AllFreeNovel
Share Us
He stared at the papers. He even thought of burning them, destroying all mention of Narraway’s name. Then he reminded himself that Graves could recreate his work. But Daniel’s father would never have done such things; he knew that absolutely.
But could any of this be true? Pitt was not someone who would collude in the murder of anyone, a man doing as he was bidden in order to hang onto a job too large for him, as Graves said. But Daniel knew many of his cases had been complicated, very difficult to solve, and not always a simple answer of innocent or guilty. He could remember long days and nights of his father’s anxiety. Both his parents talking earnestly, and suddenly falling silent when he or Jemima came into the room.
Narraway had trusted Pitt. They had both trusted Vespasia. Had she been Narraway’s mistress all along? He did not believe it. No doubt, he was charming. He had been very dark, lean and elegant, and brilliant, such a biting wit. Daniel had been afraid of him when he was younger, but had grown to trust him later on.
Vespasia he had always loved. She had been the greatest beauty of her age, when she was younger. But that did not matter to him. He had not known her then. She was always magnificent to Daniel, a magical figure to a small boy. She wore her hair like a crown, had dark silver eyes, and grace like no one else, not even the queen. Actually, the queen was quite ugly. So was everyone, compared with Vespasia. And she was funny, too, with a quicker wit than anyone else he knew, even Narraway. And she said what she believed.
No, Graves had to be wrong.
Daniel would prove it.
He stood up, still shaking a little, put the papers at the bottom of the pile, and the whole manuscript in a drawer of the desk, and relocked it. He went to find Falthorne and ask him to lock the study door, then if he would be good enough, find Daniel a taxi to take him to the railway station. He must return to London immediately.
‘Are you all right, sir?’ Falthorne asked with concern.
‘Yes . . . thank you. I . . . will not forget your . . . anxiety about the staff. I’ll do what I can.’
‘Thank you, sir,’ Falthorne said grimly.
Daniel barely heard him as he went upstairs to get ready to leave. He needed to be alone to compose himself, away from observant eyes, no matter how well-meaning.
Chapter Nine
Daniel paced the platform at the station for ten minutes before the morning train came in with clouds of steam and a comforting roar of engine and clatter of metal on metal. No one got off, which he had expected, but half a dozen people got on. All of them he guessed to be workers in the city, such as bankers, managers of this and that, people who did not have to report for duty at an early hour.
He climbed up the steps and found a seat immediately. He had bought a newspaper, not to read, but to hide behind, so he would not be expected to converse with anyone. He could not face polite exchanges of any sort. His mind was in a state like the proverbial Gordian knot: everything was tied to everything e
lse, and there was nowhere to begin or end.
Did the news of Graves’ inheritance – completely unexpected – somehow trigger the death of Ebony? But how? Must he silence her to protect his new place in society?
Or was it the biography? Who or what would it destroy? Marriages? Fortunes? Reputations? Daniel sat up, clenched his fists, and took a deep breath. The answer was obvious: Special Branch. His father.
Was it a Special Branch agent gone rogue? But again, why?
Why had the killer obliterated Ebony’s face? Everyone knew who she was. Was it just hatred? Would anyone linger in order to do such a hideous thing without a compelling reason?
A sudden thought came to him. What if he let Graves hang? Then all of the papers could be destroyed, all the questions and accusations would disappear. A sudden warmth returned to his limbs, and he relaxed back into his seat. It would be the answer to everything! It would all be so easy.
Then a wave of nausea swept through him. My God, what was he thinking? It was hideously plain: he thought his father could be guilty! How could he ever face him again? He would have betrayed everything he had been taught. How far would he go to protect those he loved? Far enough to let them hang a man who was possibly innocent?
Pitt would never want that! Daniel must find the truth, whatever it was, and trust that he could live with it.
Daniel wished that he had never been called onto this case. He had thought for an instant that it was an honour, a step up in the hierarchy. Then he realised that there had been no one else to take it on. He was merely the least busy, and had not even expected to do anything more than fill a position that would be noticeable if it were left empty. Kitteridge was the one to do battle, and that was deservedly so.
Was there really any chance that there was a legal error sufficient to allow an appeal? Daniel doubted it. Kitteridge was meticulous. But that was only the first thread. There were others far more important, and dangerous. Was Graves guilty? Or, as he had said, was someone trying to blame him and discredit him so that even in death his work would not be worth publishing?
Actually, given human nature, scandal and the fall of the mighty, or those who were perceived to be so, was always news. The suggestion that Graves had been framed in order to silence him would multiply his sales tenfold! A judicial hanging, connived at to silence him, would give his accusations the power of a dying declaration! They would be carved indelibly into the public mind. People would pay black-market prices for copies of his book.
Had he thought of all that? Even planned it?
Surely not, at the cost of his life! He had not struck Daniel as a crusader of anything that would come at such a price. He was an arrogant man, self-serving. Hanging was a terrible death.
But of course Graves had not planned that! He had not imagined it. He must have known that if those he intended to expose were as corrupt as he said, they would retaliate. But perhaps he had expected to escape them? Why no accusation at trial? It was the ideal place to have exposed them to the world. He would never again have such a stage on which to speak. It made no sense to forego it. Narraway and Vespasia were both dead, but Pitt was very much alive. Why not accuse him? Pitt would have done his best to defend two of the closest friends he’d ever had. Loyalty, friendship, his own passion would have compelled him.
The train jolted forward again. Daniel had not even realised that they had stopped at another suburban station. Where were they? He looked around and could see nothing he recognised. Then his alarm subsided. The stop he wanted was the terminus to the south of central London.
He was glad he was not there yet. He leaned back in his seat. He had a lot to sort out in his mind before he faced Marcus fford Croft. For a start, how much did fford Croft know? Why was he insistent on defending this man? It couldn’t surely be for any personal like of someone so basically unpleasant. Even his own household had seemed united in loyalty to Ebony, and dislike of Graves. Or perhaps it was, even more, care of Sarah and Arthur? And of course the desire to stay in their present positions in the house, together, being as much of a family as they knew. Death was always hard, and one with as much violence as this was doubly so. And with the scandal on top of it, it would be hard for them to find other situations. Even if they did, there was always the uncertainty of settling into a new household. For the younger ones, it was sending them from the only place they had ever known, apart from wherever they had grown up. Daniel could imagine the anxieties and the fears that crowded their minds.
