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shrug. Sorry, but I think you re looking for a man who is sane and
highly intelligent almost all the time, but has a germ of madness
in him that burst through a couple of nights ago. I don t see how it
can have anything whatever to do with the railway. Of course, there s
vast money to be made in it, eventually, and, far more than all the fi-
nancial fortunes, there s honor, immense personal power, certainly
peerages, fame for a lifetime and beyond. Your name would be on the
maps and in the history books. For some men that s the prize above all
others. Never underestimate the love of power.
They walked a few more yards in silence, Narraway turning over
in his mind what Carlisle had said. The music of a hurdy-gurdy drifted
faintly on the breeze.
You might find a personal hatred among these men, although I
still can t see how murdering a prostitute is going to profit anyone at
all, Carlisle resumed. Still, you are probably dealing with a man
who has some sexual aberration who, in the heat of the excitement,
106 A N N E P E R R Y
power, and money at stake, simply lost his head and his basic insanity
tore through his usual control. Perhaps the woman mocked him, or
belittled him in some way.
Nobody against the railway? Narraway asked without expecting
anything more than another denial.
Possibly someone with interests in another country, Carlisle
said thoughtfully, pushing his hands deeper into his pockets as he
walked. French, Germans, and Belgians are bound to be affected by
us having such a tremendous advantage. But we have it already this
would only be adding to it. Look at a map of the world. One of your
men might have financial interests we don t know about, or be bribed,
I suppose. That could almost rank as treason. But what could it have
to do with the murder of a prostitute?
No idea, Narraway admitted honestly. The more he considered
it, the more it seemed as if it must be a personal madness in one of the
men, which pressure of some sort had exposed. He wished the murder
could have been anywhere else, then it would have been the problem
of the Metropolitan Police, and not Special Branch. None of it
makes any sense, he said. What do you know about these men per-
sonally?
Very little, Carlisle replied with a grimace. At least of the na-
ture that would be of use in this. What an awful mess! As if the
Prince s reputation were not dubious enough!
Who does know? Narraway persisted. Who will answer me
honestly and ask no questions?
Lady Vespasia, Carlisle said without hesitation.
Narraway smiled. You do not surprise me. Thank you for your
time.
Carlisle nodded. He knew better than to request that Narraway
keep him informed. They turned and together walked back through
the dappled shade as far as Great George Street.
Narraway returned to his office briefly and gave instruc-
tions regarding other matters. Pitt telephoned him from the Palace,
giving Sadie s name and asking for as much information about her as
possible.
B U C K I N G H A M P A L A C E G A R D E N S 107
Narraway dispatched two of his men to investigate, then set out
to look for Lady Vespasia Cumming Gould.
It took him nearly four hours to finally speak to her. Vespasia had
been the greatest beauty of her time, and even in old age she main-
tained the features, the grace, and the fire that had made her famous.
She had added to them even greater courage and wisdom, curiosity,
and passion for life.
She was not at home, but, knowing who Narraway was, her maid
had informed him that her ladyship had gone to luncheon with her
niece. However, afterward they would visit the exhibition of paint-
ings in the National Gallery, and could no doubt be found there. Ac-
cordingly, Narraway walked from one room to another there, looking
hopefully at every fashionable lady who was a little taller than aver-
age and carried herself with that perfect posture required when bal-
ancing a particularly heavy tiara on one s head.
The instant he saw her, he felt foolish for having wasted more
than an instant looking at anyone else. She was wearing a simple
street costume exquisitely cut in silk, of a soft shade of blue-gray, and
a smaller hat than had recently been in vogue. The brim was higher,
showing her face. It was less dramatic, except for the fact that it had
a very fine veil, which not so much concealed as accentuated the
beauty of her skin, the character and mystery of her eyes.
Beside her was a woman in her early thirties with a flawless fair
complexion. She was wearing a delicate shade of water green, which,
on a less animated person, might have been draining, but on her was
most becoming. At the moment Narraway saw them she was laughing
and describing some shape that amused her, outlining it with gloved
hands. It was Charlotte Pitt s sister, Emily Radley. For a moment, Nar-
raway was reminded of a warmth he had experienced only from the
edges, as an onlooker, and he felt a surge of envy for Pitt, because he
belonged.
Narraway thought of Pitt in the Palace, finding it strange, over-
whelming. He would certainly make errors in his social conduct and
be embarrassed. His sense of morality would be offended. His illusions
and even some of his loyalties might be broken, if this case forced him
to learn more about the Prince than he had already. But Pitt knew
108 A N N E P E R R Y
what he believed, and why. And that was another thing Narraway en-
vied in him.
He pushed the thoughts out of his mind and walked over to stand
where Vespasia could see him.
Good afternoon, Victor, she said with interest. Emily, do you
remember Mr. Narraway? My niece, Mrs. Radley.
Good afternoon, Mr. Narraway, Emily said quietly. She was not
quite beautiful, but the vitality in her appealed even more, and the
arch of her brow, the line of her cheek reminded him again of Char-
lotte Pitt. I hope you are well?
Good afternoon, Mrs. Radley, he replied. I am very well, thank
you, but unfortunately I have to ask Lady Vespasia s help with a con-
fidential matter. I apologize for such an ill-mannered intrusion. I
would avoid it if I could.
Emily hesitated, then recognized that she had no graceful alterna-
tive, even though her eyes betrayed a burning curiosity. Of course.
She gave him a dazzling smile. She turned to Vespasia. I shall meet
you at the carriage in . . . shall we say an hour? And without waiting
for a reply, with a swirl of skirts, she was gone.
Your problem must be urgent. Vespasia took Narraway s arm
and they moved slowly toward the next room. Is it to do with
Thomas?
He heard the edge of anxiety in her voice. Pitt is quite well, he
said quickly. But we are dealing with a case of such delicacy that I
dare not mention it, except that it has to do with the Prince of Wales.
I need your assistance.
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