“That the bitch is ruined,” Pitt finished. “All her litters after that will be contaminated.”
“I suppose you know what you are talking about.”
“Yes. Adah Harrimore believed that a woman who had sexual congress with a Jew was contaminated ever after. Any further children would be damaged.”
“Why should that explain Prosper Harrimore murdering Kingsley Blaine?” Drummond said impatiently.
“Because Adah’s husband betrayed her with a Jewess while she was carrying Prosper—and he was born with a deformed leg and foot,” Pitt said wearily. “She believes it was a direct result of the connection with Jews. She taught Prosper that. He blames his deformity on his father’s acts. When he saw that Kingsley Blaine was about to betray his daughter—also with child—in exactly the same way, he took violent, passionate steps to prevent it, before his grandchild was deformed, and his daughter defiled for all future children.”
“Good God!” Drummond shook his head a little. “I didn’t know that. Is there any truth in it? Can breeding stock be—be spoiled like that?”
“No,” Pitt said furiously. “It’s vicious and superstitious rubbish. But there are ignorant people who believe it, and the Harrimores are among them. Old Adah actually said so to Charlotte.”
Drummond was abashed that he had credited it, even for a moment. There was a pink flush up his cheeks.
“She admitted it?” he said with surprise.
“She admitted that Jews were unclean, in her estimation,” Pitt answered. “And that was the cause of Prosper’s deformity.”
Drummond sighed. “But you have no proof, have you?”
“No. Not yet.”
“Well, you’d better see if you can get it. I think I’ll refrain from telling anyone about Aaron Godman until we have something conclusive.”
“I’ll do what I can. I’ll go back to the theater doorman and see if he can remember anything more clearly.” He walked over to the door and was about to open it when Drummond spoke again.
“Pitt.”
Pitt turned. “Yes sir?”
“When the case is closed I am going to resign. I have already told the assistant commissioner. I am recommending you to take my place. Before you argue, it will not be entirely a desk job. You can govern for yourself a great deal of what you do.” He smiled very slightly, but there was affection in it, and respect. “You won’t have anyone to rely on as I have on you. You will need to do a lot of the investigation of more serious cases yourself, particularly the politically sensitive ones. Don’t refuse without thinking about it very carefully.”
Pitt swallowed hard. He should not have been surprised, but he was. He had thought Drummond’s mood would pass, but now he realized it had to do with Eleanor Byam, and was final.
“Thank you, sir,” he said quietly. “I shall miss you deeply.”
“Thank you, Pitt.” Drummond looked embarrassed, and pleased, and vulnerable. “I daresay I shall see you from time to time. I …” He stopped, uncertain how to continue.
Pitt smiled. “Yes sir.” He met Drummond’s eyes and knew that Drummond understood, and it was better unsaid. “I’ll go and see the doorman.”
Micah Drummond felt immensely relieved, almost light-headed, now that he had not only made the decision but also committed himself to it. He had told Pitt. There was no honorable way he could go back on it. It would not matter financially. He would have less money, of course, because he would lose his police salary. To Pitt it would be a vast improvement, but to Drummond the salary had always been pleasant but in no way necessary. He had inherited considerable means and come into the position as a gentleman—not promoted from the ranks, but appointed because of his military experience, his administrative ability, and precisely because he was a gentleman, reliable, commanding men easily, and one of the same class and nature as those who chose him.
Pitt would be an entirely different matter, but he knew from previous delicate conversations that there were those in power in the Home Office who would approve his appointment.
There would also be those who would disapprove, who would resent and distrust a man who was of working- class origins, no matter how well he spoke. He could never be one of them; that was something to which you had to be born. But it was time that men in charge of the solving of major crimes were professionals, not distinguished amateurs, no matter how respected or agreeable.
Within fifteen minutes of Pitt leaving the office, Drummond collected his hat, coat and stick, and left also. By mid-afternoon it was accomplished. He had tendered his resignation, one month from that date, and it had been accepted with reluctance. And as had been implied to him earlier, he had been assured that Thomas Pitt would be appointed his successor. That had not come without a struggle, and a great deal more devious politicking than he had ever practiced before. But now he strode down Whitehall in the bitter wind with a spring in his step and his head high. He entered Parliament Street and hailed a cab, his voice ringing out in the sharp air almost like a challenge.
The cabby stopped. “Yes sir?”
He gave the man Eleanor Byam’s address and climbed in. He sat back with his heart beating. He was putting it to the test. If he asked her now there would be no answer but acceptance, or that she did not regard him in that way. There were no excuses left that it would cost him his position either professionally or socially. He turned it over and over in his mind as the cab rattled eastward through the traffic and he was hardly aware of his passage. He thought over every argument she might use, and how he would counter it, all the assurances he would give. All the while a small, sane part of his mind was telling him the words made no difference. Either she wished to accept him, in which case the arguments were unnecessary, or she did not, and then they were pointless. You cannot reason someone into loving.
Still the surface of his brain occupied itself with words. Perhaps it was a kind of anesthetic until he should arrive and the die was cast. Words were easier than feelings, less painful, in so many ways less real.
“ ’Ere you are, sir!” The cabby’s voice intruded and with a start he brought his attention back to the present
