Traitors Gate

1

PITT SAT BACK on the wooden seat and watched with profound pleasure as the sun faded on the old apple tree in the center of the lawn and for a few moments gilded the rough bark. They had only been in the new house a matter of weeks, but already it had a familiarity about it as if he were returning rather than moving in for the first time. It was many small things: the light on the patch of stone wall at the end of the garden, the bark of the trees, the smell of grass deep in the shade under the branches.

It was early evening and there were moths fluttering and drifting in the early May air, which was already cooler as twilight approached. Charlotte was inside somewhere, probably upstairs seeing the children to bed. He hoped she had also thought of supper. He was surprisingly hungry, considering he had done little all day but enjoy the rare full Saturday at home. That was one of the benefits of having been promoted to Superintendent when Micah Drummond had retired: he had more time. The disadvantages were that he carried far more responsibility and found himself, rather too often for his wishes, behind a desk in Bow Street instead of out investigating.

He settled a little lower in the seat and crossed his legs, smiling without being aware of it. He was dressed in old clothes, suitable for the gardening he had done through the day very casually, now and then.

There was a click as the French doors opened and closed behind him.

“Please sir …”

It was Gracie, the little waif of a maid they had brought with them, and who was now filled with importance and satisfaction because she had a woman in five days a week to do the heavy scrubbing and the laundry, and a gardener’s boy three days. This fell under the heading of a considerable staff. Pitt’s promotion had been hers as well, and she was immensely proud of it.

“Yes, Gracie,” he said without getting up.

“There’s a gentleman to see you, sir, a Mr. Matthew Desmond….”

Pitt was stunned, motionless for a moment, then he shot to his feet and turned to face her.

“Matthew Desmond?” he repeated incredulously.

“Yes sir.” She looked startled. “Shouldn’t I ’ave let ’im in?”

“Yes! Yes, certainly you should. Where is he?”

“In the parlor, sir. I offered ’im a cup o’ tea but ’e wouldn’t ’ave it. ’e looks awful upset, sir.”

“Right,” he said absently, brushing past her and striding to the doors. He pulled them open and went into the sitting room. It was now filled with the last sunlight and looking oddly golden, in spite of its green and white furnishings. “Thank you,” he added over his shoulder to Gracie. He went into the hall, his heart beating faster and his mouth suddenly dry with anticipation and something not unlike guilt.

He hesitated for a moment, a confusion of memories teeming through his mind and stretching as far back as consciousness would take him. He had grown up in the country, on the Desmond estate, where his father had been gamekeeper. He was an only child, as was Sir Arthur’s son, a year younger than Pitt. And when Matthew Desmond had longed for someone to play with in the huge and beautiful grounds, Sir Arthur had found it natural enough to choose the gamekeeper’s son. It had been an easy friendship from the beginning, and in time had extended to the schoolroom as well. Sir Arthur had been pleased enough to include a second child and watch his own son’s application improve, with someone to share his lessons and to compete against him.

Even with Pitt’s father’s disgrace when he was unjustly accused of poaching (not on Sir Arthur’s lands, but those of his nearest neighbor), the family were permitted to remain on the estate, with rooms in the servants’ quarters, and Pitt himself had not been denied his continued education while his mother worked in the kitchens.

But it had been fifteen years now since Pitt had been back, and at least ten since he had had any contact with Sir Arthur or Matthew. As he stood in the hallway with his hand on the doorknob, it was not only guilt that stirred in his mind but a sense of foreboding.

He opened the door and went in.

Matthew turned from the mantelshelf, which he had been standing near. He had changed little: he was still tall, lean, almost narrow, with a long, erratic, humorous face, although all the laughter was bleached out of him now and he looked haggard and intensely serious.

“Hello, Thomas,” he said quietly, coming forward and offering his hand.

Pitt took it and held it firmly, searching Matthew’s face. The signs of grief were so obvious it would have been offensive and ridiculous to pretend not to have seen them.

“What is it?” he asked, sickeningly sure he already knew.

“Father,” Matthew said simply. “He died yesterday.”

Pitt was completely unprepared for the sense of loss which swept over him. He had not seen Arthur Desmond since before he had married and had children. He had only written letters to mark these events. Now he felt a loneliness, almost as if his roots had been torn away. A past he had taken for granted was suddenly no longer there. He had kept meaning to return. At first it had been a matter of pride which had kept him away. He would go back when he could show them all that the gamekeeper’s son had achieved success, honor. Of course it had taken far longer than in his innocence he had supposed. As the years passed it had become harder, the distance too difficult to bridge. Now, without warning, it had become impossible.

“I … I’m sorry,” he said to Matthew.

Matthew tried to smile, at least in acknowledgment, but it was a poor effort. His face still looked haunted.

“Thank you for coming to tell me,” Pitt went on. “That was … very good of you.” It was also far more than he deserved, and he knew it in a flush of shame.

Matthew dismissed it almost impatiently with a wave of his hand.

“He …” He swallowed and took a deep breath, his eyes on Pitt’s face. “He died at his club, here in London.”

Pitt was going to say he was sorry again, but it was pointless, and he ended saying nothing.

“Of an overdose of laudanum,” Matthew went on. His eyes searched Pitt’s face, seeking understanding, assurance of some answer to pain.

“Laudanum?” Pitt repeated it to ascertain he had heard correctly. “Was … was he ill? Suffering from—”

“No!” Matthew cut him off. “No, he was not ill. He was seventy, but he was in good health and good spirits. There was nothing wrong with him at all.” He looked angry as he said it and there was a fierce defensiveness in his voice.

“Then why was he taking laudanum?” Pitt’s policeman’s mind pursued the details and the logic of it in spite of his emotions, or Matthew’s.

