Bedford Square - Anne Perry [140]
A dozen arguments rose to Pitt’s lips, but he knew Dunraithe White was not listening. Fear, exhaustion and the passionate desire to protect his wife had closed his mind to argument of any sort.
Theloneus tried a last time.
“My dear fellow, Cadell is dead. He cannot hurt you or your family. Please reconsider before you commit yourself to a course of action which will bring to an end a long and memorable career. I shall deem that I did not hear your last words …”
White turned around, glaring at him.
“… because if I had,” Theloneus continued, “I should have to inform the Lord Chancellor of their import. He might then find it most difficult to keep you in a position of high trust, knowing that you would place the love of your family before the duty of your calling.”
White stared at him, ashen-faced, swaying a little on his feet.
“You are very brutal, Quade. I had not seen it like that.” He swallowed with difficulty. “I suppose it may look like that to you.”
“It would look like it to you, my dear fellow, were our places reversed,” Theloneus assured him. “And if you think of it for a moment, you know that. Would you prefer I told you only after you had made your decision?”
White took several moments to answer.
“No …” he said at last. “No, I should not. I have enjoyed my career. I shall be at a loss without it. But I can see that my present ill health must become a permanent thing. I shall write my resignation to the Lord Chancellor this morning.” There was a finality of despair in his voice. “It will be in the afternoon post. You have my word. Then I shall disregard this damnable letter, whoever it is from. I think that perhaps my wife and I should take a short holiday in the country, for recuperation. Perhaps a month or so.”
Theloneus did not make any further attempt to dissuade White. He took his leave quietly, and he and Pitt went out into the sun and the noise and ordinariness of the street. Neither spoke of it, except on parting when Pitt thanked Theloneus for having come with him. There really was nothing that needed more words.
* * *
Pitt’s mind was still troubled over the details of Cadell’s knowledge. How he had learned, and invented, sufficient detail with which to blackmail his fellow members of the Jessop Club was not difficult to imagine. But Pitt could still think of no answer to the question of how Cadell knew of Slingsby and Cole, not to mention Ernest Wallace and the murder in Shoreditch. Had it been simply money he was after, eventually? And if so, why? What was he spending it on that he needed more than his very ample salary and his inherited wealth?
Or was it the sadistic power to hurt, to torment and to ruin? Such a thing was entirely outside anything Aunt Vespasia had observed in the man in over quarter of a century’s acquaintance.
Or was it, as they had considered before, some mad African venture into speculation and empire building?
Whatever it was, a more careful scrutiny of all his papers and a more thorough and directed questioning of his wife and his household staff should reveal a thread, a shadow, some indication of an answer.
Accordingly, Pitt hailed the next cab which passed him and gave the driver directions to Cadell’s house.
There was still straw muffling the street outside, and of course all the curtains were drawn, giving the windows a blind look, almost as if the house itself were dead.
But when he pulled the bell he was let in immediately, and Theodosia herself came into the withdrawing room within minutes. She was dressed in black with no relief except a jet mourning brooch at the throat. Her eyes were hollow and her skin had no color at all. Anything artificial would have stood out like a clown’s makeup. Even so, she was a beautiful woman; her high cheekbones and long slender throat could not be affected by any grief,