at the far side of the room staring at them, defiant and helpless, as if an ugly reality had come to him, drying up what he had been going to say.
“Well, perhaps it is your father,” Charlotte agreed. “But there is another point, Mr. FitzJames. Whoever it is has considerable knowledge of you. He had your original club badge and your cuff link. And not only that, but he knew you were unable to account for where you were that night. There would have been little point in trying to blame you if you had been at dinner with your family, or with friends, or at the opera, for example. All of which were pretty likely. How did he know that you weren’t?”
Finlay stared at her, a terrible comprehension dawning in his face.
Charlotte waited.
Emily stared at him too. No one spoke.
“What?” Tallulah demanded, her voice high and sharp. “Who is it, Fin?”
Finlay looked straight ahead of him, his face pasty, his eyes full of fear.
“Who?” Tallulah said even more sharply.
“Jago,” Finlay replied in a whisper, then coughed, avoiding turning his head towards her. “I saw Jago Jones that afternoon, and I mentioned to him that I was going to a party in Chelsea. I said where it was. Joked about it not being the sort of thing he would go to, being so self-righteous these days. He-”
“That’s impossible!” Tallulah said abruptly. “That’s a wicked thing to say … and stupid. You know perfectly well Jago would never hurt anyone … let alone …” She stopped. Her voice filled with tears, and her face was so white she looked about to collapse.
“Of course not,” Emily said quickly, and without conviction. “But he may have mentioned it, unwittingly, to someone else….”
“Who?” Tallulah demanded, swinging around in panic, her eyes glittering with tears. “Why would he tell anyone about Finlay going to some drunken party? Who would Jago know that had ever even heard of Fin?” She turned back to her brother again. “Who else did you tell? Someone must have invited you? Think!” Her voice was rising, angry and raw with pain. “Don’t stand there like a … a fool. Anyone could have seen you there and left early. For the love of heaven, Fin, use your brains!”
“I don’t know!” He shouted back at her. “If I knew, don’t you think I’d tell you? For God’s sake, Tallulah, I’m the one they’ll hang … not bloody Jago!”
“Stop it!” Charlotte said sharply. “They aren’t going to hang you if we can prove you couldn’t be guilty. But we’ve got to use our wits. Turning on one another won’t accomplish anything. Control yourself, and think.”
Finlay stared at her, his mouth open.
“She’s right,” Tallulah said grudgingly. “Anyone who was there could have seen you and the state you were in. Or simply known you well enough to be sure you couldn’t remember the night, and neither would most other people.”
“And there’s also the fact that most people would be unwilling to admit they were there either,” Emily added.
“Try your friends,” Charlotte instructed. “Surely one of them at least will have the honor to own up to you having been there, and having seen you, if not at the relevant time, at least earlier. He may know who else was there at the beginning.”
“What are you going to do?” Tallulah asked, mainly of Charlotte, but including Emily.
Charlotte’s mind was racing ahead.
“I assume you are going to do something?” Tallulah continued. “After all, the question is as urgent for you as it is for us … at least almost.”
“Hardly,” Finlay said bitterly.
“Oh, yes it is,” Tallulah argued with a flash of temper. “If we never find who did it, you will be ruined because of the mystery and the whispers. Nothing bad will happen to you, but neither will anything good.”
“I know that!” Finlay said, self-pity sharp in his voice and his face.
“And Mrs. Pitt’s husband will be ruined as well,” Tallulah finished. “Because he hanged the wrong man and never caught the right one.”
Finlay looked up at Charlotte, his eyes wide, then a tide of scarlet rushed up his cheeks.
“Pitt! Pitt-of course.” His voice was thick. “I never connected it! I never even thought of policemen as having wives, let alone ones who could pass for ladies!” And he began to laugh, a thin, sharp note of hysteria creeping into it and rising up the scale, louder and more shrill.
Tallulah looked as if she would like to have hit him.
“I’m sorry,” she said to Charlotte, her face pink. “I shall send a message as soon as I learn anything which could be of value.”
“So will we,” Emily promised a trifle mendaciously, then she and Charlotte took their leave.
“He’s frightened,” Emily said as soon as they were seated in her carriage and moving along Devonshire Street.
“So would I be,” Charlotte replied vehemently, “if I knew I had an enemy prepared to go to these lengths to have me hanged.” She shivered, for a moment uncontrollably, cold deep inside her. “He has tortured and killed two women just to destroy Finlay. To hate anyone that much is insane.”
Emily hugged her arms around herself.
“What are we going to do next?” she asked very quietly.
“I don’t know. Try to see if there is any connection between Ada McKinley and Nora Gough, I suppose. Why did he choose them? Why not somebody else?”
“Maybe it didn’t matter who it was,” Emily said miserably. “Maybe there isn’t a reason. It could just as easily have been anyone.” She looked even more wretched. “What if it is Jago Jones?”
“If it is, it will be terrible,” Charlotte replied. “But we shall have to live with it.”
10
Emily returned home determined to do all she could against the injustice she felt hung over the head of Finlay FitzJames. Perhaps it was more for Tallulah’s sake than for his, but she had sensed the fear in him, and the complete bewilderment. She would have sworn before any authority in the land that he had no idea how his belongings had come to be in Ada McKinley’s room, nor who had put them there. That it had been done in order to see him blamed for her death was the only certainty in the grim, chaotic picture.
There was an enemy somewhere, just out of sight, an implacable enemy, verging on insanity with hatred. Over what? It did not seem as if Finlay had any idea, and the more she considered that, the more did it seem certain that it must be his father’s enemy rather than his own.
The following morning she approached Jack over breakfast, beginning as soon as he sat down.
“I have been thinking a great deal about Thomas’s present case,” she said before he had even reached for the dish with the bacon. “I feel we must do anything whatever that we can to help.” She took a small serving of scrambled eggs and a slice of toast. “Finlay FitzJames is not guilty, we know that-”
“No we don’t,” he said sharply. “He may very well be guilty. The only person we know is innocent is Albert Costigan, poor devil.”
With a sudden sinking inside, Emily realized she had led herself into a trap. Naturally she had told Jack nothing whatever about her trip to Beaufort Street. He would disapprove fiercely, he would have to. In the past he might very well have attended such a party himself, but things were very different now; he was a Member of Parliament and a respectable family man with a reputation which was of great value.
“Oh.” She tried hastily to think of some way to retreat. No argument to justify her statement came to her mind. There was nothing but to deny it. “Perhaps I spoke more in hope than reality. I …” She had better not mention Tallulah. That could lead to complications. “I cannot believe Thomas would make such a mistake….”
He lifted two poached eggs out of the dish onto his plate.
“You mean Costigan was guilty?” he asked, raising his eyes and looking very directly at her. She was still taken aback by how very beautiful his eyes were.
“No … no, what I meant was that Thomas wouldn’t let Finlay FitzJames go just because of who he is. He
