Long Spoon Lane - Anne Perry [140]
Pitt went up his own steps, calling a warning to Narraway. He took Tellman quickly across the street and knocked on the Denoons’ front door.
It was opened by a downstairs maid with an apron on and hands smutted with ash from cleaning out the withdrawing room fireplace.
“Yes, sir?” she said doubtfully.
“Police,” Tellman said, and pushed past her.
“You had better waken your master,” Pitt added.
Tellman was already on his way towards the kitchen. Pitt followed him, passing a bemused boot boy who was half awake and a scullery maid with a bucket of coals.
They found Piers in the kitchen itself, pouring a cup of tea from the pot the staff must have made for themselves.
“Don’t bother trying to go out the back door,” Pitt said quietly. “There’s someone waiting if you do.”
Piers froze. The cup dropped out of his hand and slopped over onto the kitchen table. Closer to, his face was gaunt, his cheeks darkened with stubble, his eyes hollow, haunted. Terror mixed with a kind of strange, desperate relief as if at last the chase were over and he could resign himself to the worst.
“Piers Denoon,” Tellman said stiffly. “I arrest you for the murder of Magnus Landsborough. You’d best come without trouble, sir. Sake of your family.”
Piers remained as if unable to move. Tellman was confused as to whether to put manacles on him or not.
“Go through to the front of the house, Mr. Denoon,” Pitt told him. “There’s no need to do this in front of the servants.”
As if he were an old man, Denoon began to walk out to the corridor and through to the front, Tellman half a step behind him.
They came through the green baize door almost together, and found Enid Denoon standing at the bottom of the stairs. She was wearing her night attire with a gown wrapped around her. Her hair was loose, still luxuriant despite her haggard face.
“What has happened?” she asked Pitt.
He had a terrible feeling that perhaps she guessed.
“I’m sorry, Mrs. Denoon.” He meant it intensely. He would have given a great deal to have had it differently. It would have hurt him far less if it could have been Edward Denoon. But Denoon was too careful of himself and his ambitions to have done such a thing personally, and perhaps she knew that. He was a man who used others, as Wetron did, in all but the most desperate circumstances.
Piers looked at his mother, but it was not for help. He knew there was nothing anyone could do. “I couldn’t face it, and I thought I could get away,” he said simply.
Enid looked beyond him to Pitt.
She deserved an explanation. He made it as simple as he could. “Three years ago he committed a crime,” he said. “The police kept his confession and the witness statements. They used them to blackmail him into acting for the anarchists, obtaining money for them. They wanted the bombings to provoke public feeling to the point where the vast majority would be willing to arm the police and give them greater powers.”
Her face was ashen; she knew what was coming next. “And Magnus knew?”
“I don’t know,” he admitted. “Magnus was killed in order to raise public outrage and get it in all the newspapers. A lesser man, someone without a famous family, and it might not have mattered so much.”
“Police?” she repeated. “Who? The man Simbister? Or the leader who just killed Voisey? No, you don’t need to answer that. It must be Wetron, or you wouldn’t still care so much. You do. I can see the anger in you.” She looked at her son. “I shall inform your father. I doubt he can help you, but I am sure he will try. I will do what I can.” She looked back at Pitt. “Please see yourself out. I have duties to fulfill. I understand that you have done what you had to, now so must I.” And she turned and climbed the stairs slowly, her hand on the banister rail as if it were all that held her upright.
Pitt followed Tellman and Piers Denoon outside where Narraway was waiting. There was a cab also. Tellman