“He wasn’t,” Matthew said desperately. “That’s the point! They are saying he was old and losing his wits, and that he took an overdose because he no longer knew what he was doing.” His eyes were blazing and he was poised ready to fly at Pitt if he even suspected him of agreeing.

Pitt remembered Arthur Desmond as he had known him: tall, ineffably elegant in the casual way of those who have both confidence and a natural grace, and yet at the same time almost always untidy. His clothes did not match each other. Even with a valet’s best attention, he managed to select something other than whatever was put out for him. Yet such was his innate dignity, and the humor in his long, clever face, that no one even noticed, much less thought to criticize. He had been highly individual, at times eccentric, but always with such a basic sanity, and tolerance of human frailty, that he should have been the last man on earth to resort to laudanum at all. But if he had, then he was quite capable of absentmindedly dosing himself twice.

Except that surely once would have sent him to sleep anyway?

Pitt had vague memories of Sir Arthur’s having long wakeful spells even thirty years ago, when Pitt had stayed overnight in the hall as a child. Then Sir Arthur had simply got up and wandered around the library until he found a book he fancied, and sat in one of the old leather chairs and gone to sleep with it open in his lap.

Matthew was waiting, staring at Pitt with mounting anger.

“Who is saying this?” Pitt asked.

Matthew was taken aback. It was not the question he was expecting.

“Uh—the doctor, the men at the club …”

“What club?”

“Oh—I am not being very clear, am I? He died at the Morton Club, in the late afternoon.”

“In the afternoon? Not at night at all?” Pitt was genuinely surprised; he did not have to affect it.

“No! That’s the point, Thomas,” Matthew said impatiently. “They are saying he was demented, suffering from a sort of senile decay. It’s not true, not even remotely! Father was one of the sanest men alive. And he didn’t drink brandy either! At least, hardly ever.”

“What has brandy to do with it?”

Matthew’s shoulders sagged and he looked exhausted and utterly bewildered.

“Sit down,” Pitt directed. “There is obviously more to this than you have told me so far. Have you eaten? You look terrible.”

Matthew smiled wanly. “I really don’t want to eat. Don’t fuss over me, just listen.”

Pitt conceded, and sat down opposite him.

Matthew sat on the edge of his chair, leaning forward, unable to relax.

“As I said, Father died yesterday. He was at his club. He had been there most of the afternoon. They found him in his chair when the steward went to tell him the time and ask if he wished for dinner. It was getting late.” He winced. “They said he’d been drinking a lot of brandy, and they thought he’d had rather too much and fallen asleep. That’s why nobody disturbed him before.”

Pitt did not interrupt him but sat with an increasing weight of sadness for what he now knew would come.

“Of course when they did speak to him, they found he was dead,” Matthew said bleakly. The effort of control in his voice was so naked that for anyone else Pitt would have been embarrassed; but now it was only an echo of what he himself was feeling. There were no questions to ask. It was not a crime, not even an event hard to understand. It was simply a bereavement, more sudden than most, and therefore carrying a kind of shock. But looked on with hindsight it would probably be a loss such as happens in most families sooner or later.

“I’m sorry,” he said quietly.

“You don’t understand!” All the rage built up in Matthew’s face again. He looked at Pitt almost accusingly. Then he drew in a deep breath and let it out with a sigh. “You see, Father belonged to some sort of society—oh, it was benevolent, at least he used to think it was. They supported all sorts of charities….” He waved his hand in the air to dismiss the matter. “I don’t know what, precisely. He never told me.”

Pitt felt cold, and unreasonably betrayed.

“The Inner Circle,” he said, the words grating between his teeth.

Matthew was stunned. “You knew! How did you know, when I didn’t?” He looked hurt, as if somehow Pitt had broken a trust. Upstairs there was a bang and the sound of running feet. Neither took notice.

“I’m guessing,” Pitt replied with a smile that turned into a wince. “It is an organization I know a little about.”

Matthew’s expression hardened, almost as if some door had closed over his candor and now he was wary, no longer the friend, almost brother, that he had been.

“Are you a member? No, I am sorry. That’s a stupid question, isn’t it? Because you wouldn’t tell me if you were. That’s how you knew Father was. Did you join with him, all those years ago? He never invited me!”

“No I did not join,” Pitt said tartly. “I never heard of it until recently, when I tangled with them in the course of my work. I’ve prosecuted a few of their members, and exposed several others for involvement in fraud, blackmail and murder. I probably know a great deal more about them than you do, and just how damnably dangerous they are.”

Outside in the corridor Charlotte spoke to one of the children, and the footsteps died away.

Matthew sat silent for several moments, the emotions that churned through his mind reflecting in his eyes and the tired, vulnerable lines in his face. He was still suffering from shock; he had not accustomed himself to the knowledge that his father was dead. Grief was barely in check, the sudden loneliness, regret, a little guilt—even if he had no idea for what: simply chances missed, words unused. And he was terribly tired, wrung out additionally by the anger which consumed him. He had been disappointed in Pitt, perhaps even betrayed; and then immensely relieved, and again guilty, because he had accused him wrongly.

It was no time to require apologies. Matthew was near to breaking.

Pitt held out his hand.

Matthew clasped it so tightly his fingers bruised the flesh.

Pitt allowed him a moment or two of pure emotion, then recalled him to his story.

“Why did you mention the Inner Circle?”

Matthew made an effort, and began again in a more level voice, but still sitting far forward in his chair, his elbows on his knees and his hands under his chin.

“Father was always involved only with the strictly charitable side, until quite recently, the last year or two, when he rose higher in the organization. More by accident than design, I think. He began to learn a lot more about them, and what else they did, who some of the other members were.” He frowned. “Particularly concerning Africa …”

“Africa?” Pitt was startled.

