“They can’t,” he answered. “But you are speaking of love, and I wasn’t. She doesn’t love Simnel, nor he her. It’s a hunger of a different kind, selfish. It makes you a lesser person, not a greater one.”
“And what does a greater one do?” Did she want to know what he thought? Was it not better to keep the dream whole? There would be no tomorrow in which to mend it. This would be all she had, forever.
“It makes you want to be the person they could love,” he answered her very softly. “At least honest and generous, and attempt to be brave as well.”
The tears filled her eyes and her throat ached almost unbearably.
“I’m trying for honest,” he went on. “I didn’t kill Minnie, but I am guilty of not wanting to build the Cape-to- Cairo railway. I wish I had had the courage to tell Cahoon outright, and withdraw. We should build railways from inland to the ports, in each region if they want them, but keep the Empire on the sea. That’s enough power for any nation. We should leave the heart of Africa alone. It’s not ours. The fact that we might be able to take it is irrelevant. But they will be able to build it without me. I can’t do any more, but I hope I would have had the integrity to pull out, and tell them why.” He hesitated.
“Please believe in me, Elsa, that I would have. I can’t ever prove it now.”
“I believe you,” she said immediately. “I. . I do.” She had almost said “I love you,” then stopped. He needed trust more than emotion.
“Don’t give up. I’m going to find Pitt. I have something to tell him.”
“Now? What time is it?”
“I don’t know. About three, I expect. Something like that.”
“You can’t wake him up at this hour!”
“Yes, I can.”
“Elsa!”
“Yes?”
“Thank you.”
“For believing you? That’s not necessary. I do.”
He had no idea how little she had believed him before this moment, but this was not the time for the self- indulgence of telling him.
Nor was it the time to say she loved him. He knew that. And she did not want to make him feel as if he had to respond. It would betray this gossamer-thin honesty.
She found the key in her pocket and opened the door. She hesitated, almost said something, then changed her mind and went out, locking the door again behind her so no one would know she had been there.
She returned the key to where she had found it, and then went to waken Pitt. Of course it was appalling to disturb him at this hour, but later might be too late. She had no idea when the police would come to take Julius away. Cahoon would have it done as soon as possible.
She was still wearing her dinner gown, which was crumpled now, and her hair was coming loose from its pins. There were probably dried tears on her face. None of this mattered. Another hour or so and it would be light. There was no time to waste in mending her appearance.
It took her a few minutes to find Pitt’s room, and then several more to steel her nerve to knock. It was necessary for her to gather her courage again before the door opened. Pitt stood there blinking, the gaslamps turned up behind him. He was wearing a nightshirt and robe, and his thick hair was tousled, but he seemed quite definitely awake.
“Mrs. Dunkeld? Are you all right? Has something happened?” he said with alarm.
“I need to speak to you,” she replied as levelly as she could. “Urgently, or I would not have disturbed you this way.”
“I’ll be out in five minutes.” He did not argue but went back into the room. Five minutes later he emerged again, this time fully dressed and his hair in some semblance of order. However, he looked haggard with exhaustion and there was a dark stubble on his cheeks and chin.
He led the way to the room where he worked, and opened the door for her.
“What is it, Mrs. Dunkeld?” he asked when they were inside and the lamps lit.
“You found the shards of a Limoges plate in the rubbish, didn’t you?” she stated.
“Yes.”
“Was it a pedestal dish, mostly white with a gold trellis border around the edges, and in the center a man and woman sitting on a stone garden seat? They both have blue on, a vivid shade of cobalt. I think it is his coat, and a sort of cloak for her.”
In spite of his weariness his attention was suddenly total. “Yes.
Have you seen it? Where?”
“In a box my husband brought with us.”
He looked stunned, as if what she had said were incomprehensi-ble. “Brought with you?” he repeated. “Are you certain?”
“Absolutely. It cannot have been the one which my husband said was broken, in Her Majesty’s own bedroom. It must be one exactly like it.”
“You are certain, Mrs. Dunkeld?” he insisted.
“Yes.” She felt the heat creep up her face. Did he imagine she was inventing it to protect Julius? He knew how she felt, she had seen it in his eyes before, a certain pity. Damn him for understanding! “He couldn’t have given it to the Queen,” she said aloud. “It would have been in a box, and left for her to open.” She was talking too much.
She stopped abruptly.
“I know. This one was apparently given to her by one of her daughters, some considerable time ago,” he said, and the gentleness was in his eyes again. “But did he bring a gift for the Prince of Wales, do you know?”
She was puzzled. He seemed to have missed the point. “Yes, but i was not particularly personal, just a dozen or so bottles of a very good port. I think they have already been drinking it. Why? How can that matter? It’s a fairly usual thing to do.”
“Port?” he repeated.
“Yes. Why?”
“Do you know from what vineyard?”
“No, but Cahoon said it was extremely good. But then he would hardly give the Prince inferior wine.” She forced herself to ask, whatever he thought of her. “Does the dish not matter?”
“It matters very much, Mrs. Dunkeld. And so does the port-or at least the bottles do. Please don’t mention them to him, or to anyone.”
He was very serious, staring at her intently. “It may put you in danger.
Three of them were found with traces of blood in them. Now you understand why you must mention it to no one?”
“Blood?” She was startled, and filled with a sudden hope so erratic and so sweet for a moment she found it difficult to breathe.
“Yes. Now please go back to your room, to sleep if you can. Thank you for coming to me. It must have taken great courage.” He stood up, a little stiffly, as if he were so tired that to straighten up was too much effort.
She realized he must be afraid too. He not only had to solve these murders quickly, and discreetly, but he had to find the answer that the Prince of Wales wanted and that his superior at Special Branch could accept. He was a man pressured from all sides. And his own compassion, and his sense of justice, would be compelling him also, probably in a different direction.
There was a sharp bang on the door, and then it flew open and Cahoon strode in. He too was fully dressed, although unshaven, and obviously in a towering rage.
“I assume you have some explanation for interrogating my wife at three in the morning?” he said savagely to Pitt. “Who the devil do you think you are? If my poor daughter hadn’t solved the case for you, at the cost of her own life, I would have you removed, and someone competent sent in. However, there is nothing left to do, except have Sorokine taken away and then get out yourself.” He turned to Elsa.
“Go back to bed,” he ordered.
She stood still. “Mr. Pitt did not send for me, I came to see him.”
She would not have Pitt blamed; it would be both shabby and dishonest. She was fighting for everything that
