‘What do we know about Talbot?’ Pitt asked, speaking to himself as much as anyone else. He tried to put his personal dislike of the man out of his mind; his feelings were irrelevant, as was the fact that Talbot disliked him. He was surprised that it was Vespasia who answered.
‘An ambitious man, who desires to belong to Society, which will always see him as an outsider. Unfortunately he has allowed it to make him bitter …’
Stoker looked at her quickly, but was too aware of his own status to make any remark. Pitt knew he was seeing her as someone exquisitely privileged who had never known exclusion from anything, let alone Society itself.
She caught his glance. ‘I am not approving of it, Mr Stoker, merely observing it as possibly relevant to Mr Talbot’s behaviour. It may not be something you have thought of, but most women understand Society’s exclusions. Some of us even wish to have a vote as to which Government we live under, but that possibility does not seem to lie in the near future, regardless of our means, or intelligence.’
She had spoken quite gently, but Stoker blushed scarlet. Clearly he had never given the matter any thought; it was simply a part of life, and had always been so. He lifted his chin a little higher and swallowed hard.
‘I’m sorry,’ he said, looking directly at her. ‘You are right. I never thought of that.’
She smiled back at him. ‘At least since the Married Women’s Property Act, I may own my own clothes.’
He stared at her in amazement.
She gave a wry, slight laugh. ‘You are too young to remember. I mention it only to persuade you that I do understand the anger at what one perceives to be totally unfair. I have some sympathy with Mr Talbot. He is probably more intelligent and more able than many who will always be his superiors, not because of ability, or honour, but the circumstances of both. The tragedy is that he may have allowed that resentment to rob him of the positions within his reach. No matter how understandable it is, anger is still a poison, albeit one that works slowly, eating away at the judgement, at mercy and eventually at life.’ She suddenly became aware that everyone was looking at her, and coloured very faintly.
Pitt was the first to speak, in order to fill in the silence. He saw Vespasia in a new light, perhaps more vulnerable than she had ever allowed herself to appear before. He had taken it for granted that all doors were open to her. Now that he considered it, clearly they were not. She was well-born and wealthy, perhaps. More importantly, she was still truly beautiful even now; but she was still a woman. His admiration for her, even love, had allowed him to forget that. But it would be tactless to say so now.
‘Then it seems extremely likely that Talbot is the one also seeking a kind of revenge by selling the secrets of the establishment that has denied him, on a prejudice he finds intolerable,’ he observed.
Charlotte drew in her breath as if to speak, then let it out again in silence.
‘Do you disagree?’ Pitt asked.
They all looked at her, waiting.
Now she had no choice. ‘I agree that it is almost certainly Talbot,’ she answered. ‘But I think revenge could have waited, and it will satisfy him little. To succeed would have been far better. I think his more urgent motive may have been money.’
‘Money?’ Narraway repeated. ‘Do you know something of his affairs?’
She smiled at him. ‘I’ve seen how he dresses, and I know what such suits cost Thomas. And shirts! Talbot has gold cuff links. I’ve noticed several different pairs. And shoes. And I’ve seen where he dines. I could feed my family for a week on the cost of one of his cigars. And I dare say some of the nice little trinkets that Ailsa wears were gifts from him. Whatever other arrangements lie between them, he desires her physically, and to court a woman like her, one needs to give gifts, flowers, to ride in carriages, dine at the nicest and most fashionable places. Possibly he has to compete with Dudley Kynaston, who has wealth, position and considerable good looks. He is also charming, and socially at ease. In fact his only disadvantage is that he is already married. And, since she does not love him — in fact she hates him — that is no disadvantage at all to her.’
Stoker stared at her, then at Pitt, then lowered his eyes.
‘I think you are perfectly right,’ Vespasia agreed. ‘The question is, what are we going to do about it? And I believe we may not have an unlimited amount of time in which to decide.’
‘We need proof, sir.’ Stoker looked at Pitt. ‘If he did it for revenge, I don’t know what proof there would be of that. But if Mrs Pitt is right, and it was at least partly for money, then there will be proof. Once you know what you’re looking for, there are always tracks of money changing hands, especially if it comes from another country. And if he’s spent anything above what he earns, we can find it.’
‘He implied he’d inherited money,’ Pitt recalled conversations with Talbot in Downing Street.
‘We can check that too, sir,’ Stoker said quickly. ‘I’ll do it straight away, if you wish.’
‘Yes,’ Pitt agreed, looking around the table, first to Narraway, then to Vespasia. A flicker of amusement crossed his mind that she held no office at all, official or otherwise, and yet he quite naturally sought her opinion, even in front of Narraway, who was his most trusted adviser.
He thought he saw an answering flash in her silver-grey eyes, but it was so quick he was not sure.
Narraway nodded and stood up. ‘I will look more closely at Ailsa Kynaston and her past, and other possible connections, consulting the friend I spoke to earlier. Pitt, I don’t doubt you will follow up on Dudley Kynaston and his associates, on the small possibility that we are wrong. Mr Stoker …’
‘Yes, sir?’
‘I would rather you did not give us details, but I trust you have Miss Ryder somewhere very safe indeed?’
Stoker blushed. ‘Yes, sir!’
‘And her statement in writing, and signed?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Witnessed?’
There was a short hesitation, less than a second. ‘Yes, sir.’
Narraway caught it. ‘But you are not sure if the witness is … unbiased?’
Stoker gulped. ‘Yes … sir.’ He had forgotten how quick Narraway was. He had worked with him for years, but had adapted his thoughts now to working with Pitt. Already Narraway belonged to the past.
Pitt felt vaguely uncomfortable for it, but there was no time to indulge emotions. Stoker had hesitated because no doubt the witness was one of his own family, his sister or her husband. He found himself smiling, but at how much care Stoker had taken, and at his rigid honesty, not any lapse of judgement.
Narraway must have seen Pitt’s face, because he did not pursue it. They parted company, each to set about their own task.
Vespasia arrived home with her mind in turmoil. This complete lack of emotional discipline was ridiculous. She was not eighteen, or anywhere near it. She could do a great deal better. As soon as she was through the door into the hallway where the long window at the top of the stairs shed sunlight like a pathway upward, she was met by her maid.
‘M’lady, Mr Carlisle called to see you. He seemed to feel it was urgent.’ She took a breath, uncertainty in her eyes. ‘I told him I didn’t know when you’d be back. It could be hours, or even all day, but he was determined to wait. So I asked him to make himself comfortable in the sitting room. I hope I didn’t overstep myself …’
Vespasia glanced at the long-case clock to her right. ‘You did exactly the right thing, thank you,’ she said ‘It is rather too early for tea; perhaps he would like something else. If so I shall ring for you. Otherwise I would prefer not to be disturbed.’
‘Yes, m’lady.’ Relieved not to have been told she was mistaken, she hurried away.
Vespasia went into the sitting room, her mind racing as to what she should say to Carlisle.