“Yes—Zambezia especially. There is a lot of exploration going on there at the moment. It’s a very long story. Do you know anything about it?”

“No … nothing at all.”

“Well naturally there’s a great deal of money concerned, and the possibility of unimaginable wealth in the future. Gold, diamonds, and of course land. And there were all sorts of other questions as well, missionary work, trade, foreign policy.”

“What has the Inner Circle to do with it?”

Matthew pulled a rueful face. “Power. It always has to do with power, and the sharing out of wealth. Anyway, Father began to appreciate just how the senior members of the Inner Circle were influencing policy in the government, and the South Africa Company, to their own advantage, regardless of the welfare of the Africans, or of British interests, either, for that matter. He got very upset about it indeed, and started to say so.”

“To the other members of his own ring?” Pitt asked, although he feared he knew what Matthew would reply.

“No … to anyone who would listen.” Matthew looked up, his eyes questioning. He saw the answer in Pitt’s face. “I think they murdered him,” he said quietly.

The silence was so intense they could hear the ticking of the walnut clock on the mantelshelf. Outside in the street, beyond the closed windows, someone shouted and the answer came back from farther away, a garden somewhere in the blue twilight.

Pitt did not dismiss it. The Inner Circle would quite readily do such a thing, if it felt the need great enough. He doubted not its resolve or ability … simply need.

“What was he saying about them, exactly?”

“You don’t disbelieve it?” Matthew asked. “You don’t sound shocked that distinguished members of the British aristocracy, the ruling classes, the honorable gentlemen of the country, should indulge in the murder of someone who chose to criticize them in public.”

“I went through all my emotions of shock and disbelief when I first learned about the Inner Circle and their purposes and codes of conduct,” Pitt replied. “I expect I shall feel anger and outrage all over again sometime, but at the moment I am trying to understand the facts. What was Sir Arthur saying that would make it necessary for the Inner Circle to take the dangerous step of killing him?”

For the first time Matthew sat back in his chair, crossing his legs, his eyes still on Pitt’s face. “He criticized their general morality,” he said in a steadier voice. “The way they are sworn to favor each other secretly, and at the expense of those who are outside the Circle, which is most of us. They do it in business, banking, politics and socially if they can, although that is harder.” His smile twisted. “There are still the unwritten laws that govern who is accepted and who is not. Nothing can force that. You may impel a gentleman to be civil to you, if he owes you money, but you can never force him to look on you as one of his own, whatever he owes you, up to and including his life.” He did not find it curious, nor did he seek words for the indefinable quality of assurance which made a gentleman. It had nothing to do with intelligence, achievement, money or title. A man might have all these and yet still fail to meet the invisible criteria. Matthew had been born to it; he understood it as some men know how to ride a horse, or to sing in tune.

“It includes too many gentlemen,” Pitt said sourly, memory returning of past cases and his bitter involvement with the Circle.

“That is more or less what Father said,” Matthew agreed, his eyes on Pitt’s face with a deepening intensity. “Then he went on quite specifically about Africa and the way they are controlling banking, whose interests control the funds for exploration and settlement. They are hand-and-hand with the politicians who will decide whether we try for a Cape-to-Cairo domination or concede to the Germans and concentrate on the south.” He shrugged with a quick, angry gesture. “As always the Foreign Secretary is hovering around, saying one thing, and meaning another. I work in the Foreign Office, and I don’t know myself what he really wants. There are missionaries, doctors, explorers, profiteers, big game hunters and Germans swarming all over the place.” He bit his lip ruefully. “Not to mention the native kings and warrior princes whose land it is anyway … until we wring treaties out of them for it. Or the Germans do.”

“And the Inner Circle?” Pitt prompted.

“Manipulating behind the scenes,” Matthew replied. “Calling in old loyalties secretly, investing quietly and reaping the reward. That’s what Father was saying.” He slid a little farther back in the seat and began to relax fractionally; or perhaps he was just so tired he could no longer sit upright. “What he objected to most intensely was the way the whole thing is secret. To give charity anonymously is fine and a perfectly honorable thing to do.”

They were both oblivious of the sounds of movement in the passage beyond.

“That’s what he originally thought the society was for,” he went on. “A group of men banded together to have a better knowledge of where help was needed, and not to do it piecemeal, but with sufficient means to make a real difference. Orphanages, hospitals for the needy, and for research into specific illnesses, almshouses for old soldiers … that sort of thing. Then just recently he discovered the other side to it.” He bit his lip, almost apologetically. “Father was a trifle naive, I think. You or I would have realized there was more to it a lot sooner. He thought the best of many people I would not have.”

Pitt recalled what he knew of the Inner Circle.

“Didn’t they warn him very quickly that they do not take criticism kindly, in fact they don’t take it at all?”

“Yes! Yes they did. They warned him in gentlemanly and discreet terms, which he misread completely. It never occurred to him that they really meant it.” Matthew’s eyebrows rose and his hazel eyes looked at once amused and bitterly hurt. Pitt had a curious sensation of respect for him, and realized the depth of his resolve, not only to clear his father of any suggestion of weakness, but perhaps also to avenge him.

“Matthew,” he began, leaning forward spontaneously.

“If you are going to warn me to leave it alone, you are wasting your time,” Matthew said stubbornly.

“I …” That was precisely what Pitt had been going to do. It was disconcerting to be read so easily. “You don’t even know who they are,” he pointed out. “At least stop and think very hard before you do anything.” It sounded feeble, desperately predictable.

