The Whitechapel Conspiracy - Anne Perry [26]
Perhaps he should not have been surprised. He had dealt them some hard blows in the past. They must have been biding their time to retaliate, and his testimony in court had given them the perfect opportunity.
“Friends of Adinett?” he said aloud.
Cornwallis nodded fractionally. “I have no way of knowing, but I would lay any odds you like on it.” He too avoided mentioning the name, but neither of them doubted the meaning. Cornwallis drew in his breath. “You are to report to Mr. Victor Narraway, at the address I shall give you. He is the commander of Special Branch in the East End, and he will tell you your exact duties.” He stopped abruptly.
Was he going to say that Narraway too was a member of the Inner Circle? If he were then Pitt was more profoundly alone than he had imagined.
“I wish I could tell you more about Narraway,” Cornwallis said miserably. “But the whole of Special Branch is something of a closed book to the rest of us.” Dislike puckered his face. He may have been obliged to accept that a clandestine force was necessary, but it offended his nature, as it did those of most Englishmen.
“I thought the Fenian trouble had died down,” Pitt said candidly. “What could I do in Spitalfields that their own men couldn’t do better?”
Cornwallis leaned forward over his desk. “Pitt, it has nothing to do with the Fenians, or the anarchists, and Spitalfields is immaterial.” His voice was low and urgent. “They want you out of Bow Street. They are determined to break you, if they can. This is at least another job, for which you will be paid. Money will be deposited for your wife to withdraw. And if you are careful, and clever, they may be unable to find you, and believe me, that would be very desirable for some time to come. I … I wish it were not so.”
Pitt intended to stand up, but found his legs weak. He started to ask how long he was to be banished to chasing shadows in the East End, robbed of dignity, of command, of the whole way of life he was used to … and had earned! He was not sure if he could bear the answer. Then, looking at Cornwallis’s face, he realized the man had no answer to give.
“I have to live … in the East End?” he asked. He heard his own voice, dry and a little cracked, as if he had not spoken for days. He realized it was the sound of shock. He had heard the same tone in others when he had had to tell them unbearable news.
He shook himself. This was not unbearable. No one he loved was injured or dead. He had lost his home for himself, but it was there for Charlotte, and Daniel and Jemima. Only he would be missing.
But it was so unjust! He had done nothing wrong, nothing even mistaken. Adinett was guilty. Pitt had presented the evidence to a jury fairly, and they had weighed it and delivered a verdict.
Why had John Adinett killed Fetters? Even Juster had been unable to think of any reason. In everyone’s belief they had been the best of friends, two men who not only shared a passion for travel and for objects treasured for their links with history and legend, but also shared many ideals and dreams for changing the future. They wanted a gentler, more tolerant society that offered a chance of improvement to all.
Juster had wondered if the motive could concern money or a woman. Both had been investigated, and no suggestion could be found of either’s being the case. No one knew of even the slightest difference between the two men until that day. No raised voices had been heard. When the butler had brought the port half an hour earlier, the two men had seemed the best of friends.
But Pitt was certain he was not mistaken in the facts.
“Pitt …” Cornwallis was still leaning across the desk, staring at him, his eyes earnest.
Pitt refocused his attention. “Yes?”
“I’ll do all I can.” Cornwallis seemed embarrassed, as if he knew that was not enough. “Just … just wait it out. Be careful And … and for God’s sake, trust no one.” His hands clenched on the polished oak