The Whitechapel Conspiracy - Anne Perry [139]
They passed sullen men and women in the streets, and more newspapers with pictures that were plainly of Isaac. There were rumors that the sugar factories were closing.
In the police station, Pitt was put into a cell and left.
It was over two hours later that Jenkins came back, smiling broadly. “Sugar factories in’t gonna close down arter all,” he said, standing just inside the cell door. “Lord Randolph Churchill an’ some o’ ’is friends ’as put up the money ter keep ’em all goin’. In’t that a turn up?”
Pitt felt a surge of amazement and relief. It had to be Vespasia!
“An’ you’d better go ’ome, an’ all,” Jenkins added, his smile turning into a positive grin. “In case the Karanskys come back.”
Pitt stood up. “Aren’t they wanted anymore?” He could scarcely believe it.
“Oh yeah! But ’oo knows where they is? Could be on the ’igh seas by now.”
“And Inspector Harper is prepared to let me go?” Pitt did not yet move forward. He could imagine Harper’s fury, and his vengeance against Pitt. It would be the Inner Circle’s great satisfaction if Pitt spent a few years in prison for aiding the escape of the sugar factory murderer.
“No, ’e in’t prepared.” Jenkins oozed pleasure. “ ’E in’t got no choice, ’cos word came down from the top as yer ter be treated right an’ let go. Yer got friends someplace real ’igh. Which is as well fer you.”
“Thank you,” Pitt said absently, profoundly puzzled as he walked out into freedom and received his few belongings back from the desk sergeant. Vespasia again? Hardly … or she would have protected him in the first place. Narraway? No, he had neither the knowledge nor the power.
The Masons … the other side of the Whitechapel conspiracies. Suddenly freedom had a dual sweet and bitter taste.
He would go back to Heneagle Street and eat Leah’s dinner, then, when he could do it unobserved, go to see Saul, see about raising all the money they could for Isaac and Leah, all the help.
Charlotte was still determined to find the papers both she and Juno were certain Martin Fetters had hidden somewhere. They had exhausted all the places they knew of beyond the house and were back in the library staring around the shelves, searching for further ideas. Charlotte was grimly aware that a few feet away from where she stood, Martin Fetters had been killed by a man he had trusted and believed a friend. Her imagination of that terrible moment hung like a chill in the air. She thought of the instant he saw his own death in Adinett’s eyes, and knew what was going to happen, then the swift pain and the oblivion. Surely, Juno must be even more aware of it than she.
Each night Charlotte slept alone in her room, conscious of the empty space in the bed beside her, worrying about Pitt, frightened for him. Juno slept not only alone but knowing what had happened just a few rooms away from her, and that the worst she could possibly dread was already the truth.
“They must be here,” Juno said desperately. “They do exist; Martin didn’t know to destroy them, and Adinett didn’t have time. He left and he wasn’t carrying anything with him, because I saw him go myself. And when he came back again that was when we found Martin … I suppose he could have taken something then …” She trailed off.
“When did he have time to look?” Charlotte reasoned. “If Martin had them out, then Adinett must have put them away again, and then got them out when he returned. You said he didn’t have a case of any sort, just a stick. How did he carry loose papers, or do you suppose it was all written as entries in one book?”
Juno was staring around the walls. “I don’t know. I don’t really know what we’re looking for, or how much, except from what we know—there were lots more plans. They intended to do something positive. They were not just dreamers, meeting to talk over ideas. And if you mean