Bethlehem Road - Anne Perry [122]
Charlotte’s voice cut into his thoughts.
“Do you think she was after Royce all the time, and mistook the others for him? They all lived on the south side of the river, they all walked home, as it was not far, and they all had fair or gray hair.”
“They were all Parliamentary Private Secretaries to the Home Secretary at some part in their careers. Except perhaps Royce himself—I don’t know about him,” he answered slowly. “I wonder what he was doing seventeen years ago.”
She split the dough and put it into three tins and left them to rise. “You do think so! Why? Why did she hate Royce so much? Because he put her into Bedlam?”
“Perhaps.” The faint dissatisfaction at the back of his mind was stronger, more like a prickle. It was Garnet Royce she had attacked, not Jasper, the doctor. Was that simply because he was the elder brother, the stronger, the one in whose house she had served? But what had turned melancholia over the death of her mistress into a homicidal mania such as he had seen on Westminster Bridge?
He finished his tea and stood up. “You go and tell Aunt Vespasia. I think I shall go back and talk to Drummond again.”
“About Elsie Draper?”
“Yes; yes I think so.”
All the way back to Bow Street he saw the newsboys carrying placards for extra editions. Headlines screamed WEST-MINSTER CUTTHROAT CAUGHT! PARLIAMENT SAFE AGAIN! MANIAC SHOT DEAD ON WESTMINSTER BRIDGE! He bought a paper just before he went into the police station. Under the big black leader was an article on how the threat of anarchy had receded and law had prevailed once more, thanks to the skill and dedication of the Metropolitan Police and the daring of an unknown member of Parliament. The whole of the nation’s capital rejoiced in the return of order and safety to the streets.
Micah Drummond was startled to see Pitt back so soon, and on a spring day when he might have found gardening such a pleasure.
“What is it, Pitt?” There was a shadow of alarm in his face.
Pitt closed the door behind him. “First of all, sir,” he began, “I thank you for the promotion, but I would rather remain at my present rank, where I can go out on investigations myself, rather than supervise other men to do it. I think that is where my skill lies, and it is what I want to do.”
Drummond smiled. There was a certain ruefulness in his eyes, and a relief. Either he had been expecting something less pleasant, or else in part at least he understood.
“I am not surprised,” he said candidly. “And not entirely sorry. You would have made a good senior officer, but we should have lost a lot by taking you away from the streets. Secondhand judgment is never the same. I admire you for the choice; it is not easy to decline money, or status.”
Pitt found himself blushing. The admiration of a man he both liked and respected was a precious thing. He hated now to have to pursue the matter of Elsie Draper, instead of merely thanking Drummond and going out. But the question pressed on his mind, clamoring for an answer. He felt an incompleteness like hunger.
“Thank you, sir.” He let out his breath slowly. “Sir, I would like to find out more about Elsie Draper—the madwoman. Just before she struck at Royce she called him by name. She wasn’t killing at random; she hated him—personally. I’d like to know why.”
Drummond stood still, looking down at the empty space on his desk, the quill and inkstand set in dark Welsh slate, unostentatious.
“I wanted to know too,” he said. “I wondered if she were after Royce all the time, and she mistook the first three for him. I couldn’t find anything in common among them, except that they live on the south side of the river not far from Westminster Bridge, within walking distance, and they have a