Traitors Gate - Anne Perry [112]
Pitt rang the doorbell.
It was answered almost immediately by a footman who looked surprised to see someone at the front door so very early.
“Yes sir?” he said politely.
“Good morning. My name is Pitt.” He produced his card. “It is imperative I see Mr. Chancellor immediately. It is on a matter that cannot wait. Will you tell him so, please.”
The footman had worked for a cabinet minister for some time and he was not unused to matters of dire emergency.
“Yes sir. If you will wait in the morning room, I will inform Mr. Chancellor that you are here.”
Pitt hesitated.
“Yes sir?” the footman said politely.
“I am afraid I have some extremely unpleasant news. Perhaps you would send the butler to me first.”
The footman paled.
“Yes sir, if you think that’s necessary?”
“Has he been with Mr. Chancellor long?”
“Yes sir, some fifteen years.”
“Then please send him.”
“Yes sir.”
The butler came within moments, looking anxious. He closed the morning room door behind him and faced Pitt with a frown.
“I’m Richards, sir, Mr. Chancellor’s butler. I gather from Albert that something distressing has happened. Is it one of the gentlemen in the Colonial Office? Has there been a … an accident?”
“No, Richards, I am afraid it is far worse than that,” Pitt said quietly, his voice rough at the edges. “I am afraid Mrs. Chancellor has met with … has met with a violent death.” He got no further. The butler swayed on his feet as if he were about to faint. Every vestige of color fled from his skin.
Pitt lunged forward and grasped him, guiding him backwards towards one of the chairs.
“I’m … I’m sorry, sir,” Richards gasped. “I don’t know what came over me. I …” He looked up at Pitt beseechingly. “You are sure, sir? There could not be some error … some mistake as to identity?” Even as he said it his face reflected his knowledge that it could not be so. How many women were there in London who looked like Susannah Chancellor?
Pitt gave no answer. None was necessary.
“I think it would be wise if you were to make yourself available close at hand when I have to break the news to Mr. Chancellor,” Pitt said gently. “Perhaps a decanter of brandy. And you might make sure that there are no callers and no messages until he feels able to deal with them.”
“Yes. Yes, of course. Thank you, sir.” And still looking very shaken and uncertain in his step, Richards rose and left the room.
Linus Chancellor came in a moment or two later, an eagerness in his step and a directness in his eyes that gave Pitt a bitter jolt. He realized Chancellor was expecting news about the African information that was being passed. And with that keenness in his eyes, he also realized, if he had ever doubted it, that Chancellor was innocent of any involvement.
“I’m sorry, sir. I have very grave news,” he said almost before Chancellor had closed the door. He could not bear the misapprehension.
“Is it one of my senior colleagues?” Chancellor asked. “It is good of you to come here to tell me in person. Who is it? Aylmer?”
Pitt felt cold in spite of the warmth of the room and the sun now bright outside.
“No, sir. I am afraid it is about Mrs. Chancellor I have come.” He saw the surprise in Chancellor’s face and did not wait. “I am profoundly sorry, sir, but I have to tell you that she is dead.”
“Dead?” Chancellor repeated the word as though he did not know its meaning. “She was perfectly well last evening. She went out to …” He turned and went to the door. “Richards?”
The butler appeared immediately, the salver with brandy decanter and glass in his hands, his face ashen white.
Chancellor looked back at Pitt, then at the butler again.
“Have you seen Mrs. Chancellor this morning, Richards?”
Richards looked enquiringly at Pitt.
“Mr. Chancellor, there is no doubt,” Pitt said gently. “She was found at the Tower of London.”
“The Tower of London?” Chancellor said incredulously. His eyes were wide with disbelief, and there was a look on his