Unraveled (Turner #3)(97)
“I have not.” She had a sad smile on her face.
“No use denying it. And there’s no use pretending I can give it. There will be none for you. I have some discretion in the performance of my duties; I have none where murder has been committed. You have, by your own admission, killed.”
Mrs. Blasseur shook her head. “Oh, dearie me. You are serious, aren’t you? I’m not here to beg for my life.” She gave him another tight, sad smile. “I could scarcely walk here. In a few days, I doubt I’ll be able to stand. Even speaking winds me. The doctor says I simply can’t take in enough air to survive. You don’t have to hang me. My body is suffocating of its own accord.”
The Patron with nothing to lose… It didn’t bear thinking about. “What do you want, then?”
“I want you to let Jeremy take charge.” There was a low ferocity in her voice. “I’ve made my peace with death, but I want what I have built to live on. I want a legacy.”
“Mama,” Jeremy said.
“No, listen. He’s trained for this. He’s a good boy—he listens to people, and they like talking to him. He won’t do anything lightly. Agree not to interfere with him and I’ll let you go. After all we’ve suffered through, Temple Parish deserves justice. Don’t let it die with me.”
A few months ago, Smite would have suppressed the flash of unwilling compassion he felt at those words. There was only one answer to be made: there could be no other justice. His duty required him to eradicate the whole scheme, root and branch.
“Mother,” Jeremy said, his voice low. “I can’t do this. Don’t ask it of me. Please.”
“You can. I believe in you.” She smiled at her son, as if she were encouraging him to persevere in a difficult set of lessons. It was morbidly touching. “Everything’s already in place. If someone needs help, they know who to go to. All you need to do is respond.”
“What you do is not justice,” Smite heard himself say. “When I step down, my replacement will be chosen openly by Queen Victoria. I may have, by mistake, sentenced an innocent man to prison in the past. But I’ve never purposefully held a man who has done no wrong in an attempt to coerce my chosen replacement.”
Jeremy bit his lip and glanced at Patten.
“When I order you to be held, it will be because I have a reasonable suspicion that you have committed a crime. A grand jury will hear the evidence against you and charge you. Should you live long enough, you’ll have the opportunity to rebut that evidence at an open trial. This system is funded by the open and equal administration of taxes and duties, rather than robbery and blackmail. I cannot claim that the rule of law is perfect. But it is not hidden. Its flaws can be examined by all, and changes made. Justice that shrinks from the light of examination is nothing more than vengeance. I cannot let your organization persist.”
Mrs. Blasseur shook her head sadly. “Then our conversation is over.” She raised her hand, and the men she’d brought with her started forward.
Smite met her eyes. “It doesn’t need to be. If I am not found, my brother will tear apart Temple Parish looking for me. What you have accomplished will be destroyed. There will be nothing to pass on at all. I have a better idea.”
Mrs. Blasseur cocked her head and slowly lowered her hand.
“Jeremy,” Smite said. “You were unwilling to serve as your mother’s replacement. I have another position in mind.”
“What?”
Smite rubbed his hand along his chin and found unruly stubble. “I became a magistrate because I wanted to help those who most needed it. Over the years, I’ve needed to remind myself of the cost of justice. I have used the…memory of my own experiences.”
He’d held onto them with both hands.
“But my own experiences are limited. There is much that I haven’t seen or understood. And that is where you will come in. People, I am told, talk to you. Tell me what they say. Bring the good in your mother’s organization out into the open. Rid yourself of the need for threats and false imprisonments.”
Mrs. Blasseur frowned at that. “How?”
“Start by choosing a new set of constables, intended for Temple Parish alone. Find new men, who can serve as magistrates—men who really will listen. Take what is good from what the Patron offers. Do you think you could help with that?”
Jeremy gave a short, jerky nod.
“There we are, then.” Smite raised his eyes to Mrs. Blasseur. “There has been some good in what you’ve done. I shouldn’t want to see it discarded entirely. But the days of justice funded through burglary and enforced by murder are over.”
His hands were growing cold. If he was beginning to go numb, Mrs. Blasseur, frail as she was, must be freezing. But she made no sign that she felt the cold. Her eyes simply bored into his, knowing what he had not yet said.
“Can it be that easy?” Jeremy asked, his voice shaking.
That hint of compassion touched Smite again, fleeting as butterfly wings. He shut his eyes. “No,” he said softly. “It won’t be easy.”
“What do you mean?”
That was Jeremy’s question, but it wasn’t Jeremy that Smite faced. It was Mrs. Blasseur. “You are hereby placed under arrest.” He spoke softly, but his words seemed to expand to fill the vast open space of the Floating Harbour. The snow was beginning to stick on the ground, and it blanketed everything he said with chill. “You will be held in custody until such time as the numerous charges are laid against you. If charged—and you will be charged—you will be held in a cell alone, isolated from those you care for.” He paused. “It is consumption that afflicts you, is it not?”