Resurrection Row - Anne Perry [98]
“Five thousand pounds!” she said instantly. “Five thousand, I swear, and that’s God’s truth!”
“When? Exactly?”
“Twelfth of January, midday. ’E was here. Then ’e went straight to Resurrection Row.”
“And was murdered by St. Jermyn, who took back the five thousand pounds. I think if I check with his bank, which will be easy to do now with your information, I shall find that five thousand pounds, or something near it, was deposited again, which will prove beyond any reasonable man’s doubt that his lordship murdered Godolphin Jones, and why. Thank you, Mrs. Philp. And unless you want to dance at the end of a rope with him, you’ll be prepared to come into court and tell the same story on oath.”
“If I do, what will you charge me with?”
“Not murder, Mrs. Philp; and if you’re lucky not even keeping a bawdy house. Queen’s evidence, and you might find us prepared to turn a blind eye.”
“You promise?”
“No, I don’t promise. I can’t. But I can promise no charge of murder. As far as I know, there’s nothing at all to prove you ever knew anything about it. I don’t so far intend to look.”
“I didn’t! As God is my judge.”
“I’ll leave that to God, as you suggest. Good day, Mrs. Philp.” And he turned and went out, allowing the maid to open the door for him into the street. The light snow had stopped, but there was a watery, blue-white sunshine.
The next thing he did was return to Gadstone Park, not to St. Jermyn’s house but to Aunt Vespasia’s. He needed only one final piece of evidence, a statement from St. Jermyn’s bank, if the money was there, or alternatively a warrant to search his house, although it was highly unlikely he would keep that amount of cash in a household safe. It was more than most men earned in a decade, more than a good servant would earn in a lifetime.
Also, there would be a withdrawal of capital from the bank before the payment, or the sale of some property; either would be easily traceable. As Mrs. Philp had said, he could not have immediately laid his hands on that kind of cash; he certainly would not have sought a loan.
But before Pitt did anything so final, he wanted to know from Vespasia when, the precise day, the bill was coming up before Parliament. If there was any way at all he could put off his last, irreparable task, he would—at least that long.
She received him without her usual acid humor. “Good afternoon, Thomas,” she said with a touch of weariness. “I presume this is business; you have not called for luncheon?”
“No, ma’am. I apologize for the inconvenient hour.”
She brushed it aside with a slight gesture. “Well, what is it you wish to ask this time?”
“When does St. Jermyn’s bill go before Parliament?”
She had been staring at the fire; now she turned to face him slowly, her old eyes bright and tired. “Why do you want to know?”
“I believe you already know the answer to that, ma’am,” he said quietly. “I cannot let him get away with it, you know.”
She gave a little shrug. “I suppose not. But can you not leave it at least until after the bill? It will be over by tomorrow evening.”
“That is why I came here to ask you.”
“Can you?”
“Yes, I can leave it that long.”
“Thank you.”
He did not bother to explain that he was doing it because he believed in it and cared just as much as she or Carlisle, and probably more than St. Jermyn himself. He thought she knew that.
He did not stay. She would not do anything, not communicate with St. Jermyn. She would just wait.
He went back to the police station, obtained the warrants for the house and the bank, and contrived to get them too late to execute them that day. He was home by five o’clock and sat by the fire, eating muffins and playing with Jemima.
In the morning he started late, moved slowly, and it was the end of the afternoon before he had assembled all his evidence to his entire satisfaction and made out an appropriate warrant for St. Jermyn’s arrest.
He took only one constable and proceeded to the House of Lords at Westminster to wait in one of the anterooms until the voting was finished and their