Pentecost Alley - Anne Perry [25]
He stood in the center of the pathway that wound gently through Regents Park towards the Botanical Gardens. He stared upwards into the hazy sunshine with a smile on his face. It had taken Pitt since mid-morning to find him, and only by dint of persistent enquiry had he succeeded.
“Mr. Thirlstone?” he enquired, although he was already certain of his identity.
“Indeed, sir,” Thirlstone answered without lowering his gaze. “Is it not a magnificent afternoon? Can you smell the myriad aromas of the flowers, indigenous and exotic, which lie just beyond our gaze? What a marvelous thing is nature. We appreciate it far too little. She has given us senses, and what do we do? Largely ignore them, sir, largely ignore them. What can I do for you, apart from bringing you to mind of your olfactory perceptions?”
“Some years ago I believe you used to belong to an organization known as the Hellfire Club …” Pitt began.
“Organization.” Thirlstone lowered his head, then looked at Pitt with amusement. “Hardly, sir. Organized it never was! I abhor organization. It is the antithesis of pleasure and creativity. It is man’s puny attempt to lay his mark on a universe he cannot begin to comprehend. It is pathetic.” A bumblebee meandered lazily by. He watched it with delight. “Nature organizes,” he continued. “We merely watch in profound ignorance, and usually fear. Awe, sir, that is proper. Fear is stultifying. The difference is the span of all pure feeling. What about it?”
Pitt was lost.
“The Hellfire Club, sir!” Thirlstone explained. “What about it? Folly of youth. Personally, I have moved on, woken to the better pursuits of life. Did you want to join?” He shrugged, his face lifted again to the sun. “I cannot help you. Start one of your own. Don’t wait for others. Begin anew! Try some of the gambling clubs, horse races, music halls, houses of ill repute and so on. You’ll find like-minded men. Pick and choose as you will.”
“That was the sort of place you frequented?” Pitt tried very hard to make his voice sound interested and yet not naive. He knew he failed. It was an impossible task.
Thirlstone lowered his gaze and stared at him as if he were some rare plant he had just observed.
“What else would you expect, sir? Horticulture? Poetry? If your taste is not to drinking, gambling, fine horses and willing women, what do you want with a Hellfire Club?”
The charade had been brief, and it was over.
“The names of the original members, a summary of their present whereabouts,” Pitt replied, still a trifle mendaciously.
Thirlstone’s eyes widened in amazement.
“My dear fellow, whatever for? It disbanded, or should I say dissolved of its own accord, years ago. It can be no possible use to you now.”
A butterfly drifted past them, fluttering in the sun. Far in the distance a dog barked.
“A Hellfire Club badge was found under the body of a murdered woman last night,” Pitt replied.
“Good God! How extraordinary!” Thirlstone’s black eyebrows shot up, wrinkling his brow dramatically. “Why does it concern you? Are you related to her? I’m fearfully sorry.” He extended his hand in a gesture of sympathy.
“No. No I’m not,” Pitt said with some awkwardness.
“Then … you’re not police, are you? You don’t look like police. You are!” He seemed almost amused, as if the fact had some esoteric humor of its own. “How unutterably squalid. What in heaven’s name do you want from me? I know nothing about it. Who was she?”
“Her name was Ada McKinley. She was a prostitute.”
Thirlstone’s face showed a trace of pity, something lacking in Finlay FitzJames and Helliwell. Then suddenly he was absolutely sober. The slight air of banter vanished completely. Under his superficial manner his concentration was total. His eyes were narrowed, his body motionless, so that suddenly Pitt was aware of the breeze and the slight stirring of the flowers.
“There were only