Belgrave Square - Anne Perry [65]
“I believe so, but does that make it any better?” Pitt was ready to be angry at the abuse of privilege.
Drummond smiled with a small lift of his shoulders.
“None at all, but it may explain Cars well’s behavior—”
“Not to me,” Pitt said hotly. “If that is the sort of justice he dispenses then he is not the man I thought him, nor is he fit to sit on the bench.”
Drummond’s eyes widened. “A forceful opinion, Pitt.”
Pitt felt his face color. He admired Drummond and was suddenly aware he had exceeded his position and breached the social gap which lay between them in criticizing a man out of his own class, and in Drummond’s.
“I apologize,” he said huskily. “I should not have expressed it.”
Drummond’s face relaxed into genuine humor.
“I like your choice of words, Pitt, there is a nice difference between that and saying that you were mistaken in your estimate.” He moved from behind the desk. “I am inclined to agree with you, if that were the case, but I meant that Carswell and Osmar may have associates in common who may well have—” He hesitated, again uncomfortable, seeking to explain something which seemed to embarrass him. Pitt was suddenly reminded of the emotion he had felt riding beside him through the darkness in the hansom to see Lord Byam the first time.
Pitt waited. The silence lay in the bright air. Outside someone dropped a wooden crate on the pavement, and in the distance a coster cried his wares, the sound coming clearly through the open window.
“—have reminded him of friendship,” Drummond finished, “of obligation.”
“I see,” Pitt said quietly, although he did not. It was a cloudy mass of possibilities, none of them hard-edged, all confused in the darkness of social pressures, debts of money, favor, the whisper of corruption, however politely phrased, and behind it all blackmail, and the ugly body of William Weems.
Drummond pushed his hand into his pocket and looked miserable.
“I suppose this mistress business is an excellent motive for murder, poor devil,” he said resignedly. “What about the other names on Weems’s list? Have you looked at them yet?”
“No sir.” Pitt felt his heart sink. “One of them is on the force—”
Drummond’s face paled. “Oh God! Are you sure?”
“I suppose there is a remote hope it is someone else by the same name,” Pitt said without any hope at all.
Drummond stared at the floor. “Well I suppose you’d better do it. What about the gun?” He looked up. “Have you found that yet? You said the one there—what was it?”
“A hackbut,” Pitt replied. “Ornamental, on the wall.”
“You said it wasn’t in working order?”
“It isn’t. It wouldn’t have killed him, but it must have been something like it, muzzle loaded and with a wide barrel, to accommodate the coins.”
Drummond winced. “I suppose you’ve got the local police looking for it? Yes, of course. Sorry. Well you’d better learn what you can about the others on the list. It gets uglier as it goes on.”
“Yes,” Pitt agreed. “I’m afraid it does.”
5
CHARLOTTE SAT at the dinner table at the Hotel Metropole opposite Emily and felt an immense satisfaction. Tonight was going to be marvelous. She had on her very best gown, a gift from Emily and Jack for her help over the last two weeks, and she was quite sure she looked splendid. She had paraded before the mirror enchanted by the grand lady she saw reflected in it, a magical change from the woman she ordinarily saw. This creature was perfectly corsetted to the ultimate shape, her shoulders were creamy white above the Venetian red of the satin fabric, cut in a style up to the very minute, with the new, slender skirt, and hardly any bustle. It was so new it was almost ahead of the mode. Her hair was piled up in a shining crown, and her face was radiant with the contemplation of the evening. They were dining in the most elegant of places, then going to the opera, to Lohengrin, no less, the greatest draw of the season. Personally she would have preferred something Italian, but this was the “in” thing this year, and