips slightly. “And which I regret profoundly. But if we can move even a single step forward in this matter, the whole of Her Majesty’s government will be in your debt.”
Pitt thought he was overstating the case.
As if he had read Pitt’s thoughts, Greville shook his head slightly. “The conference is to sound out opinions on certain reforms in legislation concerning land laws in Ireland, a further Catholic emancipation. Now perhaps you perceive both the importance of what we hope to achieve and the necessity for secrecy?”
Pitt did. It was most unpleasantly clear. The Irish Question, as it had been known, had plagued successive governments since the time of Elizabeth I. It had brought down more than one. The great William Ewart Gladstone himself had fallen on the issue of Home Rule only four years before, in 1886. Still, the murder of Denbigh was of more urgency to him, and certainly more suited to his skills.
“Yes. I see,” he replied with a chill. “But—”
“Not entirely,” Greville cut across him. “No doubt you appreciate that every effort to struggle with our most intractable domestic problem should be made discreetly. We don’t wish to trumpet our failure abroad. Let us wait and see if it succeeds, and to what degree, before we choose what to tell the world.” His face darkened a little, a shadow of anxiety in his eyes which he could not conceal. “There is another reason, Superintendent. Obviously the Irish are aware of the conference. It would hardly be of any purpose if they did not attend, and I shall personally inform you of all I know which is relevant regarding those who will be present. But we are not certain how far the information has gone. There are circles beyond circles, betrayals, secret loyalties—the whole society is riddled with them. We have done the best we can, but we still cannot trust entirely.”
His expression became even bleaker, and his mouth pulled tight at the corners. “We had placed a man within one of the secret societies, hoping to learn the source of their information.” He let out his breath slowly. “He was murdered.”
Pitt felt the coldness settle inside him.
“I believe you are investigating the case.” Greville looked very steadily in Pitt’s eyes. “James Denbigh. A good man.”
Pitt said nothing.
“And I have also received threats to my life, and one attempt, some three weeks ago now, but nonetheless most unpleasant,” Greville continued. He spoke quite lightly, but Pitt could see the tension in his body. His long, lean hands were stiff where they lay, one on his knee, the other on the arm of his chair. He concealed it well, but Pitt understood fear.
“I see.” This time he did. “So you wish a discreet police presence.”
“Very discreet,” Greville agreed. “The conference is to be held at Ashworth Hall ….” He saw Pitt stiffen. “Precisely,” he said with a flicker of appreciation. “The country home of your wife’s sister, sometime Viscountess Ashworth, now Mrs. Jack Radley. Mr. Radley is one of our brighter young members of Parliament and will be a most excellent asset in the discussions. And Mrs. Radley, of course, will be the ideal hostess. It will not be unnatural for you and your wife to attend also, being family members.”
It would be most unnatural. Emily Ellison had married well above herself in Lord Ashworth. Her sister, Charlotte, had horrified genteel society by marrying as far below. Young ladies in good families did not marry policemen. Pitt spoke well. He was the son of a gamekeeper on a large country estate, and Sir Arthur Desmond, the owner of the estate, had seen fit to educate him with his own son, to give Matthew a companion and someone against whom to measure himself. But Pitt was not a gentleman. Greville must know