Highgate Rise - Anne Perry [112]
And with that they were obliged to depart with no more than the company name, which they had already gleaned from the management. No names were given and no principals—the matter was not described in any way, except by the rather amorphous threat.
“Odious little person,” Aunt Vespasia replied when they told her. “But what we might have expected. If he were to repeat names to any Tom, Dick and Harry who came to the door, he would not have lasted long as lawyer to the kind of people who own such properties.” She had already ordered tea and they were sitting around the fire in her withdrawing room, thawing out from the chill both of the weather outside and of their disappointment at having met, at least for the time being, what seemed to be a dead end. Even Gracie was permitted, on this occasion, to sit with them and to take tea, but she said nothing at all. Instead she stared with huge eyes at the paintings on the walls, the delicate furniture with its satin-smooth surfaces, and when she dared, at Vespasia herself, who was sitting upright, her silver hair coiled immaculately on the crown of her head, great pearl drops in her ears, ecru-colored French lace at her throat and in long ruffles over her thin, tapered hands, bright with diamonds. Gracie had never seen anyone so splendid in all her life, and to be sitting in her house taking tea with her was probably the most memorable thing she would ever do.
“But he did say he’d seen Clemency,” Charlotte pointed out. “He didn’t make the slightest attempt to conceal it. He was as bold as brass, and twice as smooth. He probably told whoever owns it that she had been there, and what she meant to do. I would dearly like to have hit him as hard as I could.”
“Impractical,” Emily said, biting her lip. “But so would I, preferably with an exceedingly sharp umbrella point. But how can we find who owns this company? Surely there must be a way?”
“Perhaps Thomas could,” Vespasia suggested, frowning slightly. “Commerce is not something with which I have any familiarity. It is at times like these I regret my lack of knowledge of certain aspects of society. Charlotte?”
“I don’t know whether he could.” She was sharply reminded of the previous evening. “But he doesn’t think there is any purpose. He is quite convinced that Dr. Shaw is the intended victim, not Clemency.”
“He may well be right,” Vespasia conceded. “It does not alter the fact that Clemency was fighting a battle in which we believe intensely, and that since she is dead there is no one else, so far as we know. The abuse is intolerable, for the wretchedness of its victims, and for the abysmal humbug. Nothing irks my temper like hypocrisy. I should like to rip the masks off these sanctimonious faces, for the sheer pleasure of doing it.”
“We are with you,” Jack said instantly. “I didn’t know I had it in me to be so angry, but at the moment I find it hard to think of much else.”
A very slight smile touched Vespasia’s lips and she regarded him with considerable approval. He seemed unaware of it, but it gave Emily a feeling of warmth that startled her, and she realized how much it mattered to her that Vespasia should think well of him. She found herself smiling back.
Charlotte thought of Pitt still struggling with Shaw’s patients, seeking for the one piece of knowledge that was so hideous it had led to two murders, and might lead to more, until Shaw himself was dead. But she still felt it was Clemency that had been meant to die in that first fire, and the second was merely to cover it. The murderer in act might be any one of dozens of arsonists for hire, but the murderer in spirit was whoever owned those fearful, rotting, teeming tenements in Lisbon Street, and was afraid of the public embarrassment Clemency would expose him to when she succeeded in her quest.
“We don’t know how to find who owns a company.” She set her cup down and stared at Vespasia. “But surely Mr. Carlisle will—or he will know someone else who does. If necessary we must