Pentecost Alley (27 page)

“I wanted to know if you could find your old Hellfire Club badge, sir,” Pitt asked, looking at his agitated face and wondering why he was so uncomfortable. This should not be embarrassing. Pitt was not recognizable as police.

“I told you, I haven’t got it anymore!” Thirlstone replied with a frown, his voice sharpening with exasperation. “What can it matter now?”

Pitt told him about the two badges with Finlay’s name on them.

“Oh.” Thirlstone looked disconcerted. He swallowed, seemed about to speak again, then changed his mind. He moved uncomfortably, as if something in his loosely fitting shirt still scratched his skin. “Well … if I … if I have it, I’ll bring it to you. But it’s not likely.” He shook his head abruptly. “I really can’t imagine Finlay would do such a thing, but people change….”

A statuesque young woman walked by, running her fingers through her mane of hair. A man by the farther window was sketching her, and she knew it. “I think
you’ll find us … oh …” Thirlstone shrugged. “I don’t know. Really. I have no idea.” He glanced at the woman, and back to Pitt. “Not pleasant to be disloyal, but I can’t tell you anything.”

Pitt wished he could think of some question which would crack the façade and let him see beneath to what these men really knew of each other, what relationships there had been, the rivalries, the bonds which held, and the jealousies which divided, the secret feelings underlying the outward behavior.

“Did Finlay have one particular friend among you?” he asked casually, as if he had thought of it only as he was about to leave.

“No,” Thirlstone said instantly. “We were all together … well … er, possibly he was a little closer to Helliwell. More in common, maybe.” Then he blushed, as if it had been a hand of betrayal, but it was too late to take it back.

“Did he have more money than the rest of you?” Pitt enquired. “His father is extremely wealthy.”

Thirlstone looked relieved.

“Ah … yes. Yes, he did. Certainly more than Jago or I. And I suppose more than Helliwell too.”

“Was he generous?”

A curious expression crossed Thirlstone’s face, a mixture of bitterness and wry, almost careful regret. He obviously disliked talking about it at all, and that might have been some kind of guilt, or simply that Thirlstone regarded that as an aesthetically wasted time and preferred to live in the present.

“Was he generous?” Pitt repeated.

Thirlstone shrugged. “Yes … quite often.”

“He gambled?” It did not matter, except as a blight on his character, but Pitt wanted to keep the conversation going.

A burst of laughter interrupted his thought, and they all turned to look at the little group who had occasioned it.

“Yes. We all did,” Thirlstone replied. “I suppose he
gambled rather more. It was in his nature, and he could afford it. Look, Superintendent, none of that is relevant now. I really have no idea who killed this woman in Whitechapel. I find it difficult to believe it could have been Finlay. But if you have proof that it was, then I shall have to accept it. Otherwise I think you are wasting your time—which is your privilege—but you are also wasting mine, and that is precious. I have not seen my old club badge in years, but if I should come across it, I shall bring it to Bow Street and pass it in.”

“I would appreciate it if you could look for it, Mr. Thirlstone. It may prove Mr. FitzJames’s innocence.”

“Or guilt?” Thirlstone said, staring at Pitt with an intense gaze.

Charlotte had visited her mother during the day, and was full of news to tell Pitt when he returned home. Most of it cheerful and interesting, variations of the colorful gossip about the theater relayed by Caroline.

But when Charlotte saw Pitt’s face as he came in at a quarter past seven, tired, hot and struggling with a confusion of thoughts, she realized this was not the time.

“Did you look again for the badge?” she asked as they sat over dinner. The children had already eaten and were upstairs getting ready for bed. Gracie, with her newly learned reading skill, was preparing to share with them the next chapter of
Alice Through the Looking Glass
. It was their favorite time of the day.

Both kittens were asleep in the laundry basket in the corner of the kitchen by the cooker, and everything was tidy and cleared away, except the dishes they were actually using, and they could wait until Gracie came down again.

“Yes,” Pitt answered, looking up and meeting her eyes across the table. The sunlight was low, coming straight in through the large windows onto the table and the scrubbed floor. It made bright patterns on the far wall and gleamed where it caught the china on the Welsh dresser.
It shone red on one of the copper-bottomed saucepans hanging up. “And we found it.”

