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But his anxiety proved groundless. Mullane was waiting for them, suitcase in hand. The ferry was already in sight, over a mile away, just a dot on the bright water.
CHAPTER
Twenty-three
PATRICK WENT OUT early on Saturday morning, and Jemima was certain he was going to the post office again, although he had not said so. He seemed to be sending wires to Washington every day now, sometimes even twice a day. And answers were delivered to him almost as often. She had asked him what it was about, afraid that it was some kind of trouble because he looked anxious, but he would not discuss it.
She knew that her mother had frequently “meddled” in her father’s cases when he was in the regular police, before he joined Special Branch. At that point, he began dealing with political issues, often involving terrorists, anarchists, people who planned attacks on the public or the government. That was almost always secret work, and he would not involve her. Not that he had ever intentionally involved her in ordinary police cases. But she had a knowledge of, not to mention access to, personal information from high society, which was completely denied to him back then.
Jemima had no such advantage over Patrick in America. That was his country, his people, and his skill. She was working hard not to be an outsider, and she had found people very kind, very open, not nearly as closed against strangers as she had known English people could be. But she was still an outsider, albeit in New York, a city of outsiders. Washington was different. It was a capital city, a diplomatic city, and outsiders were of a different sort. They lived in Washington temporarily. Most people in the diplomatic service were among the best their country or their culture had to offer. She was permanent. It was now her country as well as Patrick’s, and of course Cassie and Sophie were U.S. citizens, born and belonging, without thought.
Jemima wanted to help Patrick, but she had no ability to, and at the moment, no time. Cassie and Sophie had to be her world. Jemima had no sister to help her, as her mother had had. And she felt she would be giving up her own identity, her nature that made Patrick love her, if she were to become just like his sisters. Not that there was anything wrong with them, but he loved that she was English, sophisticated, with her own special sense of humor.
When Patrick came back from the post office, she asked him outright, “Are you wiring the police in Washington? About this case of Daniel’s?”
He must have seen her anxiety. “Yes. I’ve got to help if I can,” he answered immediately.
“To make sure Sidney pays for attacking Rebecca?”
He looked stunned. “Is that what you think? You think I want to make sure he’s convicted?”
What should she say? That was what he had told her. So much depended on how she answered now. “Didn’t he do it?”
“I don’t know,” he admitted. “I thought he did. In fact, I was certain of it. But now I’m not. It has nothing to do with Daniel. It’s not about winning or losing. Or who comes from where. Did I really seem that prejudiced to you?”
How could she answer that? Truthfully. The wrong thing would hurt. But a lie would hurt forever. “I don’t think either you or Daniel could see beyond loyalties and what you wanted to believe. I don’t think I could either. But it’s not about nationalities or loyalties to your own now. It’s about murder. If Sidney is found guilty of assaulting Rebecca, it will ruin his career, and he deserves it. But if he is found guilty of killing Morley Cross, he will hang. And if they think he’s guilty of the first, they have every reason to think he killed Morley Cross, to hide it and get away. It’s got to be about truth.”
They were like two strangers looking across a room at each other, on the edge of an abyss.
Patrick was the one to reach out. “I know that. I’m wiring to the police at home because I need them to find out when Morley Cross died, and they can’t! It’s too close to call…medically. So, I’m trying to get someone who saw him as close to the time of his death as possible. We only need one person who saw him alive after Sidney left on the boat, and it will clear him beyond question.” His eyes searched hers, as if needing to see an answer, a belief in him.
She knew that as well as if he had spoken. Perhaps she should have known it all along, but she hadn’t, not for certain. “That would be wonderful,” she said warmly. “It would be beyond doubt then. There would be nothing Hillyer could do. And…and if Sidney didn’t kill Cross, then someone else did! Maybe Cross was the one who embezzled the money? Could he have attacked Rebecca as well?”
“I asked that,” Patrick said quietly. “He didn’t look anything like Sidney. It would mean that Bernadette Thorwood lied when she said she recognized him.”
“I’m sorry.” She meant it as an apology. She had wanted it to be the answer, to get rid of the whole mystery. She was looking for a comfortable answer, and she knew better.
Patrick came over to stand in front of her. “No easy answer, Jem. We both know better than that. And I have a feeling your family does, too. Daniel, I’m pretty sure, and your father…I’d stake my life on it.”
She stared at him in surprise. “You’ve only known him a short while!” Yet she felt a surge of warmth rising up inside her. Patrick wanted to belong here, too. Not just because they were her family, but because he cared about the same things. It felt simple. He might have to make all sorts of accommodations for their tastes, some of them surface habits or beliefs, but underneath, the foundations were solid. The choice was not “my country, right or wrong,” but what was right, regardless of country.
She reached out and put her arms around him, holding him tightly, and kissed him.
Although it was a Saturday, Jemima was pretty sure Kitteridge would be in his chambers at Lincoln’s Inn. He could not afford to take a day off at this critical stage, during such a desperate trial. It would be noon by the time she got there. Would he have gone out for lunch? She could hardly go trailing around the likely public houses looking for him. She got the cook to make up a tasty sandwich to take it to him. She had decided not to tell Patrick in case he disapproved of the idea. She didn’t like going behind his back, but in such a serious situation, it was necessary.
She arrived just before noon and found the clerk, Impney, who let her in and informed her that Mr. Kitteridge was in the library, but Impney was certain he would be delighted to see her.
“Would you like me to serve the sandwiches with a pot of tea, ma’am?”
“Oh, yes, please,” she accepted gratefully. “I would love that.” She gave him a dazzling smile.
Ten minutes later, she was sitting in the library, opposite a clearly uncomfortable and nervous Kitteridge. He had to be hungry, and homemade sandwiches filled with cold roast beef, with pickles and tomatoes on the side, some slices of fruitcake, and Impney’s hot tea made the difference.
“If you could hold out long enough,” Jemima said earnestly. “It might be a few days, but Patrick’s working as hard as he can. He only needs one person who saw Cross after Sidney left Washington. It would prove beyond any doubt at all, reasonable or not. I don’t know what you can do…”
“It doesn’t matter,” Kitteridge replied, with his mouth full. “Hillyer strung it out for ages. I can do the same…I think. Do you kno
w what Daniel went to Alderney for? That is where he went, isn’t it?”
