Bedford Square - Anne Perry [64]
Charlotte looked at her steadily. “Do you really think this is some kind of conspiracy, Aunt Vespasia?”
“Do you not think it looks like it?” Vespasia replied. “Cornwallis, Balantyne, and now Dunraithe White.”
“Yes … I suppose so. If only he had asked for money!”
“He would still have to be stopped,” Vespasia pointed out. “Money is only the beginning.”
“I suppose so.”
It was not an easy conversation, as Vespasia had predicted, but Charlotte broached the subject as soon as Pitt returned home. For once he was quite early, coming into the kitchen in his stocking feet and finding her busy putting away clean crockery. She did it immediately because once she had determined to do it, she could not settle to any kind of peace of mind until it was accomplished. She had rehearsed it several times, never entirely satisfactorily.
“Thomas, I have something I must tell you about the Bedford Square case. I don’t know whether it is relevant or not … I hope not, but I feel you should know.”
It was not her usual pattern of speech, and he caught the difference, turning from the sink, where he was washing his hands, and looking at her with surprise.
She stood in the middle of the kitchen floor, half a dozen plates in her hand. She took a deep breath and then spoke, without waiting for him to ask or allowing him to interrupt.
“I spent the afternoon with Aunt Vespasia. One of her friends, Judge Dunraithe White, is also a victim of this blackmailer who is threatening Mr. Cornwallis.”
He stiffened. “How do you know? Did he tell Vespasia?” His voice was high and sharp with incredulity.
“Not easily, of course,” she answered, putting the plates back on the table and passing him a clean towel. “But they are old friends. I occupied his wife, who is a most excellent gardener. I must tell you more about that—I know! Later,” she interrupted herself quickly.
“Vespasia spoke alone with Mr. White, and he confessed to her his situation. He is absolutely distracted with worry and fear, but the accusation is that he fathered the eldest son and heir of one of their closest friends. And now that the friend is dead and cannot deny it, the blackmailer is saying that he was actually going to sue Mr. White ….”
Pitt winced, his expression conveying plainly how he appreciated the hurt. He dropped the towel over the back of the chair nearest to him.
“And Mr. White said such a thing would devastate his wife. She is very frail and so they have no children of their own. He adores her, and will pay any price asked of him rather than allow that.”
Pitt hunched his shoulders and pushed his hands hard down into his pockets. “That’s Cornwallis, White, and, I heard today, also a man named Tannifer, a merchant banker in the City. He’s accused of fraud with his clients’ funds.”
“Another one!” She was startled. It was looking increasingly as if Vespasia was right and the problem was far larger and more serious than any individual blackmail for greed.
He looked at her gravely. “Have you considered that perhaps General Balantyne is also being blackmailed? I know you would rather not think so, in view of the murdered man on his doorstep, but I can’t dismiss it just because I would prefer to.”
Now was the time. “He is.” She watched his face to see how angry he might be. He stood absolutely still, all kinds of emotions conflicting in his eyes, anger and amazement, pity, understanding, and something which for an instant she thought was a sense of betrayal. She went on talking, quickly, trying to cover the moment. “I went to convey my sympathy for his new tragedy … really that the wretched newspapers had raised the Christina business all over again, as if living it once were not enough.” Now what was in his face was unmistakably pity, memory of indescribable pain, not for himself but for Balantyne, and understanding of what she had done. “I knew something else was extremely wrong,” she went on, smiling at him now. “And I offered my friendship, for whatever comfort that was. He told me, with great embarrassment, that he is being