Farriers' Lane - Anne Perry [62]
“I wouldn’t,” Drummond said sharply. “Leave it alone, Pitt. There’s nothing in it but old pain, and new doubt which is totally unjustified. You will call into question the professional integrity and skill of good men, who don’t deserve that.”
“I’ll just see one or two of the other judges, in case—”
“No! I’m telling you, Pitt—leave it alone.”
“Why?” Pitt said stubbornly. “Who wants us to leave it alone?”
Drummond’s face tightened. “The Home Secretary,” he replied. “If it gets out you are looking into it again there’ll be a lot of stupid speculation. People will assume there is some doubt about the conviction—which is not true—and there will be another public outcry.” He leaned forward across the desk. “Feeling was very high indeed at the time. If it looks as though we are going to say we may have got the wrong man, or there could be some kind of a pardon, it will raise a storm of protest and a great deal of anti-Jewish feeling. And it’s not fair to Tamar Macaulay. You’ll give her hope which is completely unfounded. For heaven’s sake, let the wretched man remain buried in whatever obscurity he can find—and his family learn to live in peace!” Pitt said nothing.
“Pitt?” Drummond said urgently. “Listen to me, man!”
“I heard you, sir.” Pitt smiled bleakly.
“I know you hear me. I want your word that you understand and will obey me.”
“No, I’m not sure that I do understand,” Pitt said slowly. “Why would the Home Secretary mind my looking into the case, if that’s what Stafford was doing before he died? He must have had some reason—he wasn’t a whimsical or irresponsible man. I want to know what that reason was.”
Drummond’s face darkened. “Well, I want you to find out who killed him. And that looks regrettably more and more like a personal matter. I have no idea who—or why—and you have no time to meddle in old cases when you should be out looking for some enmity that was deep enough to inspire murder. Perhaps he knew of some other crime, something he did not live to report to the authorities.” Drummond’s face brightened. “Maybe he learned of something, and as soon as he had proof he was going to tell us—but the criminal, whoever it was, realized he knew and killed him before he could speak to anyone?”
Pitt made a polite face which was acutely expressive of his total disbelief.
“Well, go out there and find out,” Drummond said tartly.
Pitt stood up. He was not angry. He knew the pressures on Drummond, he knew the secret, iron-hard chain of the Inner Circle, and he both hated and feared it. He had felt its power before, and he knew Drummond rued the day he had joined, when innocence blinded him to even the possibility that men of his own class and breed would seek and use such power.
“Yes sir,” he said quietly, turning and going towards the door.
“Pitt?”
Pitt smiled, and ignored him.
5
“IS IT the Inner Circle again?” Charlotte asked grimly, taking the pins out of her hair and running her fingers through it in relief at letting it down. She felt as if she had had half an ironmonger’s shop in it keeping its heavy coils in place.
Pitt was standing behind her, debating whether to hang his jacket up or simply let it lie across the back of the chair.
“Probably,” he replied. “Although I can’t blame Lambert for not wanting the whole thing raked up again. It’s a terrible feeling to have your cases reopened and questioned as to whether you were right—especially if the man was hanged. Worse if you are not absolutely sure you did all you could, and you doubt your own honesty at the time.” He opted for laying the jacket on the chair.