Charlotte swallowed. “Does that mean he is innocent?”

He smiled. “No, it just means there are two badges, so one of them is presumably a fake.”

“Well, mustn’t it be the one that was found in Pentecost Alley? The other one must have been where you found it, mustn’t it? Where did you find it?”

“In the pocket of an old jacket he apparently hasn’t worn for years.”

“Well then?”

He ate another mouthful of the cold chicken pie. It was very good indeed; so were the fresh tomatoes with it, and the cucumber.

“Thomas?” she prompted, her face puckered.

“Somebody had a copy made and put it either in Ada McKinley’s bed in Pentecost Alley or else in Finlay FitzJames’s pocket in Devonshire Street,” he replied with his mouth half full.

“And don’t you know which?” She was beginning to remember Emily’s words yesterday, and her eagerness that Pitt should search again. Most unpleasant thoughts crossed her mind. She forced them away. “Surely you can tell, can’t you?” she said more urgently, her own pie now forgotten.

“No, I can’t.” He frowned at her. “Not unless I can compare them with one of the original ones belonging to the other members. The writing is just a little different on the two I have. Presumably the first ones were all made by the same jeweler. The writing which does not match will be the copy.”

“Doesn’t it have …” she began, then realized the answer to her own question, and stopped.

“What?” he asked.

“It doesn’t matter. It doesn’t make any sense,” she denied.

“Either someone had a copy made to prove him guilty when he was innocent,” he explained. “Or to prove him
innocent when he is guilty, or they fear he is. That could be any member of his family, or Finlay himself.”

“Yes,” she said cautiously, then looked down at her plate. “Yes, of course it could.” She did not add what was in her thoughts. It was screaming in her mind, but she did not dare put words to it, even to herself. “Would you like another tomato?” She half moved from the table. “I have several more. They’re really very good.”

As soon as Pitt had left the following morning, and she had given Gracie instructions for the day, Charlotte took a hansom cab to Emily’s house. By quarter past nine she was being shown into the morning room by a startled parlor maid, who said she would go and see if Mrs. Radley was at home. That meant she was. Had she been out riding she would have said so immediately. Although Charlotte was prepared to wait even if Emily were out for the entire day.

Emily appeared within ten minutes, still in a loose satin peignoir and with her fair hair loose in curls Charlotte had envied all their lives. She came towards Charlotte smiling, as if to kiss her on the cheek.

“Emily!” Charlotte said quickly.

Emily blinked. “Yes? You look very fierce. What’s happened? Is it something to do with Grandmama?”

“No, it is not. Why did you ask me to have Thomas search the FitzJames house again for that Hellfire Club badge?” She faced Emily with a stare which should have turned her to stone.

Emily hesitated only a moment, then sat down casually in one of the green chairs.

“Because if he found it, it would prove that Finlay FitzJames is innocent, which will be much better for Thomas,” she answered blandly, looking up at Charlotte standing above her. “Wouldn’t it? Augustus FitzJames is a very powerful man, and not fearfully pleasant. Of course, if Finlay is guilty, then he should be arrested and tried, and all that. But if he isn’t, then it would be much
better for everyone, and for Thomas in particular, if it could be proved so before any charges are made. Isn’t that all fairly plain?”

“Very plain indeed.” Charlotte did not back away an inch. “Do you know him?”

Emily’s eyes widened, very clear and blue in the morning sun coming through the long windows.

“Who? Augustus FitzJames? Only by repute. But I’m sure I’m right. Jack has mentioned him several times. He is very powerful, because he has a great deal of money.”

“Finlay FitzJames?” Charlotte kept her voice under control with an effort.

“No,” Emily answered, still with an air of innocence. “I’ve met him once, but only very briefly. Just to say how do you do, not much more. I doubt that he would recognize me again.”

Charlotte was looking for the connection. It had to be somewhere. She knew Emily well enough to tell when she was being evasive. There was guilt in every line of her body, the wide gaze of her eyes. She sat down on the seat opposite and faced her.

“Is he betrothed to anyone?”

“I don’t think so; I haven’t heard that he is.” Emily did not ask why Charlotte wanted to know. In Charlotte’s mind, that was the final piece of evidence. She was lying about something. Her fears were confirmed.

