Hyde Park Headsman

“What?”

“Useful. Very useful to have a good financial adviser.”

“Oh, yes. Talking about finance, what do you think of …”

Emily moved away, her mind whirling with snatches of words, half ideas, thoughts to report to Charlotte.

7

“YES OF COURSE I’ve been reading the newspapers every day,” Micah Drummond said grimly. He was standing by the window in the library of the small house he had bought about six months ago, immediately prior to his marriage, not finding his apartment adequate for his new status. The home he had shared with his first wife, and where his daughters had grown up, he had sold on becoming a widower. His daughters were by then married, and he felt haunted by memories and uncharacteristically lonely.

Now everything was different. He had resigned his position in order to marry Eleanor Byam, a woman touched by tragedy, and unwittingly by scandal. He had loved her deeply enough to consider his resulting retirement from office a trifling price to pay for the constant pleasure of her companionship.

He looked at Pitt with a frown of concern in his long, sensitive face with its grave eyes and ascetic mouth.

“I wish I could think of something helpful to say, but with every new event I become more confused.” He pushed his hands deeper into his pockets. “Have you found any connection between Winthrop, Arledge and the poor bus conductor?”

“No. It’s possible Winthrop and Arledge knew each other, or more exactly that Winthrop’s brother-in-law, Mitchell, knew both of them,” Pitt replied, sitting comfortably in the large green chair. “But the bus conductor is a complete mystery. Men like Winthrop don’t take omnibuses. Arledge might have, but I think it’s unlikely.”

Drummond was standing with his back to the fireplace. He looked at Pitt anxiously. “Why? What makes you think Arledge might have used an omnibus? Why would a man of his standing do such a thing?”

“Only a remote possibility,” Pitt replied. “He had a—a lover.”

“A what?” The ghost of a smile touched Drummond’s lips. “You mean a mistress?”

“No.” Pitt sighed. “I don’t. I mean what I said. Not a liaison he could afford to have known. He might have used an omnibus …”

“But you don’t believe it,” Drummond finished for him. “A quarrel?” He searched Pitt’s face curiously, his brows puckered. “You are not satisfied with that?”

Pitt had thought about it deeply, and the easy answer troubled him.

“I might have been, if I had not met the man,” he said slowly. “But he was desolated. Oh I know that doesn’t preclude his having done it himself—people have killed those they loved before and then been destroyed by grief and remorse afterwards. I just don’t believe he is one of those.”

Drummond bit his lip. “I shall be surprised if Farnsworth sees it that way.”

“Oh, he doesn’t,” Pitt agreed with a harsh little laugh. “But so far there is no evidence whatever to connect Carvell with either Winthrop or Yeats, so I can refuse to act for the time being.”

Drummond looked at him closely and Pitt felt increasingly uncomfortable.

“So far there is no real connection between any of them,” Pitt continued. “Only a very tenuous business matter. I cannot believe all this is over money.”

“Nor I,” Drummond admitted. “There is a passion in it, an insanity that springs from something which, thank God, is far less ordinary than greed. But I cannot imagine what.” He hesitated, looking at Pitt.

“Yes?” Pitt prompted.

“Perhaps it is—bizarre …” Drummond said reluctantly, then stopped again.

Pitt did not interrupt again, knowing he would continue. He could see the struggle in his face, the attempt to find the words for the thought that previously troubled him profoundly.

“Could it be something to do with the Inner Circle?” Drummond at him narrowly. “I know the bus conductor is unlikely, but not impossible.”

“A betrayal?” Pitt said with surprise. “You mean some sort of internal punishment? Isn’t it a bit …”

“Extreme?” Drummond finished for him. “Perhaps. But sometimes, Pitt, I don’t think you understand just how powerful they are—and certainly not how ruthless.”

“A kind of execution?” Pitt was still doubtful. He thought Drummond was letting his own entanglement crowd his vision out of proportion. “Isn’t it more in their line simply to ruin someone, have them blackballed from all the clubs, cancel their credit, call in all the debts and loans? That is extremely effective. Men have shot themselves over less.”

“Yes, I know,” Drummond said grimly. “Some men. But Winthrop was in the navy. Perhaps they couldn’t reach him.”

Pitt knew his disbelief was in his face and he could not conceal it.

“Listen to me, Pitt.” Drummond took a step forward, his expression tense, his eyes bleak. “I know a great deal more than you do about the Circle. You only know the lower rings, the men like me who were drawn in without realizing anything beyond the charities everyone can see, and a little of the superficial obligations. They are just the knights of the Green.”

Drummond blushed very faintly, but he was far too serious to allow embarrassment to tie his tongue. “That is what I was, a knight of the Green, someone bound but, in any real sense, untried. Next are the knights of the Scarlet. They are the ones who have proved themselves: blooded, if you like, committed beyond retreat. Beyond them are the Lords of the Silver. They have the power of punishment and reward. But Pitt, behind them is one man,