Keeping Bad Company (26 page)

‘I've tried to,' I said. ‘I simply can't envisage Mr Griffiths and McPherson sitting down and plotting together.'

‘I've thought about it, and I can see it might have happened. Griffiths was open and honourable to the core. If he was convinced he'd done the man an injustice, he'd say so. I could imagine him walking back into Westminster Hall and telling the world he'd been wrong and McPherson hadn't stolen the jewels.'

‘Only, by their account he did nothing so straightforward. He tells Mr Patwardhan to go away and come back secretly because something's going to happen that the Rani shouldn't know about. Then there's that carriage he has waiting in a back alley. Does that all sound open and honourable?'

‘If Griffiths did that, then I'm sure there was nothing dishonourable about it,' Tom said, the stubbornness coming back into his voice.

‘
If
he did. That's the whole point. You can't say it must have been honourable because he's honourable, when it might not have happened at all.' I could hear the annoyance coming back into mine.

For once, Tom was the peacemaker.

‘All right, it's a circular argument. But let's test their story as far as we can. Griffiths finds out they're in London, in straitened circumstances. He immediately offers them his cottage. Is there anything incredible in that?'

‘If they have several hundred pounds worth of opium with them, they shouldn't have been in straitened circumstances.'

‘It would take time and contacts to convert that to money in a city they don't know.'

‘Very well, I withdraw that objection. But there is another one. Are we quite sure that the Rani is Griffiths's princess?'

‘You were, as soon as you set eyes on her.'

‘I might have been wrong.'

‘You weren't. You could see that just by looking at her . . .' By the pitch of his voice, he'd intended to put another word after ‘her' but he left it hanging. ‘In any case, would Griffiths have given his cottage and his servant to just anybody?'

‘So the Rani is his princess and he tells her that he's doing everything in his power to right the injustice done to her. He's too realistic to think he can get the princedom back and besides it wasn't hers in the first place. So that means the jewels?'

‘Yes. So he's naturally taken aback when the Rani tells him McPherson didn't take them. It does make sense so far.'

‘I wonder how she can be so certain,' I said. ‘That implies she knows who took them. As far as Griffiths was concerned, there were two suspects, The Merchant and The Soldier.'

Tom gave me a sideways look.

‘All right, Libby. I know what you're going to say next. That dratted library. I simply haven't had time.'

‘It would be useful to be able to rule The Soldier out, if we knew who he was and that he'd died.'

‘I'll start tackling those old army lists tomorrow.'

‘So, how far have we got? Mr Griffiths knows now that he's been barking up the wrong tree and makes a truce with McPherson. Then he actually sends McPherson off, in conditions of some secrecy, to spend the night in the Rani's household at Richmond. How does that make sense?'

‘Part of righting the injustice perhaps, so that she could tell him in person that she knew he hadn't stolen her jewels.'

I thought about it. ‘Possible, but why do it at the dead of night? Couldn't it have waited till morning?'

‘That's a problem,' Tom admitted. ‘But there must have been some reason.'

‘We're back with the
if
again. Of course, even if McPherson really did spend the Sunday night at Richmond he could still have sent an underling to kill Mr Griffiths.'

‘Except there'd have been no point. Mr Griffiths was no threat to him any more.'

‘Yes. And we don't suppose he was so mortified at being wrong about McPherson that he killed himself after all?'

‘No.'

‘I agree. No.'

On that note of agreement, we agreed to shelve the discussion for the day. My brain felt squeezed out and Tom needed to get back to Mr Tillington, who'd had a bronchitic attack that morning. I walked with him part of the way along the mews.

‘Of course, there'd be one way of disposing of some of the
ifs
,' I said.

‘Talking to McPherson you mean? I was thinking that too.'

‘I can't see why not. After all, if he really came to a truce with Mr Griffiths, that should apply to you as Mr Griffiths's friend.'

‘I don't suppose he cares about me either way.'