Matthew smiled. “Poor Thomas, so much the elder brother. We are not children now, and one year doesn’t make your seniority worth anything. It hasn’t since we were ten! Of course I shall think carefully. That’s why I’ve come to you. I know perfectly well I can’t wound the Circle. It’s a Hydra. Cut off one head and two more will grow.” His face hardened again and all the light vanished out of it. “But I’m going to prove Father was not senile, or get killed in the attempt myself.” He looked at Pitt very levelly, meeting his eyes without a flicker. “If we allow them to say such things about a man like Father, to silence him with murder, and then discredit him by saying he had lost his wits, then apart from anything else, what have we left? What have we made of ourselves? What honor can we claim?”

“None,” Pitt said sadly. “But we need more than honor to win that battle; we need a great deal of tactical skill as well, and some sharp weapons.” Pitt grimaced. “Or perhaps a long spoon will be more appropriate.”

Matthew’s eyebrows rose. “To sup with the devil? Yes, well put. Have you a long spoon, Thomas? Are you willing to join me in the battle?”

“Yes of course I am.” He spoke without even thinking about it. Only the moment after did all the dangers and the responsibilities come closing in on his mind, but it was too late. And even if he had thought about it and weighed every one, he would still have made the same decision. The only difference would have been the sense of anguishing over it, the fear and the understanding of risk, and the margin of success that could be hoped for. Perhaps that would have been only so much time wasted anyway.

Matthew relaxed at last, allowing his head to rest against the antimacassar behind him. He smiled. Something of the tiredness and the look of defeat had been ironed out of his features. At a glance he almost resembled the youth Pitt had known so long ago, with whom he had shared adventures and dreams. They seemed both immensely wild, full of impossibilities—journeys up the Amazon, discoveries of the tombs of Pharaohs—and at the same time boyishly tame, still with the gentle, domestic ideas of right and wrong, children’s notions of wickedness: theft of goods and simple violence the worst they knew. They had not imagined corruption, disillusion, manipulation and betrayal. It all seemed very innocent now, the boys they had been long ago.

“There were warnings,” Matthew said suddenly. “I can see that now, although at the time I didn’t. I was up here in London when they happened, and he made light of it each time.”

“What were they?” Pitt asked.

Matthew screwed up his face. “Well, the first I cannot be sure about. As Father told it to me, he was traveling on the underground railway, at least he was intending to. He went down the steps to the platform and was waiting for the train—” He stopped abruptly and looked at Pitt. “Have you ever been on one of those things?”

“Yes, frequently.” Pitt pictured the cavernous passages, the long stations where the tunnel widened to allow a platform alongside the train, the dark curved roof, the glaring gaslights, the incredible noise as the engine rattled and roared out of the black hole into the light and came to a halt. Doors flew open and people poured out. Others waiting took their opportunity and pressed in before the doors should close and the wormlike contraption be on its way back into the darkness again.

“Then I don’t need to explain the noise and the crowds pushing and shoving each other,” Matthew continued. “Well, Father was fairly well towards the front and just as he heard the train coming, he felt a violent weight in the middle of his back and was propelled forward almost over the edge of the platform onto the lines, where of course he would have been killed.” Matthew’s voice hardened and there was a harsh edge to it. “He was grasped and hauled back just as the train appeared and came hurtling in. He said he turned to thank whomever it was, but there was no longer any person there he could distinguish as his helper—or his assailant. Everyone seemed to be about the business of boarding the train, and no one took the least notice of him.”

“But he was sure he was pushed?”

“Quite sure.” Matthew waited for Pitt to express some skepticism.

Pitt nodded barely perceptibly. With someone else, someone he knew less closely, he might have doubted; but unless he had changed beyond recognition, Arthur Desmond was the last man on earth to believe he was being persecuted. He viewed all men as basically good until he was forced to do otherwise, and then it came to him as a shock and a sadness, and he was still ready to find himself mistaken, and delighted to be so.

“And the second?” Pitt asked.

“That was something to do with a horse,” Matthew replied. “He never told me the details.” He sat forward again, his brow creasing. “I only knew about it at all because the groom told me when I was home. It seems Father was riding down in the village when some unexpected idiot came down the road at a full gallop, completely out of control of his animal. He was careering all over the place, one side of the road to the other, arms flying, whip in his hand, and he just about drove Father into the stone wall alongside the vicarage. Caught his horse a terrible blow about the head with his whip. Terrified the poor beast, and of course Father was thrown.” He let out his breath slowly, without moving his eyes from Pitt’s face. “It could conceivably have been an accident; the man was either drunken out of his senses or a complete imbecile, but Father didn’t think so, and I certainly don’t.”

“No,” Pitt said grimly. “Neither do I. He was a damn good horseman, and not the sort of man to imagine things of anyone.”

Suddenly Matthew smiled, a wide, generous smile that made him look years younger. “That’s the best thing I have heard anyone say in weeks. Dear God, I wish his friends could hear you. Everyone is so afraid to praise him, even to acknowledge his sanity, never mind that he might have been right.” There was sudden hurt in his voice. “Thomas, he was sane, wasn’t he? The sanest and most honorable and innately decent man ever to walk the land.”

“Yes he was,” Pitt agreed quietly and with total honesty. “But apart from that, it doesn’t rest on his sanity. I know the Inner Circle punishes those who betray it. I’ve seen it before. Sometimes it is social or financial ruin—not often death, but it is not unknown. If they couldn’t frighten him, and they obviously couldn’t, then there was nothing else for them to do. They couldn’t ruin him financially because he didn’t gamble or speculate. They couldn’t socially because he didn’t curry favor with anyone, or seek any office or alliances, and he couldn’t have cared less about being accepted at court, or in the social circles of London. Where he lived his standing was unassailable, even by the Inner Circle. So there was only death left to them, to silence him permanently.”

