Bedford Square - Anne Perry [77]
He stood up and walked towards the window facing the garden, not the street. “In my better moments I shall believe I would have damned him, and gone down with my own honor intact, no matter what the world thought. In my worse ones, when I am tired or alone, I shall be convinced my nerve would have failed, and I should have surrendered.”
Pitt was disappointed. He was startled by how much he had been trusting that Stanley had actually been asked for something specific, even use of his influence, and had precipitated this act by his refusal. It would have been an indication of what to expect regarding the others. It might even have narrowed the field to who the blackmailer might be.
Stanley saw his face and read the emotion correctly, but misjudged the reason for it. The hurt was in his eyes, and the shame.
Pitt shrugged very slightly. “A pity. I’m sorry to have intruded at such a time. I came because I hoped he had tipped his hand far enough to ask you for some abuse of influence or power, and then we would know what he wanted. You see, the other victims are men in many different fields of achievement, and I can see no common link between them.”
“I’m sorry,” Stanley said sincerely. “I wish I could be of help. Naturally, I have racked my mind as to who it could be. Í have gone over every personal enemy or rival, anyone I might have slighted or insulted, anyone whose career I have affected adversely, whether intentionally or not, but I can think of no one who would stoop to such a thing.”
“Not Shaughnessy himself?” Pitt asked with little hope.
Stanley smiled. “I disagree profoundly with everything Shaughnessy believes in and is trying to bring about, with a great deal more chance of success lately, but he is open about it, a man to meet you face-to-face and fight his cause, not resort to blackmail or secrecy.”
He gave a very slight shrug, a weary little lift of one shoulder. “Apart from which, if you consider recent political history, such an effort on his part would hardly be necessary. He already has all I could have given. Ruining me will taint his own cause, not help it. And he is not a fool.” His lips tightened. “And although this picture”—he gestured to the newspaper lying on the desk—“paints me as gullible and treacherous, it also paints his wife as a whore, not a thing any man wants in the eyes of the public, whatever the truth in private may be. And although I do not know Mrs. Shaughnessy nearly as well as the comments imply, I have observed her on many occasions, and I have seen no cause to doubt her virtue.”
“Yes … of course,” Pitt was forced to agree. Shaughnessy had no motive, whether he had the means and the opportunity or not. “Do you still have the letter?”
Distaste curled Stanley’s thin lips. “No. I burnt it, in case anyone should chance to see it. But I can describe it to you. It was cut from the Times, in some cases individual letters, sometimes whole words, and pasted onto a sheet of plain white paper. It was posted in central London”
“Can you recall what it said?”
“I see by your face that that is what you expected,” Stanley observed. “I assume the others were the same?”
“Yes.”
Stanley let out his breath in a sigh. “I see. Yes, I think I can, not perhaps word for word, but the intent. It stated that I had given Mrs. Shaughnessy government information helpful to her husband in return for her physical favors, and should such a thing become known I would be ruined, and most certainly fail to receive the ministerial appointment I had hoped for. It asked that as a pledge of my understanding I should give to the writer a token gift; a small silver-plated flask would serve very well. Instructions