“All the same—good man, Alex!” murmured Basil Ripley. “That was well spoken. We understand.”
Joe puffed his cheeks and blew out a sigh of relief. “I say, Ben, can you squeeze another cup out of that pot?” he asked, sinking onto a chair, and Ben obliged.
“But what …? Why did she …? Why didn’t she …? What the hell’s stoats’s liver …?” The chorus of questions poured out and by unspoken consent, the company followed Joe’s example and settled down at the table to compare notes and thrash out the meaning of the extraordinary scene. Mrs. Bolton and Ben remained aloof and dutiful at the door.
Truelove listened to the encouraging burbles of support that came his way with pained gratitude. At last he felt strong enough to voice his dismay and disbelief. “Look, Sandilands, old man,” he remonstrated, “I know what you’re up to but did you have to stage this … this … pantomime so publicly in front of my friends? Have you any idea what excruciating embarrassment you have subjected us all to? To say nothing of the distress you have caused that poor girl!”
Then it began. Sorrow followed swiftly on the heels of anger. “You’ve all seen her—she’s nothing more than an impressionable child. Emotionally quite immature and inexperienced in the ways of the world. But look, it doesn’t have to end like this. That poor little person was carried away by a moment’s madness. You must blame me, I’m afraid. She was an outstanding student. I made something of a pet of her, made promises regarding her future that perhaps she over-interpreted. If, as you say, Joe, you’ve set us up as judge and jury …” He looked around the table, gathering support. “I’ll speak for all by saying that Lavinia was killed—as any good man and true would say—as a result of her own folly.” He appeared to be satisfied with the number of nods this raised and carried on: “That she was the author of her own misfortune, as the lawyers say. Not the brightest, my Lavinia.” The loving, indulgent smile that accompanied this thought triggered a clenching fist in Joe. “Surely you don’t have to put Dorcas through a court hearing?” Truelove shuddered. “The Old Bailey, black caps and a thrill-seeking public? Huh! Blokes like you, McIver, with cameras flashing! I won’t have it! Much though I admire your professionalism and punctilious attention to the finer points of Law and Order, Sandilands, I must tell you to call off the hounds.”
Seeing the tightening of Joe’s jaw, he hurried to add in a conciliatory tone, “Forgive me. In my concern I go too far. A police officer is under no obligation to obey a government minister. He is employed by the people to serve the people. We ought all to remember that. But I still say, as a matter of humanity—will the people be served by the punishment of a thoughtless girl? You know as clearly as I do, Sandilands, that, realistically, this business will never come to court. For fifty years now, we’ve had a Crown Prosecution Service which, as part of the Home Office, does a very useful job. You are well aware of this; I mention the matter as some of us gathered around this table—law-abiding citizens, all—may never have encountered it. The system weeds out cases it judges a waste of public resources. This is certainly one of these cases. The family uphold the decision already taken by the magistrate at the time of the accident—which, in spite of your evidence, I still believe it to be—that we are dealing with a death by misadventure. I don’t ask, I beg you to declare here before my friends that you will pursue this no further. You have gone far towards clearing up a mystery which would not bear the increasing weight of speculation that was being heaped upon it to the detriment of my good name and for that I am grateful.”
Cecily turned to Joe. “Well done, Commissioner! It’s never easy lancing a boil. Bystanders inevitably risk being contaminated by the effluent. I will say it—since James, in his rush of soft hearted solicitude neglects to—we’re grateful that you have wielded the scalpel. Grateful that you have proceeded through to the truth with such delicacy and concern for the reputations in question. No heavy boots, no handcuffs. Only friends of the house here present to witness the misguided girl’s downfall.”
Her sharp look around the table was unmistakably a swearing to silence on the part of everyone, their understanding nods a guarantee of the reinstatement of her son’s reputation and career.
Joe watched the pious sorrow gathering, listened to the murmured compassion being offered to Truelove and his stomach curdled. Only Adelaide was looking puzzled and angry. She got to her feet in a marked manner and murmured something to Cecily as she went by on her way to the door.
Joe followed her clicking heels and managed to cut her off before Ben could open up for her. He hissed, “Stop right there, Adelaide. Don’t leave me alone with these swine! They may need you to sew their balls back on before the evening’s over!”
CHAPTER 24
Joe turned to Ben.
“Did you bring it, man?”
Ben picked up a brown paper package from behind a plant pot and handed it to Joe.
Joe turned his attention back to the gathering. They fell silent, eager to hear him apply the soothing ointment of compliance and understanding. A police officer, a high-ranking one destined for the top position at the Yard, a man now shown to have the confidence and trust of a minister of Truelove’s promise, was a man they would listen to.
He stayed on his feet between them and the door.
“First things first: Miss Joliffe, for whose fate I observe you all to be exhibiting so much sympathy, is as we speak, on her way to enjoy a cup of cocoa with Adam Hunnyton. She will have already heard an apology for the treatment she has just received at our hands. That scene was enacted with her knowledge and consent, her contribution voluntary. It was, nevertheless, an unpleasant experience. I hope one day she will find it in her to forgive me. I know she will never forgive you, Truelove.”
He paused for emphasis. “Yes, you, Truelove! That was a farce, not a pantomime, you have just witnessed. But the first act only. A scene played out to reveal to me—and to all in this room—the depths to which the Truelove household was prepared to stoop to protect its own. Its reputation, its very existence have been—still are—at stake. With one woman dead already, two more women’s lives and happiness were to be sacrificed without a second thought to keep a Truelove in place and in affluence. That’s what this is all about. You have shown yourselves in your true colours. I’m now going to hold up a mirror so that you can see yourselves in all your dishonour.”
Pompous rhetoric, perhaps, but calculated. An Englishman, even a rogue, still had his attention caught by a challenge to his honour.
Jaws dropped, two men leapt to their feet uttering threats. Again, the only thing that saved Joe from a revolt was curiosity. Wives tugged their husbands back down into their chairs, clucking and fussing. What on earth was this fiendish policeman going to come out with next? They had to know.
Alice McIver, more prescient than the rest, spoke sharply to her husband: “Don’t interrupt, Mungo! He’s just smashed up the wristwatch, now he’s going to pull it in one piece out of someone’s ear.”
Alexander managed a delighted grin. “She didn’t do it, did she? Ha! Told you so! You’ve been having us on, Sandilands! Poking us with a stick to see which way we’d jump.”
“No, she didn’t do it, Alex. Dorcas Joliffe is entirely innocent of any attempt on Lavinia. The only thing she has been guilty of is trusting James Truelove. The man who connived at the murder of his own wife. Lavinia produced no heir and had, after many years, dished out the last of her fortune. Her character and conduct were increasingly showing themselves unsuited to life at the side of a man of Sir James’s political ambitions. She had become a worthless hindrance to the Truelove line. With her off the scene, James, still youthful and destined for a glowing future, could attract a rich, socially adept woman of childbearing years. He had one such in mind.