“And then to nullify all he said by dishonoring his memory.” Matthew’s voice was filled with anger, and pain flooded back into his face. “I can’t bear that, Thomas. I won’t!”

There was a knock on the parlor door. Pitt suddenly became aware again of where he was, and that it was nearly dark outside. He had not eaten, and Charlotte must be wondering who his visitor was and why he had gone into the parlor and closed the door without introducing her, or inviting the visitor to dine.

Matthew looked at him expectantly, and Pitt was surprised to see there was a flicker of nervousness across his face, as if he were uncertain how he should behave.

“Come in.” Pitt rose to his feet and reached to open the door. Charlotte was standing outside looking curious and a little anxious. She had finished reading to the children and from the faint flush in her cheeks and the stray hair poked into a misplaced pin, he knew she had been in the kitchen. He had even forgotten he was hungry. “Charlotte, this is Matthew Desmond.” It was ridiculous that they had never met before. Matthew had been closer to him than anyone else except his mother, at times closer than even she. And Charlotte was closer to him now than he had imagined anyone could be. And he had never taken her back to Brackley, never introduced her to his home, or to those who had been more than family to him before she was. His mother had died when he was eighteen, but that should not have cut the ties.

“How do you do, Mr. Desmond,” Charlotte said with a calm and confidence Pitt knew was the product of her birth, not of any inner emotion. He saw the uncertainty in her eyes and knew why she moved a step closer to him.

“How do you do, Mrs. Pitt,” Matthew replied, and his voice lifted very slightly with surprise because she answered his look squarely. In that brief second, with no more than a sentence and a meeting of glances, they had taken a certain measure of each other, understood the precise niche in society which they filled. “I am sorry to intrude, Mrs. Pitt,” Matthew went on. “I am afraid it was most selfish of me. I came to tell Thomas of my father’s death, and I regret that all consideration for anyone else went straight out of my head. I apologize.”

Charlotte looked across at Pitt this time, her face full of shock and sympathy, then back to Matthew. “I am sorry, Mr. Desmond. You must be feeling quite terrible. Is there anything we can do to be of practical assistance? Would you like Thomas to go back to Brackley with you?”

Matthew smiled. “Actually, Mrs. Pitt, I wanted Thomas to find out precisely what happened, and that he has already promised to do.”

Charlotte took breath to say something else, then realized perhaps it was inappropriate, and changed her mind.

“Would you like some supper, Mr. Desmond? I imagine you do not feel like eating, but you may feel worse if you leave it too long.”

“You are quite right,” he agreed. “On all counts.”

She looked at him closely, at the distress and the weariness in his face. She hesitated on the edge of decision for a moment, then made her judgment.

“Would you like to stay here overnight, Mr. Desmond? It will be no inconvenience whatever. In fact you would be our first guest since moving here, and we should like that very much. If there is anything you need, and have not with you, Thomas could lend it to you.”

He did not need to consider it. “Thank you,” he said immediately. “I would far rather that than return to my rooms.”

“Thomas will show you upstairs and have Gracie prepare the bedroom for you. Supper will be served in ten minutes.” And she turned, with only a glance at Pitt, and retreated towards the kitchen.

Matthew stood for a moment in the hallway looking at Pitt. All sorts of half thoughts were plain in his face: surprise, understanding, memories of the past, of long talks and even longer dreams when they were boys, and some of all the distance between then and now. No explanations were necessary.

Supper was a light meal anyway: cold roast chicken and vegetables, and a fruit sorbet afterwards. It was hardly a time when it mattered, but Pitt was glad Matthew had come after his promotion, and it had not been during the time when mutton stew and potatoes, or whiting and bread and butter, were all they could have offered.

They spoke little, and that merely of unemotional subjects such as plans for the garden, what they hoped to grow in the future, whether all the fruit trees were likely to bear, or how badly they were in need of pruning. It was only to fill the silence, not any attempt to pretend that all was well. Charlotte knew as well as Pitt that grief must be allowed its time. To prevent it by constant diversion only increased the pain, like a denial of the importance of the event, as if the loss did not matter.

Matthew retired early, leaving Charlotte in the green-and-white sitting room with Pitt. To have called it a withdrawing room would have been pretentious, but it had all the charm and cool ease that would serve such a purpose.

“What did he mean?” she asked as soon as Matthew had had time to be up the stairs beyond hearing. “What was wrong with Sir Arthur’s death?”

Slowly, finding words harder than he had expected to, he told her all that Matthew had said about Sir Arthur and the Inner Circle, the warnings he felt they had given him, and finally his death from laudanum at the Morton Club.

She listened without taking her eyes from his, and without interruption. He wondered if she could see in his face, as transparently as he felt them, both his grief and his sense of guilt. He was not even sure if he wanted her to know it. It was a bitterly lonely thing to hide, and yet he did not wish her to see him as the thoughtless man he felt, careless of so many years of past kindness that he had not been back, and now all he could do was repay a fraction of the debt by trying to redeem Sir Arthur’s name from a dishonor he knew it did not deserve.

If she perceived it in him, she did not say so. Charlotte could be the most wildly tactless of people at times. And yet when she loved someone, her commitment was such that she could keep any secret, and refrain from judgment in a way few people matched.

“He is the last man to have taken laudanum at all,” he said earnestly. “But even if he had, for some reason we know nothing of, I can’t let them say he was senile. It’s—it’s an indignity.”

“I know.” She reached out her hand and took his. “You don’t speak of him often, but I do know you feel very deeply for him. But regardless of that, it is an injustice one should not let by for anyone at all.” Her eyes were troubled and for the first time since he had begun, she was uncertain of his reaction. “But Thomas …”

“What?”