“Tallulah?” she said between her teeth. “Do you care really about her so much you would coerce me into asking Thomas to search again on her account?”

Emily blushed. “I told you, Charlotte … if Finlay is innocent, it will be—”

“Rats! You knew that badge was there, because you or Tallulah put it there! Have you any idea of what you’ve done?”

Emily hesitated on the verge of admitting or denying. She still had not given herself away, not completely.

“Augustus FitzJames does have some very ruthless enemies, you know.”

“And some very ruthless friends as well, it seems!” Charlotte said furiously. “Did you have the badge made yourself, or did you just suggest it to … Tallulah?”

Emily squared her shoulders. “I really think that as a policeman’s wife, Charlotte, I should not discuss that with you. You would feel obliged to tell Thomas anything I told you, and then I might place myself, or my friends, in an embarrassing situation. I am quite certain Finlay is innocent, and I did what I believed to be right—for him, and for Thomas. You know that the identification is nonsense.”

“What identification?” Suddenly Charlotte was less confident. Emily was certainly irresponsible, probably even criminal, and totally stupid; but it seemed she also knew something which Charlotte did not, and perhaps Pitt did not either. “What identification?” she repeated.

Emily relaxed. The sun through the morning room windows made an aureole of gold around her hair. The pleasant clatter of domestic chores sounded from beyond the door. Somewhere a girl was giggling … probably a between-maid.

“The identification of the other prostitute who said she saw Finlay there in Pentecost Alley the night of the murder,” Emily answered.

“What?” Charlotte felt her stomach tighten and for a moment she could hardly breathe. “What did you say?”

“It wasn’t a proper identification,” Emily explained. “She doesn’t really know if it was Finlay or not. She would be perfectly willing to say it was the butler, if it came to trial.”

“What butler?” Charlotte was stunned, and now confused as well. “Whose butler? Why would she say it was a butler?”

“The butler who got Ada pregnant,” Emily explained. “Which was how she lost her position and finished up on the streets,” Emily explained.

“And just how do you know that?” Charlotte’s voice dropped and became icy.

It was too late for any possible retreat.

“Because I spoke to her,” Emily replied in a small voice.

Charlotte sat down abruptly. She felt a little dizzy.

“You shouldn’t be so disturbed,” Emily said reasonably. “You and I have both involved ourselves in cases before, and it has always ended more or less right. Remember the Hyde Park Headsman—”

“Don’t!” Charlotte winced. “Have you forgotten what Jack said to you after that?”

Emily paled. “No. But he doesn’t know about this. And I didn’t do anything dangerous … well, not really. There wasn’t anybody violent around. I was only looking for information to clear Finlay. I wasn’t pressing anyone who could be guilty.”

“Don’t be idiotic!” Charlotte said. “If you clear Finlay, then someone else is guilty. It may be someone around there. In fact, it probably is. Except, of course,” she added scathingly, “since you put the club badge there, Finlay could be as guilty as Jack the Ripper. The real badge was the original one, found with the poor woman’s body. Or didn’t you think of that?”

“Yes, of course I did. But that didn’t mean that Finlay put it there!” Emily said. “We both know that he was nowhere near Whitechapel that night. He was at a party in Chelsea.”

“We don’t both know it!” Charlotte said. “All we really know is that Tallulah says she was there, and she says she saw him!”

“Well, I believe her! And without an identification it’s the only piece of evidence that connects him with Whitechapel at all. Anyone could have stolen it, or found it years ago, and used it to revenge themselves on Augustus. After all, why on earth would Finlay kill a woman like Ada McKinley? Or anybody else, for that matter?”

“Somebody did,” Charlotte said pointedly.

“Far more probably someone who knew her,” Emily
argued, leaning forward a trifle. “A rival, or someone she stole from or someone she hurt. She may have quarreled with someone, one of the other women, or some man she made fun of, maybe someone who was once in love with her, and she betrayed him by doing what she did.” She took a deep breath. “Charlotte …”

Charlotte stared at her, waiting.

“Charlotte … please don’t tell Thomas about the badge. He’d never forgive me. And he might not understand why I did it. I really do believe that Finlay is innocent.”

“I know you do,” Charlotte said gravely. “You wouldn’t do anything so absolutely idiotic otherwise.”