Twenty-One Days (Daniel Pitt #1)(13)

‘Beyond the fact that Graves is charged with having killed his wife, no I don’t.’

They turned into Fleet Street.

‘We’ll go to Ye Olde Cheshire Cheese. There are plenty of private corners there,’ Kitteridge said.

Daniel looked sideways at him. He appeared tired and disappointed, the beginnings of defeat showing in the twist of his mouth. He was surprisingly vulnerable for one who usually seemed sure of himself, to the point of arrogance.

Kitteridge was losing the case, and he knew it. A defeat in front of Daniel was going to be doubly difficult for him to bear. He didn’t lose often.

‘Do you think Graves is innocent?’ Daniel lengthened his stride to keep up.

‘Not really,’ Kitteridge admitted. ‘I looked at the evidence and I don’t think there’s a cat in hell’s chance. Then I look at the man, and something in me believes him – I think.’ He sounded surprised at his own conclusion.

Daniel was still trying to think of a reply when they entered Ye Olde Cheshire Cheese.

Kitteridge held the door open for Daniel, and they found a quiet table. A waiter appeared immediately and welcomed Kitteridge by name. Daniel was determined not to show it, but he was impressed. He was also quite sure that Kitteridge intended him to be.

‘I suppose I’d better catch you up,’ Kitteridge said. ‘Since you did not catch up last night, as I had hoped.’

Daniel was tempted to say that he had already gathered that Kitteridge was losing. Kitteridge was losing his temper in a way he had not seen before. Daniel had had that same feeling of near panic only yesterday, thinking he was going to let Blackwell down disastrously. Did Kitteridge care that Graves did not hang, or only that he, Kitteridge, did not lose?

‘What is the evidence against him?’ Daniel asked.

‘It’s all against him,’ Kitteridge said with sudden bitterness. ‘His wife’s body was found in her bedroom, her skull cracked at the back, and a good deal of her face and upper body burned to the point of total disfigurement. It was appalling. There is no sign of anyone breaking in. No strangers seen by the resident staff, or by the daughter, Sarah, who is nineteen, or the son, Arthur, who is sixteen and an invalid.’ He stopped abruptly, staring at Daniel, waiting for his reaction.

Daniel looked back at him, and saw distress in his face, imperfectly masked. No wonder Kitteridge was afraid he was going to lose; it seemed impossible to win. ‘Why did you take the case?’ he asked. Kitteridge was ambitious, clever, self-assured. Everybody was vulnerable, but Kitteridge seldom showed it. Or perhaps Daniel was not wise enough yet to see beyond the surface.

‘You wouldn’t have?’ Kitteridge asked curiously.

Daniel did not know the answer to that. He had taken on Blackwell’s case because his father had asked him to. And he had immediately liked Blackwell personally. He liked his quick mind, his imagination, and his throwaway sense of humour. Blackwell was an adventurer, but he was not violent. He was a teller of tall stories, largely to entertain more than to deceive. He was generous, both with his means and with his judgements of others.

Kitteridge did not like Graves; that was apparent.

Now Kitteridge was waiting for a reply. ‘Well?’ he asked.

‘I don’t know. Why did you? Did you have no choice?’

‘Well done!’ Kitteridge acknowledged with sarcasm. ‘How long did it take you to work that out?’

‘I suppose I have no choice either,’ Daniel replied.

‘Not if you want to stay at fford Croft and Gibson and eventually prosper. One day, you could be in my position.’ There was a slight twist in his lips as he smiled, his eyes studying Daniel carefully.

‘When you are in Mr fford Croft’s position.’ Daniel finished the thought for him.

‘Precisely.’

‘So, he asked you to take the case?’

‘Right again.’

‘Does he think Graves is innocent?’

‘That is a very interesting question.’ The light had gone from Kitteridge’s face.

Daniel hesitated. Marcus fford Croft was a friend of Daniel’s father, but in what circumstances he did not know. His mother was not acquainted with him, so it was not a social connection. The alternatives were numerous, and not all of them pleasant.

‘He didn’t say. I got the impression he didn’t know, and didn’t care,’ Kitteridge replied. ‘But I have no doubt he wants me to win.’

He did not need to add any more for Daniel to understand. The firm was small, but one of the most respected in London. Marcus fford Croft himself had been one of the best lawyers in the country, in his time. Now he was head of chambers, but no longer appeared in court. He was an inexhaustible mine of legal information, and he knew the secrets of three-quarters of London’s rich, famous, and infamous aristocrats and thieves. His manner had always been eccentric, but now his memory was as well. He had handed over the litigation to a number of chosen rising stars. Kitteridge was a leader among them, but there were others, young gentlemen who had chosen to follow the law, with more or less skill. Time and hardship would determine the successes.

‘Did he tell you anything about Graves?’ Daniel asked, since Kitteridge had offered nothing further.

‘No,’ Kitteridge said testily. ‘Including why he took the case at all. But I have the feeling that it matters to him. He was not being bloody-minded to see what I would do.’