“Don’t let emotion …” She chose the word carefully, leaving the implication of guilt unsaid, although he was certain she knew that was what he felt. “Don’t let emotion prompt you into rushing in without thought and preparation. They are not enemies you can afford to take lightly. They have no honor in the way they fight. They won’t give you a second chance because you are bereaved, or rash, or motivated by loyalty. Once they realize you mean to fight them, they will try to provoke you into those very mistakes. I know you will remember Sir Arthur’s death, and that will fire you to want to beat them: but also remember the way in which they killed him, how successful it was for their purposes, and how completely ruthless.”

She shivered and looked increasingly unhappy, as if her own words had frightened her. “If they will do that to one of their own, imagine what they will do to an enemy, like you.” She looked for a moment as if she were going to add something—perhaps a plea for him to think again, to weigh the chances of achieving anything—but she changed her mind. Probably she knew it would be pointless now, of all times. He did not suspect her of duplicity ever—she had not the heart for it, nor the temper—but possibly she was learning a little tact.

He answered the unspoken question. “I have to,” he said gently. “The alternative is intolerable.”

She did not say anything, but held his hand more tightly, and sat still beside him for a long time.

In the morning Matthew slept late and Charlotte and Pitt were already at breakfast when he came into the dining room. Jemima and Daniel were already dressed and had walked to school with Gracie. This was a new task in which she took great satisfaction, stretching up to every fraction of her four feet eleven inches and smiling graciously to people she either knew or considered she would like to know. Charlotte suspected she also had a brief word with the butcher’s assistant on the corner on her return, but that was neither here nor there. He seemed quite a respectable youth. Charlotte had made a point of going in on one or two occasions herself, in order to have a good look at him and estimate his character.

Matthew looked rested, but there were still dark circles of shock under his eyes, and his thick brown hair with its fair streak across the brow looked tousled and ill cut, although it was probably only the result of having combed it with haste and inattention.

The usual courtesies were exchanged and Charlotte offered him bacon, eggs, kidneys, and toast and marmalade. Automatically she poured tea for him and he drank it while it was still too hot, burning his mouth.

After several minutes of companionable silence, Charlotte excused herself and withdrew to the kitchen about some domestic chore, and Matthew looked up at Pitt.

“There’s something else I really ought to speak to you about,” he said with his mouth full.

“Yes?”

“This is in your official capacity.” He took another sip of the tea, this time more carefully. “And mine too.”

“The Foreign Office?” Pitt was startled.

“Yes. It’s Africa again.” He frowned in concentration. “I don’t know if you know anything about our treaties … no? Well it doesn’t matter a lot for what I’m going to say. But we did make an agreement with Germany four years ago in 1886, and we are looking towards another this summer. Of course it’s all been altered by Bismarck’s losing power and the young Kaiser taking over everything. He’s got this wretched fellow Carl Peters, who is as sharp as a knife and tricky as a load of monkeys. And Salisbury not making up his mind what he really wants doesn’t make anything easier. Half of us suppose he is still looking for British domination of a corridor from the Cape to Cairo. The other half think he prefers to let that go as too costly and too difficult.”

“Difficult?” Pitt questioned with puzzlement.

“Yes,” Matthew said, taking another slice of toast. “For a start it’s over three thousand miles between British South Africa and British-controlled Egypt. That means taking Sudan, Equatoria—currently held by a slippery customer called Emin Pasha—a corridor west of German East Africa: not so easy in the present climate.” He regarded Pitt seriously to make sure he was following. Then to explain more clearly he started drawing on the kitchen table with his forefinger. “The whole area north of Transvaal, and that includes Zambezia and the territories between Angola and Mozambique, is still held by native chiefs.”

“I see,” Pitt said vaguely. “And the alternative you mentioned?”

“Cairo to Old Calabar,” Matthew replied, biting into his toast. “Or Niger to the Nile, if you like. That’s through Lake Chad, then westwards nearly to Senegal, taking Dahomey and the Ivory Coast from the French….”

“War?” Pitt was incredulous, and appalled.

“No, no, of course not,” Matthew said hastily. “In exchange for the Gambia.”

“Oh, I see.”

“No you don’t, not yet. There’s also the question of German East Africa, where there’s been a lot of trouble, uprisings and several killings, and Heligoland….”

“I beg your pardon?” Now Pitt was totally confused.

“Heligoland,” Matthew repeated with his mouth full.

“I thought Heligoland was in the North Sea. I can remember Mr. Tarbet saying it was. I’d no idea it was anywhere near Africa.”

“It is in the North Sea, just as Tarbet said.” Mr. Tarbet had been Matthew’s tutor as a child, and thus also Pitt’s. “Ideally placed for a naval base to blockade all the principal German ports on the Rhine,” Matthew explained. “We could trade Heligoland to the Germans for some of their lands in Africa. And believe me, they would be glad enough to do that, if we managed it really well.”

Pitt smiled wryly. “I can see that you have an extraordinary number of highly complex problems. But what exactly do you wish to consult the police over? We have no writ in Africa, or even in Heligoland.”

“But you do in London. And London is where the Colonial Office is, and the German Embassy….”

“Oh.” In spite of himself, Pitt was beginning to see, or to fear that he did.

“And the British Imperial South Africa Company,” Matthew went on. “And the various banks who fund explorers and missionaries, not to mention the adventurers, both literal and financial.”

“Unarguable,” Pitt conceded. “Why is that relevant?”

The faint flicker of amusement died out of Matthew’s eyes and he became serious.

“Because there is information disappearing from the Colonial Office, Thomas, and turning up in the German Embassy. We know that because of the bargaining issues the Germans are aware of, and they shouldn’t be. Sometimes they know things almost before we do in the Foreign Office. It hasn’t done any great damage yet, as far as we know, but it could very seriously jeopardize our chances of a successful treaty if it goes on.”

