Twenty-One Days (Daniel Pitt #1)(41)

‘Good morning, sir.’ Daniel sat down opposite the desk. He wondered briefly if everyone else had been so uncomfortable in what was supposed to be an easy chair.

‘What have you to report?’ fford Croft asked. ‘You look troubled. I imagine the household were not able to be particularly helpful.’ He looked bland, as if he had resigned himself to bad news. Maybe he was placing all his hopes on Kitteridge.

‘They were as helpful as they could be, sir.’ Daniel replied. ‘Their hospitality was excellent. One can learn a lot about people from their staff, even if they mean to tell you little.’ Why was he spinning this out? They were sitting here in highly civilised fashion, as if nothing were wrong, that Ebony Graves had not been killed and then disfigured, and that Russell Graves was not going to hang, that there was no book written about people Daniel loved that was going to rip his life apart. Above all, that right now fford Croft did not know anything about it.

fford Croft leaned forward a little. ‘But did you learn anything?’ he asked with a little of his patience beginning to fray.

How much did fford Croft know already? Had he accepted the case in an attempt to control the damage Graves could do? Daniel knew that fford Croft was acquainted with his father. Had he also known Narraway? Had he some motive for involving Daniel in this particular case?

Daniel could read nothing in his face.

He must answer.

‘Do you know what the book is about that Graves was writing, sir? And if he is granted an appeal, that he will then complete and publish?’

fford Croft’s white eyebrows rose. ‘Does it really matter now? It’s a biography of someone, but I don’t know of whom.’

‘Victor Narraway, Head of Special Branch before my father,’ Daniel said. He did not mean his voice to sound so grating, but he could not control it. ‘It purports to be an exposé – of corruption, greed, manipulation, blackmail, and extortion . . .’

Either fford Croft had not known, or he was the most superb actor alive.

‘And the Lady Vespasia,’ Daniel went on. ‘As the most skilled and dramatic whore in the European aristocracy. Furthermore—’

‘Stop!’ fford Croft’s voice was hoarse. ‘Stop this moment! What on earth are you saying?’

Brilliant actor or not, no one could make blood drain from their skin the way fford Croft’s had done now. He was almost grey.

‘And it says that my father is also corrupt,’ Daniel continued. ‘Promoted so that Narraway could continue to use him, more or less to manipulate him, to run the Special Branch.’

‘That is nonsense!’ fford Croft shook his head. ‘Are you sure you did not misunderstand—’

‘Yes, I’m quite sure.’ Daniel cut across him in a way he would not have dared even a day ago. ‘I’ve read his notes. They are incontestable.’

‘The staff let you?’

‘They imagined I was there to save him, if it is possible. They know that you are his lawyer. That is your job.’ He looked straight at fford Croft without flickering or lowering his eyes.

fford Croft said nothing.

‘What is my job, sir?’ Daniel asked. ‘To save the man, if I can? To see if he is being framed by Special Branch, or someone in it? Do we expose this frame, break it? Or is my job to see that it fits, and he’s hanged, and his notes destroyed? All I have done so far is make sure they say what they seem to, lock them away and ask the butler to secure the study door, so no one else reads them.’

fford Croft stared at him as if he were some dangerous creature that had materialised before him without warning. He looked flustered, suddenly very much older and utterly confused.

Daniel felt guilty for talking to him this way. He could not now say he had not suspected fford Croft of some sort of complicity; it was all too plain in his manner that he had. It would add insult to injury for him to pretend.

‘This is appalling!’ fford Croft breathed out slowly. He seemed to have shrunk in his chair. ‘I . . . I had no idea . . .’

Daniel had no right to ask, but he needed to know. ‘Why did you take this case, sir? We had very little chance of winning it. The evidence is overwhelmingly against Graves, and I didn’t find anything to mitigate it at all, except that he had enemies, well-deserved ones.’ He did not add that he refused to believe Special Branch had framed him to silence him, although as it filled his mind, he knew the first suspicion would fall on his father, but it might extend further as well. His colleagues were very loyal to him and to the service in general. Or perhaps the detail Graves gave implicated others even beyond Special Branch.

fford Croft was biting his lip. He seemed to be having some difficulty in deciding what to say. He looked at Daniel, but Daniel did not look away, even though he now was embarrassed, even sorry for his employer. That might be something fford Croft would not forgive, from anyone, let alone someone as junior as Daniel. This could be the end of his job. How would he explain that to his father?

But then that might be the least of his worries.

‘A long time ago,’ fford Croft began, ‘thirty years, perhaps – it doesn’t matter now; some things are timeless . . .’

Daniel sat without moving.

‘. . . I knew Graves’ father. He and I were friends.’ fford Croft looked down at the desk. ‘He got into a spot of trouble. Rather serious trouble. I was newly qualified then, but I was good. I had a few notable victories. Not unlike you, maybe, in a year or two.’ His smile was sad, regretful. ‘He asked me for my help. I . . . I let him down. I made a mistake. Not a big one, but enough to lose the case. He was guilty, I knew that. But there were mitigating circumstances. In defending Russell now, I’m repaying that old debt.’