Twenty-One Days (Daniel Pitt #1)(50)

That was a stab that hurt. Daniel could remember Vespasia from his earliest childhood. She was beautiful, and she made him laugh. She always had time to talk to him. Once or twice she had given him books and sat with him to discuss them. He remembered long talks about Ivanhoe and Hereward the Wake and his long battle against the Normans.

And she was funny. He remembered her remarks that often he did not understand, but made everybody laugh.

When a case was very bad, seeming impossible to solve, she and Narraway would come to the house and they would sit around the kitchen table and work out all the ways to solve it. He remembered creeping down the stairs with Jemima and sitting on the lower steps listening at the kitchen door. They knew from the voices that it was serious, although they didn’t understand very much. They knew when a decision had been made, and more than once had had to hide very quickly in the pantry, or get caught.

These were good memories, ones he would not let Graves spoil. He knew that the cases were serious, often to do with treason, or murder, but he refused to believe that they fought for their own gain and not for a just cause, or to save the lives of those who were guilty of no more than foolishness, or being in the wrong place at the wrong time.

He looked at Graves’ sneering face. ‘I think most of her lovers would be dead by now,’ he said as levelly as he could. He heard the strain in his own voice. ‘Although perhaps their sons are not. You have certainly made a lot of enemies. I wouldn’t know where to begin. You’ll have to do better than that. It would take me years to go through all of them.’

Graves’ eyes widened. He saw his own tactical error, as Daniel recognised before a look of hatred filled Graves’ face.

‘I agree,’ Graves said softly. ‘Forget about Lady Vespasia, and Narraway, for that matter. His extorted help, money from too many people; betrayed his friends. And those from his early years would be dead, too. Concentrate on your father. He’s still alive, and has fifteen years left in office, more or less. The lists of victims to blackmail are his! Lots of them are still alive. Look into those he trusts to do something like kill my wife and blame me! Ask him about Portugal! Then you won’t think he’s such a damn hero!’

Daniel frowned. Puzzled. What did Graves mean about Portugal?

‘You’re no more of a hero than your father.’

Daniel was confused, but he would ask his father, not Graves.

‘It’s common knowledge that he paid old fford Croft to take you on. You are his man inside one of the most discreet and trusted law firms in the country. Think of the secrets you will know – one day,’ he said with contempt. ‘Will you be Sir Daniel when he’s gone?’ Now his sneer was undisguised. ‘Was it not that kind of knighthood? Bought and paid for by turning a blind eye to all the right things! As I said in my book – weak! And weakness leads to corruption. And corruption leads to murder. Got to solve the case, no matter how, no matter who hangs for it. Runs in the bloodline, doesn’t it? His father was a poacher, he’s a lackey to Narraway, and God knows who else now. What are you going to be?’

Daniel rose to his feet. He was shaking. ‘The man who finds out who killed your wife,’ he replied without hesitation. ‘Whether it’s you or not. If it isn’t you, I’ll get you out of here. And if it is, I’ll see you hang with pleasure.’

Daniel went to the door and banged on it to be let out. He did not look back at Graves when the guard came, but walked away.





Chapter Twelve


Daniel made up his mind that he must go and see his father that evening. He set out with the intention of arriving about six o’clock. It would be before dinner, and it would be an interruption to his parents’ evening, but it was the best time to catch him, in the event that they had planned to go out. If so, their plans might have to be cancelled. This matter would not wait.

Several times on the way there, he wondered if it was wise to appeal to his father, and if it was even necessary. It could be left until he knew more, in fact until after he had found out who might be behind Ebony’s death. But he did not hesitate in his stride. He knew these were all excuses, because it was going to be difficult. Unpleasant, at least; at worst, disastrous.

He turned the corner into Keppel Street. Every house was familiar. He had walked this way almost every day since he was four or five years old, right until he went up to Cambridge. He did not hesitate, although he was forcing himself in every step.

He was glad they had not moved to a newer, grander house with Pitt’s promotion, and higher salary. This was home. He pulled the bell rope and stepped back.

It was answered almost immediately. They had a manservant now. That was fairly new. They’d always managed before with one maid, and a woman a couple of days a week for the heavy work.

‘Good evening, Mr Daniel. Is Sir Thomas expecting you?’ The servant opened the door wide and moved aside to allow Daniel in. He must know that Daniel was not expected, but it was a courteous way of asking.

‘No, Yeats, he isn’t. And I’m sorry if it causes inconvenience, but it’s really urgent. Will you please tell him I’m here? And I’ll say hello to my mother.’

‘Yes, sir. Lady Pitt is in the sitting room.’ Yeats went ahead of him, knocked on the sitting-room door and went in immediately. Daniel heard him say something in a murmur, and the next moment Charlotte was in the doorway.