“So someone in the Colonial Office is passing information to the German Embassy?”

“I cannot see any alternative explanation.”

“What sort of information? Could it not have come from some other source? Surely they have men in East Africa too?”

“If you knew a little more about African affairs you wouldn’t ask that.” Matthew shrugged. “Every report one gets is different from the last, and most accounts are open to a dozen interpretations, especially where the native chiefs and princes are concerned, It is our Colonial Office version the Germans are getting.”

“Information about what sort of thing?”

Matthew drank the rest of his tea.

“So far as we know, at the moment it is mostly about mineral deposits and trading negotiations between various factions and the native chiefs. In particular one in Zambezia called Lobengula. We were very much hoping the Germans were unaware of the stage of negotiations we had reached in that matter.”

“But they are not?”

“Difficult to say, but I fear not.”

Pitt finished his own tea and poured more, helping himself to another slice of toast out of the rack. He had a deep liking for homemade marmalade. Charlotte had a way of doing it that was so pungent the flavor seemed to fill his whole head. He had observed that Matthew liked it as well.

“You have a traitor in the Colonial Office,” he said slowly. “Who else is aware of what you have told me?”

“My immediate superior, and the Foreign Secretary, Lord Salisbury.”

“That’s all?”

Matthew’s eyes widened. “Good heavens, yes. We don’t want people all over the place to know we have a spy in the Colonial Office. Nor do we want the spy himself to know we are aware of him. We need to clear up the whole matter before it does any real damage, and then keep quiet about it.”

“I can’t work without authority,” Pitt began.

Matthew frowned. “I will write you a letter of authority if you like. But I thought you were a superintendent now. What more authority do you need?”

“My assistant commissioner’s, if I am to start questioning people in the Colonial Office,” Pitt replied.

“Oh, well, him of course.”

“You don’t believe this has any connection with the other matter, do you?”

Matthew frowned for a moment, then his face cleared as he understood.

“Good God, I hope not! The Inner Circle is pretty low, but I had not imagined it was involved in treason, which is what this amounts to. No. So far as I know, and from everything Father said, the Inner Circle interests are bes served by Britain remaining as powerful and as rich as possible. Britain’s loss in Africa would be theirs as well. Their robbing us is one thing; the Germans doing it is quite another.” He smiled bitterly at the irony of it. “Why do you ask? Do you think there are Inner Circle members in the Colonial Office?”

“Probably, but I’m quite sure there are in the police. Of what rank I have no idea.”

“As high as assistant commissioner?” Matthew asked.

Pitt ate the last of his toast and marmalade.

“Certainly, but I meant of what rank in the Inner Circle. The two have no connection, which is one of the things that makes it so appallingly dangerous.”

“I don’t understand you.”

“You can find that someone in a position of great financial or political power,” Pitt explained, “is quite junior in the Circle, and owes some kind of obedience to an Inner Circle member who appears to be nobody significant in the world. You don’t ever know where the real power lies.”

“But surely that …” Matthew began, then trailed off, his eyes puzzled. “That would account for some very strange discoveries….” he started again. “A web of loyalties under the surface, conflicting with, and stronger than, all the ones you can see.” His face was pale and tight. “God, that’s very frightening. I hadn’t perceived it quite like that. No wonder Father was so distressed. I knew well enough why he was angry, but not the helplessness, at least not the depth of it.” He stopped and sat silent for several moments. Then he went on suddenly. “But even if it is all hopeless, I shall still try. I can’t let it … just lie like this.”

Pitt said nothing.

“I’m sorry.” Matthew bit his lip. “You were not trying to dissuade me, were you? I’m a little frightened of it myself. But you will take up the matter of the information from the Colonial Office?”

“Of course. As soon as I go in to Bow Street. I assume you are making the official Foreign Office request? I may use your name?”

“Yes, certainly.” He put his hand in his pocket and pulled out an envelope. He passed it to Pitt. “Here is a letter of authority. And Thomas … thank you.”

Pitt did not know what to say. To brush it aside as a small matter also dismissed their friendship and reduced it to mere good manners.

“What are you going to do now?” he asked instead.

Matthew looked so inwardly weary, the night’s sleep, if indeed he had slept, was merely a superficial relief. He set his napkin aside and stood up.

“There are arrangements to be made. They—” He took a deep breath. “They are having the inquest the day after tomorrow.”

“I’ll be there.”

“Thank you.”

“And … the funeral?”

“Two days after that, on the sixth. You’ll be there, won’t you? It’s in Brackley, naturally. He’ll be buried in the family vault.”

“Of course I will.” Pitt stood up also. “Where are you going now? Back to the Hall?”

“No. No, the inquest is here in London. I still have things to do.”

“Is there anyone … if you want to come back here?”

Matthew smiled. “Thank you, but I really should go and see Harriet. I …” He looked faintly embarrassed.

Pitt waited.

“I recently became betrothed,” Matthew went on with a faint color marking his cheeks.

“Congratulations!” Pitt meant it. He would have been delighted for him at any time, but now it seemed particularly fortunate that he had someone who could support him and share this time of loss. “Yes of course you should see her, tell her what has happened before she sees it in some newspaper, or hears it from someone else.”

Matthew pulled a face. “She won’t be reading newspapers, Thomas!”

Pitt realized with a jolt that he had committed a social gaffe. Ladies did not read newspapers, except for the court circulars or fashion columns. He had become accustomed to Charlotte and her sister, Emily, who, since leaving their father’s home, accepted no restrictions whatever upon what they would read. Even Lord Ashworth, Emily’s first husband, had allowed her that unusual latitude.

