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Daniel liked Marcus. He appreciated his quirky personality—“eccentric” was almost too mild a word—but he worked with him very little, and most of the cases he was involved with were pretty pedestrian. But he could not admit that to his father, who he knew had gained him the position. It was one that could become exciting, prestigious, and highly rewarding if he proved to be both dedicated and skilled enough.
Daniel smiled. “Nothing as exciting as the Graves case,” he said ruefully, alluding to the case in which he’d played a surprising role earlier in the summer. It was a double-edged remark, said with humor but also a clear memory of the very real fear the Graves case had caused. Many people stood to lose something; even Sir Thomas himself would have faced ruin if Russell Graves had been allowed to publish his false and incendiary accusations. “But I don’t need that again,” Daniel sighed.
“Most cases are fairly ordinary,” Pitt answered. “But they are of intense importance to the people concerned. They’ll get bigger and more complicated as you refine your skill. You don’t want a case beyond your ability.”
Daniel hesitated a moment. Was his father remembering the darkness of the Graves case? He had shown it very little at the time, but he must have felt his world collapsing around him. Daniel had let the relief of the case’s outcome carry him like a flood tide away from the pain. Perhaps his father had not? He should remember that. Cases that went wrong hurt a lot of people, and all of them were worthy of consideration.
Jemima returned from upstairs, and they all went into the dining room to eat. Conversation became very general, pleasant but not remarkable. Jemima told them about their apartment in Washington, the neighborhood, and the climate. Patrick said little about his job, but with obvious affection described his family, brothers, sisters, warmhearted mother, eccentric father, and numerous aunts and uncles.
Daniel listened intently, not only because the narrative was colorful and charming, but because the people of whom Patrick spoke with such love were Jemima’s new family, so different from the one she had left in England. Pitt had no family at all. He was an only child, and both his parents were dead before he married. It was a story they did not discuss. Charlotte had one living sister, and Emily was a big part of all their lives, as were their cousins. Did Jemima miss them?
They touched only on happy memories at dinner, but all the way through, Daniel had the impression that Patrick had something weighing on his mind.
He learned what it was when the two of them took an evening walk after dinner, alone in the garden, in the pleasant, rose-scented darkness. Daniel was thinking how to broach the subject, when Patrick immediately took it out of his hands.
“There was another reason I came to England,” Patrick said after only a moment or two. It was as if he knew time would be short, and he had something to say that was very important to him.
“Oh? Something to do with me?” Daniel asked, trying to keep his voice friendly and noncommittal. He did not mention that he had noticed Patrick’s preoccupation.
“I want you to have something to do with it,” Patrick said, his voice already thickening with emotion. “I need to tell you the story from the beginning or it doesn’t make sense.”
“If Jemima comes out—”
“She won’t. She knows I’m going to tell you.”
“She didn’t mention anything…”
“She wouldn’t,” Patrick said quietly. “But she cares about it, I think as much as I do.”
Daniel leaned against the trunk of one of the silver birch trees and waited.
Patrick cleared his throat. “One of the oldest and most socially important families in Washington is the Thorwoods. Not politically, but they are very highly thought of, and philanthropists to many good causes, especially to the police.” He hesitated, perhaps to see if Daniel understood their importance.
“I see.” Daniel nodded. “Go on. The Thorwoods…”
“They have only one child, a daughter named Rebecca,” Patrick continued. It was growing darker and Daniel could hardly see his face, but he could not miss the urgency in his voice. “She’s around twenty. She’s got money, position. She’s very attractive in a quiet way.”
Daniel wanted to interrupt and tell Patrick to get to the point, but with an effort he controlled himself. Patrick had said this would be a long story.
Patrick went on, his voice becoming more strained. “Just over a month ago, she woke in the middle of the night, in her own bedroom, to find a strange man there. He assaulted her, ripped a valuable diamond pendant off her neck, tore her nightclothes.”
Now Daniel was listening in horror.
Patrick’s voice was tight. “She screamed several times and tried to fight him. He struck her pretty hard. As he was fleeing, her father met him in the corridor and tried to catch him, but he escaped down the stairs. Mr. Thorwood went into Rebecca’s bedroom and found her hysterical, bruised, with minor cuts where the chain of the pendant had torn her skin. She was terribly distressed. I…I don’t know what else he may have done to her…”
Daniel could imagine it. It must have been terrible, unforgettable. “But how could I help?” he asked in some confusion.
“Tobias Thorwood recognized the man, because it was someone he knew,” Patrick replied. He was standing rigid now; this much was obvious even in the darkness.
“So, you arrested him? Or the police did?”
“No. We couldn’t, because he was a British diplomat. Philip Sidney. He fled to the British Embassy, and we couldn’t get in there. It’s legally British territory.”
“Oh…”
“And he’s pleaded diplomatic immunity.” Patrick’s voice trembled with anger. “Now he’s back here in London.”
Daniel could understand perfectly. In fact, he felt the same emotion himself. It was an appalling thing to do, outrageous. He knew all the arguments for diplomatic immunity and for protecting the countless diplomats abroad, but it was certainly not meant to escape punishment for offenses like this. He was embarrassed for his country, humiliated that such a thing should be told to him by his own brother-in-law, and he had no defense for it whatsoever. “I’m sorry,” was all he could think to say.
