“What else?”
“A chocolate pudding, and a fruit sorbet. But I had some also.”
Pitt caught a movement out of the corner of his eye, and turned to see Livesey touching his hip pocket.
Pitt continued grimly. “Did your husband carry a hip flask, Mrs. Stafford?” he asked.
Her eyes widened. “Yes—yes, he did. A silver one. I gave it to him some four or five years ago. Why?”
“Did he fill it himself?”
“I imagine so. I really don’t know. Why, Mr. Pitt? Do you … do you wish to see it?”
“I already have it, thank you. Do you know if he drank from it this evening?”
“I didn’t see him, but it is most likely he did. He—he liked a small—” She stopped, her voice shaking and uncertain. She required a moment or two to regain her composure.
“Can you tell me what he did during the day, Mrs. Stafford, all that you know.”
“What he did?” She looked doubtful. “Well, yes, if you wish. But I don’t understand why—”
“It is possible that he was poisoned, Mrs. Stafford,” Livesey said gravely, still standing near the door. “It is a most distressing thought, but I am afraid we must face it. Of course the medical examiner may find some disease of which we are unaware, but until that time we have to act in a way that takes account of all possibilities.”
She blinked. “Poisoned? Who would poison Samuel?”
Pryce fidgeted from one foot to the other, staring at Juniper, but he did not interrupt.
“You can think of no one?” Pitt drew her attention back again. “Do you know if he was presently engaged in a case, Mrs. Stafford?”
“No—no, he was not.” She seemed to find it easier to speak while her mind was concentrating on practical details and answers to specific questions. “That woman came to see him again. She has been pestering him for several months now. He seemed most upset by her, and after she left, he went out almost immediately.”
“What woman, Mrs. Stafford?” Pitt said quickly.
“Miss Macaulay,” she replied. “Tamar Macaulay.”
“The actress?” He was startled. “Do you know what she wanted?”
“Oh yes, of course.” Her eyebrows rose as if the question were unexpected. She had assumed Pitt would know. “About her brother.”
“What to do with her brother, Mrs. Stafford?” Pitt asked patiently, reminding himself she was desperately newly bereaved, and should not be required to make sense as others might. “Who is her brother? Is he presently lodging an appeal?”
A flicker of hard, almost bitter humor lit her face for a moment.
“Hardly, Mr. Pitt. He was hanged five years ago. She wishes—wished Samuel to reopen the case. He was one of the judges of his appeal, which was denied. It was a very terrible murder. I think if the public could have hanged him more than once, they would have.”
“The Godman case,” Livesey put in behind Pitt. “The murder of Kingsley Blaine. I daresay you recall it?”
Pitt thought for a moment. A vague recollection came back to him, of horror and outrage, articles in the paper, one or two very ugly incidents in the street, Jews being mobbed. “In Farriers’ Lane?” he said aloud.
“That’s right,” Juniper agreed. “Well, Tamar Macaulay was his sister. I don’t know why they had different names, but actors aren’t ordinary people anyway. You never know what is real with them, and what is not. And of course they are Jews.”
Pitt shivered. There seemed a sudden coldness in the room, as if a breath of hate and unreason had come in through the open door, but Livesey had closed it. He looked at Charlotte and saw in her eyes a shadow of fear, as if she too had felt something new and dark.
“It was a very shocking case,” Livesey said quietly, his voice grave and with an edge of anger in it. “I don’t know why the poor woman didn’t leave it alone and let it die in everyone’s memory, but some compulsion drives her to keep on raising it, trying to get it reopened.” His face was dark with distaste, as if he would step back from the useless pain of it, did not duty prevent him. “She had some lunatic idea it would clear his name.” He lifted his heavy shoulders a fraction. “Whereas, of course, the truth is the wretched man was as guilty as the devil, and it was proved beyond any doubt at all, reasonable or unreasonable. He had his day in court, and his appeal. I know the facts, Pitt, I sat on the appeal myself.”
Pitt acknowledged the information with a nod, and turned back to Juniper.
“And Miss Macaulay came to see Mr. Stafford again today?”
“Yes—early in the afternoon. He was very disturbed by it.” She took a deep breath and steadied herself, gripping Charlotte’s hand. “He went out immediately after, saying he must see Mr. O’Neil, and Mr. Fielding.”
“Joshua Fielding, the actor?” Pitt asked. For some reason he deliberately avoided Charlotte’s eyes, Caroline’s face in the theater painfully clear in his mind with all its tense excitement.
“Yes,” Juniper agreed, nodding very slightly. “He was part of the company at the time—and of course he still is. You saw him tonight. He was a friend of Aaron Godman’s, and I believe for a while a suspect—before they knew who it was, of course.”
“I see. And who is O’Neil? Another member of the company?”
“Oh no! No, Mr. O’Neil was a friend of Kingsley Blaine, the murdered man. He was very respectable!”
“Why did Mr. Stafford wish to see him?”
She shook her head very slightly. “He was a suspect—in the very beginning. But of course that did not last long. I have no idea why Samuel wanted to see him. He didn’t discuss it with me, I only knew because he was so distressed I asked him where he was going, and he just said to see Mr. O’Neil and Mr. Fielding.”
Adolphus Pryce shifted uncomfortably, clearing his throat.
“Er—I—I know that to be true, Mr. Pitt. Mr. Stafford also came to see me today. He had already spoken to both Fielding and O’Neil.”
Pitt looked at him with surprise. He had forgotten Pryce was there.
“Indeed? Did he discuss the matter with you, Mr. Pryce?”
“Well, yes—and no. In a manner of speaking.” Pryce stared at him fixedly, as if he were with difficulty avoiding letting his eyes stray somewhere else. “He asked me some further questions about the Blaine/Godman case—that is how we referred to it, Blaine being the victim, and Godman the offender. I was the prosecuting counsel, you know. It was really a very clear case. Godman had motive; the means were to hand for anyone, and the opportunity. In fact he was observed by several people in the immediate vicinity, and did not deny it.” A look of apology flickered across his face. “And of course he was a Jew.”
Pitt felt a hardness inside him settle like a stone. He did not even try to keep the anger out of his eyes.
“What has that to do with it, Mr. Pryce? I can see no connection whatever!”
Pryce’s delicate nostrils flared.
“He was crucified, Mr. Pitt,” he said between his teeth. “I would have thought the connection was appallingly obvious!”
Pitt was stunned. “Crucified?” he blurted.
“To the stable door, in Farriers’ Lane,” Livesey put in from his position still close to the door. “Surely you remember the case. It was written about extensively in every newspaper in London. People spoke of little else.”
A sharper recollection came back to Pitt. He had been working on another case himself at the time, and had no spare moments to read newspapers or listen to the recounting of events other than those of his own case, but this had rocked the entire city.
“Yes.” He frowned, embarrassed to be so caught out. “I do recall hearing of it, but I was in Barking on an investigation of my own. One can become very absorbed …” He smiled twistedly. “In fact I don’t even know the details of the Whitechapel murders last year, I was so busy with a double murder in Highgate.”
“I hardly think a Christian would have crucified anyone.” Pryce was still determined to defend himself. “That is why being a Jew was relevant.”