Bethlehem Road - Anne Perry [35]
“We are looking into that, of course.” Pitt smiled briefly back at him and held his gaze. It was James who looked away. “I will also inquire into his political career as well,” he continued. “Perhaps you can give me an outline from which to begin?”
Helen cleared her throat. “He has been a Liberal Member of Parliament for twenty-one years, from the general election in December 1868. His constituency is in Lincolnshire. He served as a junior minister in the Treasury in 1880 when Mr. Gladstone was Prime Minister and Chancellor of the Exchequer, and in the India Office when Lord Randolph Churchill was Secretary for India, I think that was 1885. And he was Parliamentary Private Secretary to Sir William Harcourt when he was Home Secretary, but only for about a year—I think it was 1883. At present he has—he had,” she said, hesitating for only a moment, “no particular office, so far as I know, but a great deal of influence.”
“Thank you. Do you happen to know if he held strong views on the Irish question? Home Rule, for example.”
She shivered and glanced again at James, but he was apparently unaware of it, his mind absorbed with something else.
“He was against Home Rule,” she answered very quietly. Then her eyes widened and there was a flash, a quickening of something within. Anger and hope? Or merely intelligence? “Do you think it could have been Fenians? An Irish conspiracy?”
“Possibly.” Pitt doubted it; he remembered Hamilton had been strongly in favor of Home Rule. But then perhaps Hamilton had been killed by mistake. At night with the distortion of the lamplight ... the two men were of a height, roughly of an age, and not dissimilar in coloring and features. “Yes—possibly.”
“Then you had better begin inquiring,” James said. He seemed a little more relaxed. “We will retire. My wife has had a profound shock. I am sure you can learn anything else you need from my father-in-law’s political colleagues.” He turned to leave. His concern for Helen did not extend to offering her his arm.
The merest flicker of hurt crossed Helen’s face before it was mastered and concealed again. Pitt debated for an instant whether to offer his hand. He wished to, as he would have to Charlotte, but he remembered his position: he was a policeman, not a guest or an equal. She would regard it as an impertinence, and more powerful in his mind, it would highlight the fact that her husband had not done so. James was standing by the door, holding it open.
“Have you been at home all evening, sir?” Pitt said with an edge to his voice he had not intended, but his anger at the man was too strong.
James looked surprised. Then a wave of color spread up his cheeks, dim in the light of the two lamps that had been turned up but unmistakable to someone staring at him as Pitt was.
He hesitated. Was he debating whether to lie?
“Never mind.” Pitt smiled sourly. “I can ask the footman. I need not detain you. Thank you, Mrs. Carfax. I am deeply sorry to have had to bring you such news.”
“We don’t need your apologies—just get off about your business!” James said waspishly. Then realizing at last how he betrayed himself by unnecessary rudeness, he turned and walked out of the door, leaving it wide and unattended for Helen to follow.
She stood still, her eyes on Pitt’s face, struggling with herself whether to speak or not.
Pitt waited. He was afraid she would retreat if he prompted her.
“I was at home,” she said, then instantly seemed to regret it. “I mean, I went to sleep early. I—I am not sure about my husband, but—but my father did receive a ... a letter that troubled him. I think he may have been threatened in some way.”
“Do you know who sent this letter, Mrs. Carfax?”
“No. It was political, I think. Maybe regarding the Irish?”
“Thank you. Tomorrow perhaps you would be kind enough to see if you can remember any more. We will inquire at his office, and among his colleagues. Do you know if he kept the letter?”
She