Bedford Square - Anne Perry [79]
Pitt knew he had to be careful. Remus would remember what he said, and perhaps even quote it.
“Of course not,” he answered, measuring his words. “But there are proper ways of enquiring, and libel is a moral offense, even where it is occasionally not a civil one. I went to see Sir Guy Stanley on a completely different issue where I thought he might be able to give me some assistance from his experience. He did, but I am not able to discuss it with you because it would jeopardize a current investigation.”
“The murder in Bedford Square?” Remus concluded swiftly. “Is Sir Guy involved in that?”
“Do you not understand me, Mr. Remus?” Pitt snapped. “I told you that it is a matter I cannot discuss, and I gave you the reasons. Surely you don’t wish to hinder me, do you?”
“Well … no, of course not. But we have a right to know—”
“You have a right to ask,” Pitt corrected him. “You have asked, and I have answered you. Now, would you please step out of my way. I must return to Bow Street.”
Reluctantly, Remus did so.
In his room in the police station, Pitt considered Remus again. Was it worth having anyone enquire a little more closely about him? He was almost certainly simply doing his job with rather more relish than Pitt found pleasant. But investigation of corruption and abuse of office or privilege was a legitimate part of his duties, just as it was of Pitt’s own. Society required such men, even if on occasion they trespassed into people’s private lives in a way which was intrusive, painful and unjustified. The alternative was the beginning of tyranny and the loss of the right of society to understand itself and have any curb upon those who ruled it.
Still, the privilege of the press could also be abused. Membership in its ranks did not confer immunity from police enquiry. He could have someone see if Lyndon Remus had any connection with Albert Cole, Josiah Slingsby, or any of the men who were being blackmailed.
But before he could attend to that he was met with a message that Parthenope Tannifer wished to see him the very first moment it was possible, and would he please call upon her at her home.
He had expected it, not from Parthenope Tannifer, but from her husband, and possibly from Dunraithe White also, although since White had told Vespasia he had no intention of fighting the blackmailer, no matter what he should demand, perhaps he would not wish to draw police attention to himself.
Pitt also thought of how Balantyne would feel when he saw the morning newspapers. He must be ill with anxiety, and helpless even to know which way to turn to defend himself. He could not prove the original charge was untrue. He could not prove he had not killed the man on his doorstep, Cole or Slingsby. The fact that it was Slingsby did not clear Balantyne of suspicion; Slingsby could have been a messenger of the blackmailer.
Most of all as Pitt went down the stairs again and out into the hot, dusty street, he thought of Cornwallis, and the misery which he must feel this morning as he realized that the threats were fully intended and the blackmailer had no hesitation in carrying them out. He had the will and the means. He had demonstrated it now beyond doubt or hope.
Pitt was received in the Tannifer house immediately and was shown to Parthenope’s boudoir, that peculiarly feminine sitting room where ladies read, embroidered, or gossiped pleasantly together with very rare intrusion from men.
This particular room was unlike others he had been in. The colors were very simple and cool, with none of the usual oriental affectations that had become so fashionable over the last decade. It was most individual, catering entirely to the taste of its owner, making no concessions to what was expected. The curtains were plain, cool green, no flowers. Similarly, the green glazed vase on the small table had no blooms; its own shape was sufficient ornament. The furniture was simple, old, very English.
“Thank you for coming so rapidly, Mr. Pitt,” Parthenope said as soon as the maid had closed the door.