which makes you speak with such certainty?”
Charlotte was thoroughly uncomfortable, and Pitt knew why, but he did not intervene.
“Tallulah FitzJames saw him the night Ada McKinley was killed,” Charlotte replied, lifting her eyes to meet Vespasia’s.
“Indeed?” Vespasia said with caution. “And why did she not say so at the time? It would have saved a great deal of trouble.”
“She couldn’t say so because she was somewhere she should not have been,” Charlotte replied unhappily. “And she had already lied about it, so no one would have believed her anyway.”
“That does not surprise me overmuch.” Vespasia nodded. “But it would seem that you believe her. Why?”
“Well … actually, Emily does.” Charlotte bit her lip. “It was Emily she told. Finlay really is a pretty good wastrel, and not a particularly worthy person. But he didn’t kill Ada.”
“Was no one else at this place who would testify?” Cornwallis asked, looking at Charlotte, then at Pitt. “Why did they not come forward? Surely Finlay would have asked them to? Or if he really did not remember where he was, why did his sister not ask them to speak? The whole issue could have been cleared up immediately!” He was puzzled and there was an edge of anger in his voice.
Vespasia turned to Charlotte, food now entirely forgotten. “Just what sort of a place was this that no one is prepared to admit having been there? I confess, my curiosity is aroused. Do we live in such a very squeamish age? I cannot think of anywhere whatever that a robust young man would be too delicate to admit having attended. Was it a dogfight, or a bare-knuckle boxing match? A gambling den? A brothel?”
“A party where they drank too much and took opium,” Charlotte replied in a very small voice.
Cornwallis’s expression darkened.
Vespasia bit her lip; her eyebrows arched. “Stupid, but not so very extraordinary. I would not deny having been in such a place if I could save a man’s life by admitting to it.”
Charlotte said nothing, but Pitt knew that it was not doubt so much as indecision as to how she could phrase what she meant.
Cornwallis, who did not know her, was watching Vespasia.
“Then if we could find these people,” he said decisively, “we could at least clear FitzJames of the first crime, and by inference, of the second also.” He turned to Pitt. “Did you know this? Why didn’t you mention it before?”
“I only learned it when it seemed already irrelevant,” Pitt replied, and saw Charlotte blush.
Cornwallis observed the exchange, as did Vespasia, but neither of them made comment.
“At least it solves one question,” Cornwallis resumed, sitting back and taking up his fork again.
“Now it remains to discover why someone placed his belongings at the scene, and of course who, but those two are basically the same question. The answer to one will provide the answer to the other. Surely that must be one man.”
He looked at Vespasia, then Pitt. “I find it hard to imagine it could be someone living in Whitechapel and an associate of either woman. It must be someone who hates FitzJames profoundly, a personal enemy of an extraordinary nature. Which brings us back to investigating FitzJames, but that is unavoidable.”
“Could it be some form of conspiracy?” Vespasia asked, also now eating her steak-and-kidney pie. Charlotte was very good at a suet crust.
Both men looked at her.
“You mean one person to kill the woman, the other to provide the evidence, and perhaps even to place it?”
Pitt did not believe it. It was too complicated, and far too dangerous. If there had been anyone else involved that Costigan knew of, he would have said so. He would not have gone to the rope alone.
But Cornwallis’s eyes were on Vespasia.
Charlotte cleared her throat.
“Yes?” Pitt asked.
She was acutely uncomfortable, but there was no escape. Now they were all looking at her.
“It isn’t really proof that Finlay was at the party,” she said very slowly, her face pink. She avoided Pitt’s eyes. “You see … I think almost everyone there was so preoccupied with their own enjoyment, and so … so affected by whatever they were drinking, or otherwise taking, that the evidence would not really be a great deal of use. One could have taken a troop of dancing horses through there and no one would have been sure afterwards whether it happened or they had imagined it.”
“I see.” Cornwallis accepted it with good grace but could not mask his disappointment. “But you believe the sister? She was sober enough to be sure she saw him there?”
This time she met his eyes.
“Oh, yes. She was only there for a very short while. When she realized what was going on, she left.”
“And did Emily tell you all this?” Vespasia enquired innocently.
Charlotte hesitated.
“I see.” Vespasia said nothing more.
Charlotte kept her gaze on her plate and began to eat again, very slowly.
Gracie had retreated into the kitchen.
“I must answer this question of having Costigan pardoned,” Cornwallis said grimly. “Although I am not sure how much of it rests upon me, other than to take the blame for the prosecution. A pardon will be up to the judge and the Home Secretary, possibly the Queen. I wish to God we’d waited another week. Then the poor devil would still be alive and we could pardon him to some effect!”
Pitt did not approach the subject of hanging. It was one about which he felt profoundly, but this was not the time. And no doubt others would do so in the all-too-near future.
“Could Costigan be guilty, and this be a second murderer, copying the method of the first?” Cornwallis asked, looking at Pitt but without any hope or belief.
“No,” Pitt answered unhesitatingly. “Unless it is one of us, and that is as close to impossible as matters. Only Constable Binns, Inspector Ewart, and Lennox, the police surgeon, knew the details of the first.”
They all waited expectantly, Cornwallis leaning forward, back stiff, Vespasia with her hands resting on the table edge.
“Binns was patrolling his usual beat and was attracted by the panic of a witness leaving Pentecost Alley,” Pitt said in answer to the unspoken question. “Ewart was at home with his wife and family, and Lennox was called from another case he’d been attending. It was close by, but he’d been with the patient all evening. Hadn’t left them at all until he was sent for.”
“That seems to make it plain,” Cornwallis said bleakly.
Charlotte stood up and cleared away the plates, some unfinished. Then, with Gracie, she brought in the rice pudding, which was golden on top, sprinkled with nutmeg. There were stewed plums to go with it.
“Thank you,” Cornwallis accepted, then winced as his mind returned to the problem. “It seems all we can do is present a brave face, make no excuses, no accusations until we have absolute proof; blame no one else; and keep on investigating both FitzJames and the material evidence around Nora Gough’s death, exactly as we would if we had no suspects at all. Pitt, I would prefer it if you handled the FitzJames end of the case. It is extremely sensitive and will no doubt get worse. I would like to think the newspapers would leave us alone, but it would be quite unrealistic to expect it. I am afraid we have enemies, and they will not lose such an opportunity to strike at us. I’m sorry.” He looked distressed. “I wish I were able to offer you more protection….”
Pitt forced himself to smile.
“Thank you, sir, but I am quite aware of the restrictions upon you, or anyone in your position. There is no defense.”
And so it proved. Pitt interviewed everyone he felt might be of the slightest assistance regarding the FitzJames family, and anyone so injured by them, intentionally or not, that they might wish revenge. He enquired both personally and professionally, and learned a great deal about Augustus FitzJames and the nature of his financial empire-and the means whereby he had forged it and now maintained it. It was ruthless. There was no deference paid to loyalties or friendships, but it was never outside the law. He settled his debts to the letter, never above. He seldom lent, but when he did, he expected repayment to the farthing.