“Of course. I should have said until someone who has read a newspaper mentions it to her,” he apologized. “That would seem a thoughtless way of allowing her to hear of it. I am sure she would wish to be every support to you that she can.”

“Yes … I …” Matthew shrugged. “It seems so heartless to be happy in any respect now….”

“Nonsense!” Pitt said fervently. “Sir Arthur would be the first person to wish you any comfort you can find, and happiness too. You really don’t need me to assure you of that. You must know it for yourself, unless you have forgotten completely what manner of man he was.” It seemed strange and painful to speak of him in the past, and suddenly without warning he was caught by grief again.

Matthew must have felt something of the same emotion. His face was very pale.

“Of course. I … can’t … just yet. But I will go and see her, of course. She is a very fine woman, Thomas. You will like her. She is the daughter of Ransley Soames, at the Treasury.”

“Again, congratulations!” Pitt held out his hand; it was an automatic gesture.

Matthew took it, smiling briefly.

“Now we had both better go,” Pitt said. “I to Bow Street, and then to the Colonial Office.”

“Yes indeed. I must find Mrs. Pitt and thank her for her hospitality. I wish … I wish you had brought her to meet Father, Thomas. He would have liked her….” He swallowed hard and turned away to hide his sudden loss of control.

“So do I,” Pitt agreed intensely. “It is one of the many things I shall regret.” He went out of the room tactfully, to permit Matthew the privacy in which to compose himself. And he went upstairs to look for Charlotte.

In the Bow Street police station he was fortunate to find Assistant Commissioner Giles Farnsworth present. He came only occasionally, being in command of a very considerable area, and this was an unusual time for him to visit. Pitt had expected to reach him only after a considerable effort.

“Ah, good morning, Pitt,” Farnsworth said briskly. He was a handsome man in a smooth, well-bred manner, with sleek fair hair, clean-shaven face, and clear, very level blue-gray eyes. “Glad you are here in good time. Nasty robbery last night in Great Wild Street. Lady Warburton’s diamonds stolen. Haven’t got a full list yet, but Sir Robert will have it ready by midday. Most unpleasant. See to it personally, will you. I promised Sir Robert I’d have my best man on it.” He did not bother to look at Pitt to receive his answer. It was an order, not a suggestion.

When Micah Drummond had retired he had recommended Pitt to take his place with such fervor that Farnsworth had accepted it, but with considerable reservations. Pitt was not a gentleman, as Drummond had been, nor had he any previous experience of commanding men, such as a commissioned rank in the army, again, as Drummond had had. Farnsworth was accustomed to working with men of Drummond’s social rank in the position of superintendent. It made matters so much easier. They understood each other, they knew the rules as lesser men do not, and they were comfortable as something approaching equals.

Pitt would never be socially equal with Farnsworth, and there would never be friendship between them. The fact that Drummond had regarded Pitt as a friend was one of those inexplicable lapses that even gentlemen make from time to time. Although usually it was with people who had some particular skill or art to recommend them, such as the breeding of fine horses, or the design of a great garden with follies, parterres of box or lavender, or some brilliant new mechanical device for waterfalls and fountains. Pitt had never before encountered anyone who had such a lapse of judgment over a professional junior.

“Mr. Farnsworth,” Pitt stopped him as he was about to leave.

“Yes?” Farnsworth was surprised.

“Naturally I will attend to Lady Warburton’s diamonds if you wish me to, but I would rather put Tellman onto it and leave myself free to go to the Colonial Office, where I have been informed there is a leak of vital information about African affairs.”

“What?” Farnsworth was appalled. He swung around, staring at Pitt. “I don’t know anything about this! Why did you not report this immediately? I was available all yesterday, and the day before. You could perfectly easily have found me if you tried. You’ve got a telephone here. You should have one installed in your own home. You must keep up with the times, Pitt. Modern inventions are here for our use, not just to entertain those with more money and imagination than sense. What’s the matter with you, man? You are too old-fashioned. Stuck in your ways!”

“I only heard of it half an hour ago,” Pitt replied with satisfaction. “Immediately before leaving my home. And I don’t think it is a suitable subject to discuss on the telephone, but I do have one.”

“If it is not a suitable subject to discuss on the telephone, how did you hear about it?” Farnsworth demanded with a flash of humor and equal satisfaction. “If you wish to be discreet about it, you should have gone around to the Colonial Office to ascertain the situation before coming here. Are you really sure it is important information at all? Perhaps in your zeal to be discreet, you have insufficient knowledge to assume it is anything like as grave as you suggest. It is probably merely misplaced.”

Pitt smiled and put his hands in his pockets. “A member of the Foreign Office visited me in person,” he replied, “on the instructions of Lord Salisbury, and officially requested me to look into the matter. The information which we are speaking of has turned up in the German Embassy, which is how they know of the matter. It is not a few pieces of paper that no one can put his hand on.”

Farnsworth was aghast, but Pitt did not allow him to speak.

“The Germans are aware of some of our negotiating positions with reference to possessions in East Africa, Zambezia, and the possibilities of a British corridor from Cairo to the Cape,” he went on. “However, Lady Warburton’s diamonds …”

“To hell with Lady Warburton and her diamonds,” Farnsworth exploded. “Tellman can deal with that.” A look of spite crossed his well-formed features. “I only said my best man, I did not name him. And that is not necessarily the most senior, by any means. You go to the Colonial Office immediately. Concentrate on it, Pitt. Leave everything else until you have that solved. Do you understand me? And for God’s sake, man, be discreet!”

Pitt smiled. “Yes, Mr. Farnsworth. That is what I intended, before the matter of Lady Warburton came up.”

Farnsworth glared at him, but said nothing further.

Pitt opened the door. Farnsworth went out. Pitt followed him, calling the desk sergeant to send for Inspector Tellman.