‘Is it worth trying? You could probably get in touch with him through the East India Office.'

‘Yes. I'll think it over. I might try.'

‘Let me know if you do.'

I resolved that if the meeting took place I'd somehow contrive to be there, but didn't say that to Tom. In the last few steps before we parted, he surprised me with something different altogether.

‘Libby, you have a memory for poetry. What was that bit of Byron about walking and the night?'

I quoted: ‘“She walks in beauty, like the night

Of cloudless climes and starry skies;

And all that's best of dark and bright

Meet in her aspect and her eyes.”'

‘Yes, that's the one.'

He didn't turn back to wave to me from the corner. Probably too busy trying to memorize it.

Overnight, a whole new aspect occurred to me. If we allowed the hypothesis that the Rani's story were true, there had to be another way of accounting for the destruction of Mr Griffiths's pamphlet. McPherson would have nothing to fear from it, even if knowledgeable readers guessed the identity of The Merchant. Even with Mr Griffiths gone, he could appeal to the Rani herself to prove his innocence of jewel robbery. Which meant that whoever had stolen a carriage-load of pamphlets from the printer, searched Tom's lodgings and attacked Mr Tillington to try to prevent the story being aired was another person altogether. In that case, the one thing I knew about him was that he'd used Eckington-Smith as his cat's paw. I even toyed with the idea that Eckington-Smith himself might be the Soldier, but that didn't survive the light of day. There was nothing military about him and I knew enough about his career from earlier investigations to be sure that he'd never served in India. The man was in financial trouble, willing to work for anybody who would pay him. Following him might be the way to discovering who had wanted so very much to have the pamphlet suppressed. But I knew there was another reason, which might be distorting my judgement: following Eckington-Smith might lead me to Tabby. Or
vice versa
. If Tabby had been following him, then she'd know more than I did about whom he'd been meeting and when. So I set about finding her.

I worked at it over the next three days and discovered many things. That the financial heart of the country that is the City of London may cover no more than a square mile, but is so crammed with small streets and alleyways that you can walk round it for hours on end and not tread on the same stretch of wood, stone or cobble paving twice over. That the smell of coffee from the doors of the dozens of coffee houses is almost unbearably enticing when you know you can't walk into one without affronted male eyes turning towards you. That businessmen, in their uniform dark suits, tall black hats and general air of being responsible for keeping the world revolving, look so much like each other from a distance that sighting one in particular is like trying to pick out one rook in a rookery. That it's even worse when it rains, because they vanish under identical black umbrellas and become turtles. That if you happen to have come out without your own umbrella there comes a point where you don't care about getting wet any more, because you're soaked through to the corset and petticoats. That doormen at the Bank of England and various other banks and exchange houses are mostly retired soldiers and observant, particularly of women on their own, and not inclined for casual conversations. (No question, of course, of going near the one at Capel Court. The doorman there would have recognized me in an instant.) Above all, I discovered how greatly I was lacking in the virtue of patience. Of course I'd watched and waited before, but never so long and with so little prospect of anything happening. It made me realize that Tabby was much my superior in that respect. Time had never seemed to fret her in the way it does most of us.

I never found her. I looked carefully at every group of urchins or draggle-skirted girl and gave away a small fortune in pennies. I even recognized some of the lads who'd witnessed Tabby's attack on the doorman's hat. They hadn't seen her for days, they said. I wondered if my failure to find her or Eckington-Smith meant that he'd moved elsewhere and she'd followed him. It didn't seem likely. The little I knew about men of business suggested that they needed to keep with their kind. If I hadn't spotted him so far, that was because I'd underestimated the difficulty. Sometimes, particularly on the rainy day, I would have a sudden feeling that Tabby was somewhere close at hand, tracking me, but then I'd turn and find nothing but more umbrellas.

