Death of a Stranger - Anne Perry [47]
He hesitated before he replied, surprised by how decisive his answer was. She was watching him with interest, her fork poised in the air.
“I don’t know whether there is any fraud or not,” he replied steadily. “But if there is, I would find it hard to believe he was duped. He seemed knowledgeable, intelligent, and far too ambitious to leave anything to chance—or to anyone else’s judgment. I would think him the last man to trust his welfare to another.”
“Then Miss Harcus’s opinion of him is formed more by being in love than the reality?” She smiled a trifle ruefully. “We all tend to see people we care about rather more as we wish them to be. Are you going to tell her he is very well able to care for his own reputation?”
“No,” he said with his mouth full. “At least not until I know if there is any land fraud or not. I’m going to Derbyshire tomorrow to look at the survey reports, and then at the site.”
She frowned. “Why is she so convinced that there is something wrong? If it is not Dalgarno, who is it she thinks is to blame?” She put her fork down, forgetting her meal altogether. “William, is it possible that it was Nolan Baltimore, the man who was killed in Leather Lane, and his death had to do with land fraud, and not prostitution at all? I know he probably wasn’t there because of land,” she went on quickly. “I do know what Abel Smith does for a living!” Her mouth twisted in a tight little smile. “And I assume he went there for that purpose. But it would make sense, wouldn’t it, if whoever killed him followed him there and chose that place in order to disguise his real motive?”
This time she ignored the quickening of his interest.
“And left Baltimore there so anyone would assume exactly what they do,” she went on. “Except his family, of course. Did I tell you his daughter came to me in Coldbath Square to ask if I knew anything that could help clear his name?”
“What?” He jerked forward. “You didn’t tell me that!”
“Oh . . . well, I meant to,” she apologized. “Not that it makes any difference. I can’t, of course. Tell her anything, I mean. But the family would want to believe it was nothing to do with prostitution, wouldn’t they?”
“They wouldn’t be keen to think it was land fraud either,” he said with a smile. But the thought took fire in his mind. It fitted with what he had seen of the two younger men in Baltimore’s offices, what Katrina Harcus believed of Dalgarno, and it made more sense of Nolan Baltimore’s death than a prostitute’s or a pimp’s having killed him.
Hester was looking at him, waiting for his response.
“Yes,” he agreed, taking more fish and potato. “But I still don’t know if there is any fraud—or, if you’re right, I suppose I should say was! I must go to Derbyshire tomorrow and see the site. I need all the maps, in large detail, and I need to look at exactly what they are doing.”
She frowned. “Will you know from that? I mean, just looking at the maps and the land?”
This was the time to tell her of his jolting memory, his sense of familiarity with the whole process of surveying for railways, and the land purchase with its difficulties. He had told her long ago of the snatches he had remembered of Arrol Dundas and his helplessness to prove the truth at the time. She would understand why he was compelled now to learn the truth about Baltimore and Sons, whether Katrina Harcus needed it or not. If he explained his fears it would make it easier if he had to admit later on that he had been at least partly implicated in the fraud—and the disaster afterwards which it may have caused.
He thought of her work with the women in Coldbath Square. She would be going back there tonight. She was dressed for it already, a long night’s hard and thankless labor. He might not see her again until after he came back from Derbyshire. It should wait until another time, when he would have the opportunity to be with her, to assure her of . . . what? That whatever he had been in the past, he was no longer that man anymore?
“I don’t know,” he said. That was in essence