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“No! Of course he didn’t!” There was anger and disgust in her voice. “If we had them at the time we came over, he would simply have given them to the police! He wouldn’t have involved you at all. He doesn’t know any more about them than you do!”
Daniel believed her, and the answer made sense. “But he did know about them,” he continued, “because he was the one who told me the police had arrested Sidney, and asked me to defend him. So that we could somehow raise the issue of the attack on Rebecca and the diamond pendant.”
“That doesn’t mean he caused it to happen! Where would he get them from? How would he even know they existed? You’re not making any sense.”
“How did anybody know they existed?” Daniel continued. “And took a ship leaving New York for Southampton so soon after Sidney, and came straight to the police here? Do you really believe that was all a matter of chance?” His disbelief was strong and bitter.
“No, that would be ridiculous,” she agreed. For the first time, she felt real doubt.
Cassie gripped her mother’s hand tightly.
Daniel saw it. He spoke gently. “It’s something I’ve got to answer, Jem. They didn’t get here on their own, and they weren’t posted. Somebody brought them over. The post would take longer than a courier, especially for as many pages as there are. They go back about three years.”
She looked totally confused. “I’ll ask Patrick. Please, let me do it. He’ll think…”
“What?”
She faced him very squarely. “That it’s the English trying to protect their own, and that’s reasonable. They protected Sidney from the charge of assaulting Rebecca, and that’s much worse.”
“Which English?” he asked. “Me? It has to be an Englishman who got the papers out of the embassy in the first place. What was he doing?”
“Maybe he was the embezzler and he was afraid they’d catch him,” said Jemima. “So he took the chance to blame Sidney for the theft, and everything else. Everybody knew that Sidney had fled here to escape the other charges,” she said reasonably.
“Half of Washington knew that, at least half!” Daniel pointed out.
“Then that’s your answer,” Jemima said. “A motive, a necessity, an opportunity, and the means!”
Cassie looked at Daniel. “Did Mummy win?”
Daniel was about to deny it, then he looked at Cassie’s anxious face. The answer was easy. “I rather think she did,” he replied. “She’s good at it. And actually, it helped me get things straight.”
Cassie smiled directly at him, then turned away, overtaken by a sudden self-consciousness.
Jemima smiled at him, too. “Thank you,” she mouthed.
* * *
—
DANIEL LEFT, HIS mind struggling with the question as to whether Patrick had somehow known about the embezzlement before he left Washington. That led inevitably to the question as to how he could have known of it, if he had no part in seeing that the evidence followed Sidney to England. Daniel believed Patrick when he said he wanted justice, no more. But do you press so hard, and take risks with your own future, if it is merely a case, one in which you have no personal investment? Daniel had had many cases, and fought them all to the best of his ability. But in some, ability was stumped, and lack of it kept you awake at night, and invaded all the rest of your life.
Why was Daniel defending Sidney? Was he also defending the British Embassy from the accusation of foreigners? It shouldn’t make any difference, should it? It was the uncovering of the truth that mattered.
So why was he striding down Keppel Street with his fists clenched, trying to avoid facing Patrick, hurting Jemima, and confusing that little girl whom he had met only three times and already cared about so much?
He caught a bus on the Tottenham Court Road and made his way to Blackwell’s house. If either Blackwell or Mercy were at home, it would be their lunchtime. They would offer him some, they always did. He would accept, and then explain himself.
* * *
—
IT WAS AN excellent meal.
Lamb chops; the freshest of peas, as mild and delicate as possible, with a little mint and plenty of butter; and boiled potatoes. Daniel would far rather eat than talk, and he did, putting the discussion off as long as possible.
“Come on!” Blackwell said at last, when there were no more potatoes or peas left.
“Tea?” Mercy said, rising to her feet. “Cake?” She did not bother to wait for his answer—it was always the same.