Unlike Tabby, I went back to Abel Yard in the evenings. Quite early in the evening, because the streets of the City became almost deserted by five o'clock. Always I hoped to find my brother there. On the first evening there was no sign of him. On the second he sent a boy with a note saying he'd intended to call, but Mr Tillington had suffered another bad turn and shouldn't be left. Frustratingly, not a word about researches in the library of East India House. After dark on the third evening he arrived at last, tired and hungry. I let Mrs Martley fuss over him with tea, cold pie and a glass of wine, then took him through the low doorway to my study.

‘Have you made any progress?' I said.

‘I'm not sure if you'd call it progress. There were so many small battles going on around that time, it took me a long time to find the one that Griffiths was writing about.'

‘But you have?'

‘Yes, an engagement almost exactly as he describes it, with few casualties. And it does correspond with the civilian records of when he was serving in the territory.'

‘And the captains?'

‘Four of them. Octavus St Clair, Peter Morris, Horace Smith and Angus McWhitty.'

‘And was any of them invalided home soon afterwards?'

He looked pained. ‘Give me a chance, Libby. Medical discharge certificates are another set of records altogether.'

‘I wonder about McWhitty. Could it be a case of Scots keeping together? You might try him first.'

‘When I get time. They do expect me to do some occasional work, you know. Then there's poor Tillington to look after.' A small hesitation. ‘And I did go out to Richmond this afternoon.'

He didn't meet my eyes, pretending a sudden interest in an engraving of the Parthenon on the wall.

‘To see the Rani?'

‘It seemed only polite to call, after their hospitality.'

A cup of tea in a tent hardly seemed to merit a coach ride to Richmond and back, but I didn't say so.

‘Did she tell you any more about the jewels?'

‘For goodness' sake, it was a social call. I didn't go to cross-examine her.'

‘Was Mr Patwardhan there?'

‘Yes, and before you ask, I didn't pelt him with questions either.'

‘And the daughter?'

‘If you expect me to question her about this miserable business you must be—'

‘I only asked if she were there.'

‘Yes.' Another hesitation, then a stream of words. ‘She's amazing, Libby. She's spent most of her life in a castle – more of a fort, really – in the middle of nowhere but she has more poise and intelligence than any woman in society. She knows as much Shakespeare as you do, probably more, sketches and plays the sitar, speaks four languages . . .'

And had eyes that a man could wander in forever, particularly a man who'd never been in love before. I didn't say that, of course, only remarked that she sounded very accomplished and registered that my brother, as a source of sensible information on the Rani's household, was a lost cause.

I tried to bring him back to business by asking if he'd found time to ask for a meeting with McPherson.

‘I wrote yesterday and had a note back this morning. No go there, I'm afraid.'

His mind was still with the cloudless climes and starry skies.

‘What exactly did you write and what exactly did he reply?' I said.

He wrenched it back reluctantly. ‘Pretty much as we agreed. I said I understood that Griffiths had retracted some injurious implications, and if my small services could help in repairing any damage done, I'd appreciate a chance to talk to him.'

‘Good. And his reply?'

He took a piece of folded paper from his pocket and passed it to me.

Mr McPherson thanks Mr Lane for his communication, but sees no need for a meeting. If Mr Lane wishes to do him a service, it will be by not gossiping about this business and strongly discouraging anyone else from doing so.

‘Curt,' I said.

‘You can't blame him. He must be sick of the whole affair.'

‘You'd think he'd be glad to have his name cleared.'

But something was beginning to stir in my mind that I couldn't understand myself yet, let alone discuss with Tom. I expected him to be anxious to get back to Mr Tillington's sickbed, and indeed he was on edge, but there was something else on his mind.

‘The parliamentary committee's almost finished taking evidence.'

‘I suppose it will be months before it produces a report,' I said.

‘Yes, but according to the men that know, they've pretty well reached a decision.'

‘On whether Griffiths had McPherson's assistant killed? Surely that's out of the question now. They'd have never made their truce otherwise.'