Traitors Gate - Anne Perry [118]
“No thank you,” Pitt refused. “If I don’t know it already, then it is a lie.” And leaving the boy giggling, he walked up the steps and into the police station.
Farnsworth was already there, tight faced and less immaculate than usual. He was coming down the stairs as Pitt reached the bottom to go up.
“Ah, good,” Farnsworth said immediately. “I’ve been waiting for you. Good God, this is awful!” He bit his lip. “Poor Chancellor. The most brilliant colonial secretary we’ve had in years, possibly even a future prime minister, and this had to happen to him. What have you learned?” He turned on the steps and started back up again towards Pitt’s office.
Pitt followed him up, closing the door before replying.
“She left the house at half past nine yesterday evening, Chancellor with her, but he only went so far as to call her a hansom and put her in it. She said she was going to visit Christabel Thorne, in Upper Brook Street, about fifteen minutes away at the most. But Mrs. Thorne says she never reached there, nor was she expecting her.”
“Is that all?” Farnsworth said grimly. He was standing with his back to the window, but even so his expression was unmistakable, a mixture of shock and despairing anxiety.
“So far,” Pitt replied. “Oh, she was wearing a blue cloak when she left home, according to the maid who saw her go, but it wasn’t on her when we found her. Possibly it’s still in the river. If it is washed up somewhere else, it might provide an indication as to where she went in.”
Farnsworth thought for a moment. He opened his mouth to say something, then possibly realized the answer, and merely grunted. “Suppose it could have been anywhere, depending on the tide?”
“Yes, although according to the river boatmen, more often than not they surface again more or less where they went in.”
Farnsworth pulled a face of distaste.
“The time of death may help with that,” Pitt went on. “If it is early enough it had to be well before the tide turned.”
“When did it turn?”
“About half past two.”
“What a damnable thing! I suppose you have no idea as to motive? Was she robbed … or …” His face crumpled and he refused to put words to the second thought.
Pitt had not even entertained that idea. His mind had been too full of treason, and knowledge of the murder of Arthur Desmond.
“I don’t know, sir,” he confessed. “The medical examiner will tell us that. I haven’t a report from him yet. It is a little early.”
“Robbery?” Farnsworth looked hopeful.
“I don’t know that either. There was a locket ’round her neck when she was found. That was how they knew who she was. I didn’t ask Chancellor if she were wearing anything else of value.”
Farnsworth frowned. “No, perhaps not. Poor man. He must be devastated. This is terrible, Pitt! For every reason, we must clear this up as soon as possible.” He came forward from the window. “You’d better leave the Colonial Office business to Tellman. You concentrate on this. It’s dreadful … quite dreadful. I can’t remember a case so … so shocking since …” He stopped.
Pitt would have said, The autumn of ’eighty-eight, and the Whitechapel murders, but there was no point. One did not compare horrors one with another.
“Unless they are connected,” he said instead.
Farnsworth’s head jerked up. “What?”
“Unless Mrs. Chancellor’s death and the Colonial Office treason are connected,” he elaborated.
Farnsworth looked at him as if he had spoken blasphemy.
“It is not impossible,” Pitt said quietly, meeting his eyes. “She may quite accidentally have discovered something, without any guilt on her part.”
Farnsworth relaxed.
“Or she may very possibly be involved,” Pitt added.
“I hope you have sufficient intelligence not to say that anywhere but here?” Farnsworth said slowly. “Not even hint that you have thought it?”
“Of course I have.”
“I trust you to deal with this, Pitt.” It was something of a question, and Farnsworth stared at him with entreaty in his face. “I don’t always approve of your methods, or your judgments, but you’ve solved some of