The Whitechapel Conspiracy - Anne Perry [88]
“What is it?” he said almost under his breath. “What are you doing here?”
Tellman fell into step beside him, pulling him around to continue the way he had been going.
“I’ve been following Lyndon Remus,” he said very quietly. Pitt started at the name, but Tellman did not notice. “He is into something to do with Adinett,” he went on. “I don’t know what it is yet, but he’s alight with it. Adinett was in this area, bit farther east, actually: Cleveland Street.”
“Adinett was?” Pitt stopped abruptly. “What for?”
“Looks like he was following a story five or six years old,” Tellman answered, facing him. “About a girl kidnapped from a tobacconist’s shop there and taken to Guy’s Hospital, then found insane. Seems as if he went straight to Thorold Dismore with it.”
“The newspaper man?” Pitt asked, starting forward again and skirting around a pile of refuse and only just jumping back onto the footpath in time to avoid being struck by a cart loaded precariously with barrels.
“Yes,” Tellman repeated, catching up with him. “But he’s taking orders from someone he meets by appointment in Regent’s Park. Someone who dresses very well indeed. A lot of money.”
“Any idea who?”
“No.”
Pitt walked in silence for another twenty yards, his mind whirling. He had determined not to think any more about the Adinett case, but of course it had plagued his mind, teasing every fact to try to make sense of a crime which seemed contrary to all reason or character. He wanted to understand, but more than that, he wanted to prove that he had been right.
“Have you been to Keppel Street?” he asked aloud.
“Of course,” Tellman answered, keeping up with him. “They’re all fine. Missing you.” He looked away. “Gracie found out something about this girl from Cleveland Street. She was Catholic and she had a lover who looked like a gentleman. He disappeared too.”
Pitt caught the mixture of emotions in Tellman’s voice, the pride and the self-consciousness. At another time he would have smiled.
“I’ll tell you if I find out anything else,” Tellman went on, keeping his eyes straight ahead of him. “I’ve got to get back. We’ve got a new superintendent … Wetron’s his name.” His voice was laden with disgust. “I don’t know what this is all about, but I don’t trust anyone, and you’d be best not to either. Do you come this way every morning?”
“Usually.”
“I’ll tell you everything I find out.” He stopped abruptly and swung around to face Pitt, his lantern jaw hollow in the gray light, his eyes dark. “You be careful.” Then, as if he had said too much and embarrassed himself by showing his concern, he swiveled on his heel and strode off back the way he had come.
Gracie was still determined to follow Lyndon Remus, but she had no intention of allowing either Charlotte or Tellman to know it. That meant it was necessary that she give Charlotte some other reason for wanting to leave the house so early—and for remaining absent, possibly all day. It required considerable imagination to come up with a series of excuses, and she hated lying. If it were not absolutely necessary in order to rescue Pitt from injustice and get him home again, she would not even have contemplated it.
She got up just after dawn to have the range lit and the water boiling and the kitchen scrubbed and spotless before anyone else came down. Even the cats were startled to see her at half past five, and not at all sure it was a good idea, especially since she disturbed their sleep in the laundry basket without offering them breakfast.
When Charlotte came down at half past seven Gracie was ready with her story.
“Mornin’, ma’am,” she said cheerfully. “Cup o’ tea?”
“Good morning,” Charlotte replied, looking around the kitchen with surprise. “Were you up half the night?”
“Got up a bit early.” Gracie