Buckingham Palace Gardens - Anne Perry [145]
Cahoon took a deep breath. “Pity,” he said, in control of himself again. “But you won’t charge me with it. If you think you can ever bring this to the public, then you are an even bigger fool than I supposed, and having seen you and your oaf there,” he glanced at Pitt, “even the last few days, believe me, I thought you fool enough!”
Narraway’s cheeks paled with anger and his eyes glittered. “Of course we won’t!” he said with bitter relish. “I mentioned the murder to disconcert you. I believe in your own way, you loved her. After all, she was a female reflection of yourself, perhaps morally a little better, but then she was younger.” His smile widened a fraction. “All of it needs to be proved, of course, but the charge is for attempting to blackmail the heir to the throne.”
Cahoon was incredulous. “Blackmail? He’ll never bring a charge, you imbecile!”
Narraway stood perfectly still. “I’m bringing the charge, Mr. Dunkeld, of treason. Naturally, to protect the security of the nation, it will not be a public trial.”
At last Dunkeld understood. The blood drained from his skin. He swayed very slightly, then, as if catching his balance, he turned and lunged at Pitt, fists flailing.
Pitt raised his foot hard and caught him in the groin. Dunkeld screamed—a high-pitched, tearing sound—and doubled over, pitching violently into the doorpost with a crack that must have knocked him almost senseless.
Narraway gaped at Pitt in amazement.
Pitt shrugged very slightly, a warmth of satisfaction seeping through him. He might be ashamed of it later, but right now it felt good. “No point fighting his fists,” he observed. “I’d lose.”
Narraway shook his head. “He couldn’t have escaped.”
“No, of course not. But he would have half killed me, with nothing to lose, and I think that’s what he wanted.”
Narraway sighed. “Fool,” he said sadly. “You’d better tie him up. Can’t afford to leave him with his hands free, not that one. Then lock the door.”
“Yes, sir,” Pitt agreed.
Narraway turned at the door. “Thank you,” he added.
THE GUESTS MET in the sitting room with the Prince of Wales present. He was deeply distressed that the project had collapsed, but with the arrest of Cahoon Dunkeld it no longer had the driving force necessary to succeed. His displeasure was profound, overtaking his earlier embarrassment. But then, as Pitt observed to Narraway in a whisper, anger is always less uncomfortable than shame.
Liliane looked immensely relieved that the ordeal was over. Her eyes shone, her skin glowed, all her old beauty animated her face again. Hamilton seemed sober, the weight of immediate fear lifted from him too.
Simnel was quiet, the death of Minnie wrapping him in a pall of grief. Whether it had been her husband or her father who had killed her made no difference to him. He was still imprisoned by his need, leaving Olga as alone as before.
Julius was subdued. He had been too near a lifelong incarceration with the insane to recover in an hour or two. He had looked into an abyss and he could not dismiss or forget it.
Elsa also sat alone. Her husband had been arrested for killing his daughter. She faced a social nightmare of proportions she could not even guess at, but the man she loved was free, and that joy could not be taken from her. It burned in her eyes with a quiet, beautiful heat.
“Tragic!” the Prince of Wales said fervently. “A great talent, a great driving energy, lost to…to…”
“The lust for power,” Simnel filled in for him.
“Quite.” The Prince was irritated by the assistance. He would have found the phrase if he had been given the time. “Now we shall have to struggle to find a man to replace him. Someone who knows the project, understands it, and has the strength of will to guide it through. And the good name and reputation among the people whose investment and support we will need.”
Several people murmured their agreement.
The Prince turned to Julius. “You have been through a nightmarish experience, Sorokine. Unjustly suspected. Proved yourself worthy, though. I am sure you could step