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None of which was likely ever to have troubled the thoughts of Marcus fford Croft. And now that it was so much more serious, and involved Daniel so intimately, he would have to ask fford Croft for his reasons. Daniel’s own job might be in peril if fford Croft’s motive for helping Graves in a case he could not have expected to win held dangerous secrets. How much did Marcus know? Would a man fighting for his life not tell him everything? That was a question to which Daniel genuinely did not know the answer.
He went back to the question he really did not want to face, but it lay at the bottom of all of it. Had Victor Narraway been as devious and corrupt as Graves believed? It was difficult even to quantify it. In order to do his job well as head of Special Branch, particularly in the years when Fenian bombers had been so active in London, he had to have as much information as he could about possible bombers and their targets. There was no room for delicacy. ‘I didn’t like to probe his personal affairs,’ was no answer. A single dead body justified any intrusion, let alone half a dozen, and more shattered, with limbs blown off, and any of the other dreadful damage that bombs could do. Daniel did not know very much about Special Branch; it had to be secret to survive, and to do its job. Some people who were the loudest to criticise them for interfering in personal privacy were also the loudest to accuse them if a bomb were undetected and eminent people were killed or maimed for the misfortune of being in the wrong place at the wrong time.
It was a matter of scale.
Graves had accused Pitt of colluding in murder to benefit his own position. That stung to the point that Daniel would see him hang with pleasure!
No, perhaps that was exaggeration. But he would certainly have beaten the daylights out of him with considerable satisfaction. Should he even be trying to find cause for an appeal, given the circumstances? Daniel was compromised. He would be excluded from defending Graves in court again.
Did Marcus know that too?
What in hell was he playing at?
Someone touched his elbow and he was startled. He stared at the man. It was a moment before he recognised it was the ticket collector.
‘Oh – what did you say?’ he asked.
‘Your ticket, sir,’ the man repeated. ‘Sorry to disturb you, sir.’
Daniel hunted in his pocket and could not remember whether he had bought a ticket or not. The man waited patiently. Daniel retrieved it and handed it to him. He clipped it and passed it back.
When he arrived at Lincoln’s Inn and went into the chambers of fford Croft and Gibson, he asked Impney, the chief clerk, if he could see Mr fford Croft immediately. He added that he had just returned from Mr Graves’ house. He waited impatiently, and Impney returned in less than five minutes to say that Mr fford Croft would see him straight away.
Marcus fford Croft looked perfectly composed, if a little earnest, when Daniel walked into his study.
‘Sit down, dear boy, and tell me what you have learned,’ he invited him. ‘Thank you, Impney. See that we are not disturbed.’
‘Certainly, sir,’ Impney replied, leaving the room and closing the door quietly behind him.
‘Good morning, sir.’ Daniel sat down opposite the desk. He wondered briefly if everyone else had been so uncomfortable in what was supposed to be an easy chair.
‘What have you to report?’ fford Croft asked. ‘You look troubled. I imagine the household were not able to be particularly helpful.’ He looked bland, as if he had resigned himself to bad news. Maybe he was placing all his hopes on Kitteridge.
‘They were as helpful as they could be, sir.’ Daniel replied. ‘Their hospitality was excellent. One can learn a lot about people from their staff, even if they mean to tell you little.’ Why was he spinning this out? They were sitting here in highly civilised fashion, as if nothing were wrong, that Ebony Graves had not been killed and then disfigured, and that Russell Graves was not going to hang, that there was no book written about people Daniel loved that was going to rip his life apart. Above all, that right now fford Croft did not know anything about it.
fford Croft leaned forward a little. ‘But did you learn anything?’ he asked with a little of his patience beginning to fray.
How much did fford Croft know already? Had he accepted the case in an attempt to control the damage Graves could do? Daniel knew that fford Croft was acquainted with his father. Had he also known Narraway? Had he some motive for involving Daniel in this particular case?
Daniel could read nothing in his face.
He must answer.
‘Do you know what the book is about that Graves was writing, sir? And if he is granted an appeal, that he will then complete and publish?’
fford Croft’s white eyebrows rose. ‘Does it really matter now? It’s a biography of someone, but I don’t know of whom.’
‘Victor Narraway, Head of Special Branch before my father,’ Daniel said. He did not mean his voice to sound so grating, but he could not control it. ‘It purports to be an exposé – of corruption, greed, manipulation, blackmail, and extortion . . .’
Either fford Croft had not known, or he was the most superb actor alive.
‘And the Lady Vespasia,’ Daniel went on. ‘As the most skilled and dramatic whore in the European aristocracy. Furthermore—’
‘Stop!’ fford Croft’s voice was hoarse. ‘Stop this moment! What on earth are you saying?’
Brilliant actor or not, no one could make blood drain from their skin the way fford Croft’s had done now. He was almost grey.
‘And it says that my father is also corrupt,’ Daniel continued. ‘Promoted so that Narraw
