Buckingham Palace Gardens - Anne Perry [129]
“I believe you,” she said immediately. “I…I do.” She had almost said “I love you,” then stopped. He needed trust more than emotion.
“Don’t give up. I’m going to find Pitt. I have something to tell him.”
“Now? What time is it?”
“I don’t know. About three, I expect. Something like that.”
“You can’t wake him up at this hour!”
“Yes, I can.”
“Elsa!”
“Yes?”
“Thank you.”
“For believing you? That’s not necessary. I do.”
He had no idea how little she had believed him before this moment, but this was not the time for the self-indulgence of telling him. Nor was it the time to say she loved him. He knew that. And she did not want to make him feel as if he had to respond. It would betray this gossamer-thin honesty.
She found the key in her pocket and opened the door. She hesitated, almost said something, then changed her mind and went out, locking the door again behind her so no one would know she had been there.
She returned the key to where she had found it, and then went to waken Pitt. Of course it was appalling to disturb him at this hour, but later might be too late. She had no idea when the police would come to take Julius away. Cahoon would have it done as soon as possible.
She was still wearing her dinner gown, which was crumpled now, and her hair was coming loose from its pins. There were probably dried tears on her face. None of this mattered. Another hour or so and it would be light. There was no time to waste in mending her appearance.
It took her a few minutes to find Pitt’s room, and then several more to steel her nerve to knock. It was necessary for her to gather her courage again before the door opened. Pitt stood there blinking, the gaslamps turned up behind him. He was wearing a nightshirt and robe, and his thick hair was tousled, but he seemed quite definitely awake.
“Mrs. Dunkeld? Are you all right? Has something happened?” he said with alarm.
“I need to speak to you,” she replied as levelly as she could. “Urgently, or I would not have disturbed you this way.”
“I’ll be out in five minutes.” He did not argue but went back into the room. Five minutes later he emerged again, this time fully dressed and his hair in some semblance of order. However, he looked haggard with exhaustion and there was a dark stubble on his cheeks and chin. He led the way to the room where he worked, and opened the door for her.
“What is it, Mrs. Dunkeld?” he asked when they were inside and the lamps lit.
“You found the shards of a Limoges plate in the rubbish, didn’t you?” she stated.
“Yes.”
“Was it a pedestal dish, mostly white with a gold trellis border around the edges, and in the center a man and woman sitting on a stone garden seat? They both have blue on, a vivid shade of cobalt. I think it is his coat, and a sort of cloak for her.”
In spite of his weariness his attention was suddenly total. “Yes. Have you seen it? Where?”
“In a box my husband brought with us.”
He looked stunned, as if what she had said were incomprehensible. “Brought with you?” he repeated. “Are you certain?”
“Absolutely. It cannot have been the one which my husband said was broken, in Her Majesty’s own bedroom. It must be one exactly like it.”
“You are certain, Mrs. Dunkeld?” he insisted.
“Yes.” She felt the heat creep up her face. Did he imagine she was inventing it to protect Julius? He knew how she felt, she had seen it in his eyes before, a certain pity. Damn him for understanding! “He couldn’t have given it to the Queen,” she said aloud. “It would have been in a box, and left for her to open.” She was talking too much. She stopped abruptly.
“I know. This one was apparently given to her by one of her daughters, some considerable time ago,” he said, and the gentleness was in his eyes again. “But did he bring a gift for the Prince of Wales, do you know?”
She was puzzled. He seemed to have missed the point. “Yes, but it was not particularly personal, just a dozen or so bottles of a very good port. I think they have already been drinking it. Why? How can that matter? It’s a fairly