killing Ailsa. The lesser thing he feared was that they would succeed in getting there on time, and he would owe the driver far more than he could afford to pay. The greater was that he had misjudged the whole affair, and they would arrive to find neither Talbot nor Ailsa anywhere near Tower Bridge.
He sat with hands clenched, not only to keep himself from being hurled from side to side and cracking his head against the interior walls of the cab, but to try to stop his imagination from building in his mind a sense of total humiliation. He had abandoned the rules he had lived by all his life, taken decisions he had no right to. His initial instinct had been right — he was not fit for this job. He had not the wisdom nor the steel in his soul. He was guessing frantically and he was going to let everyone down.
They were now careering along the Embankment. If it were possible to look outside without risking breaking his neck, he might see the magnificent outline of Tower Bridge like twin battlements black against the sky.
Stoker was sitting rigid in his seat, eyes still closed. He would have nightmares about this. It was a pity; he was a good man and deserved better! Pitt wondered idly if Kitty Ryder had lived up to Stoker’s vision of her. Everything in Stoker’s smile, and his silence on the subject, made him think that perhaps she had. He was pleased. If this turned out to be a complete fiasco, it would not be Stoker’s fault. He should escape the blame.
They came to a shuddering halt. Stoker all but fell out on to the pavement. Pitt climbed out more stiffly, straightening up as if he had been cramped for hours instead of less than one.
‘There y’are, sir,’ the driver said in triumph. He strained his neck up at the towers soaring into the air. ‘She’s a fine-looking bridge, in’t she? Won’t see the like o’ that nowhere else. That’s London, that is.’ He gave Pitt a gap- toothed smile of pride. ‘That’ll be nine shillings and sixpence, sir.’
Expensive. Practically half a constable’s weekly pay, and — since he had promised to double it — it was pretty well the whole of it. He fished in his pocket: thirty shillings altogether. He offered the man twenty. ‘Thank you,’ he said sincerely.
The man looked at the twenty shillings, then heaved a deep sigh. ‘Ten’ll do it, sir. Enjoyed myself. Old Bessie ’ere in’t had a gallop like that in years. Put the fear o’ God into some o’ them along the way, didn’t we, eh?’ He grinned.
‘Take the twenty,’ Pitt said graciously. ‘Give Bessie a treat. She’s more than earned it!’
‘Thank you, sir. I’ll do that.’ He picked all the shillings out of Pitt’s hand and put it into his pocket. ‘Good day, sir.’ And he urged the horse on in a slow, steady walk.
It took them ten minutes to find the restaurant. It was now very late for luncheon and there were few diners left.
Suddenly Stoker gripped Pitt’s arm so hard his fingers bit into the flesh.
Pitt froze, then turned slowly to follow the line of Stoker’s gaze. Ailsa Kynaston and Edom Talbot were walking, arm in arm, towards the way out that led towards the steps up to the north tower of the bridge. They were close to each other, as if lovers. She walked with her head up, gracefully, proud of her height. He seemed protective, as though he would guard her, even though he was actually taking her out into the first heavy spots of rain.
Stoker shot a questioning glance at Pitt.
It was too late to back out now. He had made this decision. He must live with it.
Together they followed, at a distance just great enough to make it look like chance, but careful not to lose sight of them.
They were going to walk across the top, the already famous path between the two towers that spanned the entire river, so that they would have one of the most spectacular views in London. Perhaps getting wet was a very small price to pay. Considering the now torrential rain, they might even have the place to themselves.
To themselves! Suddenly the significance of that shot through Pitt as if he had been physically struck. He started to race up the steps two at a time, Stoker behind him. They burst through the doors on to the walkway high above the river. The first drops had now turned into a blinding deluge and they could hardly see it. They could just make out two figures standing near the rail looking over.
They started to run towards them, but slipping in the streaming rain, half blinded by it, hearing nothing but the beat of water and the splashing of their feet.
Talbot was extraordinarily strong. He caught her from behind and threw his weight into lifting her. She went over the edge, hesitated for a moment, struggling, then plunged into the void. In the thunder of the rain they did not even hear her strike the river below, but he knew that within moments the swift and icy current would drown her.
Talbot stared for a moment, then turned to see Pitt only feet away from him, Stoker almost level with him.
Pitt smiled, or perhaps it was more a baring of the teeth.
Talbot smiled back. ‘Terrible accident,’ he said a little hoarsely. ‘Or perhaps it was suicide. I was pursuing her. Not really my job, more yours, but you seem a little slow.’ His voice was raised above the noise, but perfectly steady. ‘She was passing secret information on to a foreign power, or maybe you hadn’t worked that out yet. Better this way, perhaps? We can’t afford a public trial. Make us look like fools. Make our enemies rejoice and our allies despair of us. Do more harm than the information itself.’
‘Quite,’ Pitt agreed, taking a deep breath to try to stop himself from shaking. ‘Treason trials are extremely embarrassing. I always do what I can to avoid them. Trials for murder, on the other hand, are a completely different thing.’
Talbot froze as a terrible realisation struck him.
Pitt smiled again. ‘Edom Talbot, I am arresting you on a charge of murdering Ailsa Kynaston. Lover’s quarrel, I imagine. That’s what it looked like, don’t you think, Stoker? Citizen’s arrest, of course, but it’ll stand. As you say, nobody wants trials for treason. Makes us look incompetent.’
‘Definitely, sir,’ Stoker agreed. ‘Seems the lady rebuffed him. Very hard thing to take, sir, women laughing at you, scorning you like that. Saw it myself. Damn silly place to tell a short-tempered man that you’re finished with him.’
Talbot gave him a shrivelling look. Stoker smiled back at him, as calm as the sun, which was reappearing through the wind-torn clouds.
Pitt went back up the river straight to the House of Commons and sent a message inside that he required to speak with Jack Radley immediately, on a matter of state.
He waited twenty minutes before Jack came out of the Chamber into the hall, treading softly in the echoing vault of it. He looked very pale.
‘What is it?’ he said in hushed silence of murmur and the soft shuffling of feet as others met and parted, or entered the Chamber he had just left. ‘What’s happened?’
Very briefly Pitt told him.
‘I called you out to ask you to accept the position to work with Kynaston-’ he began.
‘But you’ve just said he’s guilty of treason!’ Jack all but snarled the words.
‘Exactly,’ Pitt agreed, grasping Jack’s arm. He held it so hard Jack pulled back, using all his weight, but it made no difference. ‘He has sent real and important information to the Swedes, and thus God knows who else, in order to settle a debt of honour owed by his dead brother. I am going to have him now send them false information to settle his own debt — to us. If you agree, you will work for him, and oversee it …’
Jack’s eyes widened and he stopped pulling away so completely Pitt had to adjust his balance rather quickly.
‘Will you?’ Pitt asked.
Jack gripped his hand so hard Pitt winced. ‘I will!’ he said fiercely. ‘You’ll never regret it, Thomas!’
‘I know,’ Pitt answered, returning the grip. ‘Now I’d better go and inform Kynaston!’
Pitt went to see Dudley Kynaston that evening. He found him alone in his study, sitting beneath the portrait of Bennett. He looked pale but composed.
‘I know Ailsa is dead,’ he said quietly as Pitt closed the door. ‘Did she speak to you?’
‘No,’ Pitt replied. ‘But it wasn’t necessary. I know why Talbot killed her. I tried to save her, but I was too late. But probably it is better this way.’ He remained standing with Kynaston looking up at him, his face white, eyes hollow.
