Buckingham Palace Gardens - Anne Perry [40]
“And the other gentlemen participated more wholeheartedly?” Pitt asked.
“Certainly,” the Prince answered without hesitation. He smiled for a moment before the memory clouded with the horror of the morning. “Yes,” he repeated.
“You all retired at what hour?” Pitt pressed.
The Prince’s face registered distaste. It was a tactless question, indelicate. Pitt was aware of it and of the discomfort in the room. But he had no intention of catering to this sudden sensibility. Their delicate feelings were for themselves, as if they had been observed in some bodily function by a prurient stranger. Perhaps that was pretty close to the truth. He waited.
“I did not look at my pocket watch,” the Prince said coldly. “I imagine it must have been something after midnight. Sorokine went earlier.”
“I see. Each of you with a separate woman?”
“Naturally!” the Prince snapped. He seemed about to add something more, then changed his mind. The color was still hot in his face.
“Which of you was with the woman who was killed, sir?” Pitt asked.
“I was,” Dunkeld answered quickly.
Pitt knew it was a lie, both from Dunkeld’s face and from the Prince’s. It was an absurd moment, and equally it was irretrievable. He saw the Prince’s flash of gratitude and then his mortification in Pitt’s recognition of it, as if he had been caught in an act of cowardice.
“I see,” Pitt said quietly, forcing his expression into blandness, without the amusement and the contempt he felt, although it was difficult. “And how long did she remain with you, Mr. Dunkeld?”
“I didn’t time it!” Dunkeld said with a flare of temper. “And before you ask, I have no idea where she went. Presumably to one of the others, and her death.”
“We know from Edwards, one of the footmen, what time the other two women left,” Pitt pointed out, “and what time the third woman must have died, from the time she was last seen and the state of the body.”
“Then, as you implied before, it must have been Sorokine, Marquand, or Quase,” the Prince said with total despondency. “I suppose you had better find out which one. Thank you, Dunkeld. I appreciate your discretion and your loyalty. You may go…er, Pitt.”
Pitt bowed his head and went out into the corridor, closely followed by Dunkeld.
As soon as they were beyond possible earshot Dunkeld caught him by the arm and swung him round, almost knocking him against the wall. “You incompetent fool!” he snarled. “That is the future King of England you were talking to as if you were some self-righteous maiden aunt. Who the hell do you think you are to patronize him with your working-class prudery? Do you have any idea what a fool you make of yourself? No one expects you to behave like a gentleman, but at least have the wit to keep your moral judgments to yourself. Your manners belong in the gutter, where presumably most of your trade is.”
“Yes, it is,” Pitt replied between his teeth. Dunkeld’s face was less than a foot from his, and he could feel the heat of the man’s rage physically and smell his skin. “But I find gutters run in the most unexpected places.” His eyes did not leave Dunkeld’s.
Dunkeld swung his right shoulder back as if to strike him, then seeing Pitt’s unflinching gaze, he changed his mind. Suddenly he smiled, with an ugly curl of the lip. “If I were in your place, I should want to use this opportunity to better myself and earn the gratitude of my future sovereign, so my sons could find a more honorable occupation,” he said between his teeth. “Perhaps they could even escape such employment as the police, clearing up other people’s filth. And my daughters might marry tradesmen rather than their employees. But obviously you have neither the wit nor the vision for that.”
He let go of Pitt’s arm at last. “You’re a fool. If you really are the best Narraway has, God help the country. Go and get on with your questions. I suppose it would be pointless telling you not to offend anyone?”
“It would be a waste of time giving me orders at all, Mr. Dunkeld,