Bedford Square - Anne Perry [126]
“Are you sure you are willing to face whatever we may discover?” Vespasia asked for a last time. “It may not be what you wish.”
“No.” The word was flat and certain. There was no happiness in it, but there was conviction. “But it will not be what they are saying at the moment. Where do we begin?”
“With logic … and a hot cup of tea,” Vespasia said decisively.
Theodosia gave a ghost of a smile and walked over to the embroidered bell rope. When the maid came she ordered hot tea.
“Now for the logic,” she requested when they were alone again.
Vespasia settled herself to begin. “Whoever the blackmailer is, he is personally acquainted with all of his victims, because he is aware of their past experiences sufficiently well to know to what charge they would be most vulnerable and where in their careers he can make it most reasonably believable.”
“Quite,” Theodosia agreed. “You say he. Does it have to be a man? Could it not be a woman? It is naive to suppose a woman incapable of such intelligence or such cruelty.”
“Of course it is,” Vespasia answered. “But I think that might be to suppose that the placing of the corpse on Brandon Balantyne’s doorstep was unconnected, which seems to me unlikely. I find it difficult to imagine circumstances where a woman who had the acquaintance of the victims would also be aware of the death of Slingsby and have the means to move his body. Although I suppose it is not impossible.”
“I had forgotten about that,” Theodosia admitted. “We shall consider men first. I know something about most of Leo’s life, where he was born, grew up, went to school and to university and then into the diplomatic service. I have already racked my mind to think of any enemies who could be responsible for this.” She frowned. “Anyone who succeeds is bound to arouse envy, if nothing else. And it is regrettable, but many of those who succeed far less will explain it to themselves by blaming others.”
The maid arrived with fresh tea on a tray, and set it down on the low table between Vespasia and Theodosia. She offered to pour, but Theodosia declined, preferring to do it herself.
When they were alone again, Vespasia replied, “I do not believe this is a matter of personal vengeance, unless we can find some affair in which all the victims were involved. Did Leo even know them all?”
Theodosia looked at her with a thin shred of humor. “I don’t know. You have been far too discreet to tell me who they are.”
“Oh!” Vespasia had forgotten that. There seemed little point in worrying about indiscretion; clearing Leo’s name and finding the true blackmailer, if it was not he, were more important. “General Balantyne, John Cornwallis, Sigmund Tannifer, Guy Stanley and Dunraithe White.”
Theodosia looked startled. “I did not know that,” she said quietly. “They are different generations and quite different kinds of men. I know Parthenope Tannifer. She has called several times. A most interesting woman. And is not Dunraithe White a judge?”
“Yes. And John Cornwallis is assistant commissioner of police,” Vespasia added. “One wonders if some subversion of the law is intended. Except how could that involve Brandon Balantyne?”
“There must be some connection,” Theodosia said fiercely. “It is up to us to find it. It cannot be professional. It cannot be from school or university.”
“Then it must be social,” Vespasia deduced, sipping her tea. The hot liquid was peculiarly refreshing, even though the room was warm and bright in the summer morning sun. The whole house was unusually silent, the servants on tiptoe. Someone had thought to put straw in the street outside to muffle the hooves of passing horses. Vespasia had a sudden thought. “Or financial! Could Leo have invested in some scheme or other, and those other people also?”
“And there is something wrong in it?” Theodosia seized the idea eagerly. “Yes! Why not? That would make some sense of it.” She rose to her feet. “There will be notes of it in his study. We shall look.