“Very well. But you had better begin soon, or I shall be obliged to find a more…competent counsel for Mr. Duncannon.”
“I am engaged, my lord,” Narraway said with a sudden flare of passion. “Believe me, I am!”
Charlotte gripped Vespasia’s hand harder, and found her eyes filling with tears of relief.
Pitt knew it was inevitable that Abercorn should call him as a main witness against Alexander Duncannon. He had spent a good deal of time with Narraway and knew what he had planned, as well as both the chances and the risks. He was not surprised when, the day after he finished with the other expert testimony, Abercorn called him in for a final discussion before putting him on the stand.
At seven o’clock in the morning Pitt was very reluctantly having breakfast with Abercorn at his home. It was a large, elegant house off Woburn Square. This was an excellent neighborhood, quiet and exclusive, wealthy long enough to wear it with ease.
Abercorn ate well. The sideboard held silver dishes of scrambled eggs, sausages, bacon, mushrooms, deviled kidneys, and kippers. There were racks of fresh toast, and there was butter and several kinds of marmalade. Graceful silver pots held tea and hot water, matching the silver cruet sets and the monogrammed knives, forks, and napkin rings.
Abercorn himself was dressed in a suit obviously tailored for him and a quality of shirt Pitt would have felt was extravagant for himself, with a family to support, but he admired it nonetheless. He did wonder why Abercorn had not married yet, or if perhaps he had, and tragedy of some sort had robbed him of his wife and the possibility of children.
In a brief visit to Abercorn’s study the last time he was here, in earlier preparation, Pitt had noticed the portrait of an elderly woman, dressed in the fashion of some thirty years earlier. And in spite of the ravages of pain, her features bore a noticeable resemblance to Abercorn’s. Pitt had assumed it was his mother.
“Sorry for calling you out so early,” Abercorn said almost as soon as the food was served and they began to eat. “But this is crucial. I think we already have the jury completely. It has all gone perfectly so far.”
Pitt knew this from Charlotte, but he intended to make no mention of that.
Abercorn took another large mouthful of deviled kidneys. He had separated them on his plate-a generous helping. They were apparently a favorite and he meant to indulge himself. Pitt wondered how long he had had his wealth. There was something in him, almost indefinable, a relish, that made Pitt aware that Abercorn was not born to such plenty. He still savored it, just enough to see.
“Narraway did absolutely nothing,” Abercorn went on. “I thought at first that he would be a dangerous opponent, but the more I watch him, the more I am coming to believe that he is totally out of his depth. I don’t know why he took the case on at all…” He hesitated, watching Pitt closely.
Pitt did not reply. He sat waiting as if he expected Abercorn to explain.
“You know the man!” Abercorn said impatiently. “Is he really empty, a paper tiger?”
Pitt was conscious that he must judge his reply exactly, not only his choice of words but the precise facial expression that accompanied them.
“He’s made mistakes,” he began. “Misjudgments. But then so has everyone. Sometimes it’s not the errors you make but how you recover from them that mark the difference between failure and success.”
“I don’t intend to give him the opportunity to recover,” Abercorn said tersely. “So far he’s said nothing. Why do you suppose that is?”
Pitt smiled to rob the reply of any suggestion of sarcasm. “Possibly you’ve made no mistakes he could exploit? The evidence of the actual crime seems very clear cut.”
“Indeed, it is,” Abercorn agreed. “But I expected him to say something.” He frowned. “How long is it since he actually practiced law?”
“I didn’t know he ever had, until he told me a couple of weeks ago,” Pitt admitted. “And I didn’t ask him. I gathered it was a very long time ago.”
“I looked.” Abercorn nodded. “I found no trace of his ever appearing in court at all. But he is certainly qualified. Why on earth does he want to defend Duncannon? Do you know?”
It was the first question to which Pitt had to answer with a direct lie. He disliked doing it, but he had no choice.
“I imagine it could have something to do with Godfrey Duncannon. The government is very keen that the contract should be accomplished successfully.”
A shadow crossed Abercorn’s face and then was gone. “I agree that the timing is appalling, and I dislike doing the opposition’s job for them. But the attack on our police force is even more serious than this contract. They are our first line of defense against anarchy and the total chaos of civil disorder.
“The whole of Europe is in civil disorder and within the next ten or fifteen years, at the outside, we will be in chaos if we do not gain some control. Socialism is rising in Russia, Germany, France. The Balkans are on the brink of war. Who is to hold onto order, if not us?”
Pitt did not answer. Everything Abercorn said was true.
“We must not, cannot let down those who rely on us,” Abercorn went on. “Three men are dead and two more fearfully injured. Bossiney was a fine witness. His disfigurement made a lasting impression on the jury. They’ll have nightmares about that for a long time. I’ll have that face in my dreams for years.” He winced, for a moment not making any attempt to hide his emotion.
Pitt felt a moment’s complete unity with him. Bossiney would carry that for the rest of his life. Whatever he had done in complicity with Ednam, it was a monstrous punishment. But it did not justify the crime of hanging Lezant, nor did it assuage Alexander’s pain.
“What is it you wished to discuss?” he asked.
Abercorn brought his attention back to the present. “Ah…yes. Just details. Attitude perhaps more than facts. They seem to be clear enough.” He looked at Pitt earnestly. “I know exactly what I am going to ask you. You are my main witness, beyond the facts already established. Narraway has to cross-question you, or he has done nothing at all. I want to make sure he cannot rattle you. He must know you well. He was your superior for several years.” He left the remark in the air between them, forcing Pitt to respond.
“I believe I know what you mean,” Pitt said slowly. “But if you are plain, then there can be no misunderstanding. We have already gone over the evidence. I shall be precise in answering your questions.”
“And brief,” Abercorn added, still watching Pitt closely. “Don’t offer anything I haven’t asked for.”
At another time Pitt might have smiled. He had given evidence more times than Abercorn had even been in a courtroom. But there was nothing easy, final, or to be taken for granted in this.
“I won’t,” he promised. He must be careful. He did not like Abercorn, and yet his dislike of him was baseless and probably unfair. His loyalty to Narraway was deep, and his loyalty to what he believed to be right was even deeper. He knew exactly what Narraway meant to do-at least he thought he did. Narraway had been very careful not to tell him in so many words.
Abercorn stared at him, weighing, measuring, and judging. Pitt had a strong sense of the man’s power and his acute understanding of others that had brought him from obscurity, poverty even, to a place where he was rich and very widely respected. He was almost certainly headed for the next step up the ladder to a political career of some distinction.
If Abercorn won this case it would be seen as a victory in the crusade for the ordinary man, the policeman on the beat who protected people’s houses, families, even their lives, against crime and disorder. A place in Parliament, even in government, was not unlikely, for Josiah Abercorn, to be a springboard for government office, even, eventually, a ministry, such as the Home Office, with all its power to change the law and life of the nation. It would be foolish to take him lightly.