Anne Perry - Belgrave Square

It was not that he feared Byam was guilty, or that had he been he would do anything whatever to protect him from the consequences of his act. It was simply that he could not explain his behavior to Pitt, nor tell him why he was so easily able to have him put in charge of a case which rightly belonged in Clerkenwell. There were other members of the Inner Circle he could appeal to, men in positions to have a case investigated here, or there, by whomsoever they chose, and he had but to identify himself as a brother and it was done, without explanation asked or given.

Now he would do all that was required by honor to help Byam, and do it with the necessary grace.

He arrived at Belgrave Square, alighted, and paid the cabby. As the horse drew away, he straightened his tie one more time. He walked up the steps under the portico and reached out his hand to pull the bell. But the footman on duty was alert, and the door opened in front of him.

“Good morning, Mr. Drummond,” the footman said courteously, remembering his master’s eagerness to see this gentleman on his previous call. “I regret to say, sir, that Lord Byam is away from home at the moment, but if you care to see Lady Byam, I shall inform her you are here.”

Drummond felt dismay, and a stirring of confusion half mixed with pleasure. His immediate thought was that Lady Byam might be able to give him some insight into her husband’s personality, his habits and perhaps some fact he had overlooked or forgotten which might point towards his innocence. His memory brought back the grace with which she had moved, the gentleness of her smile when he had come that first night he had been sent for.

“Thank you,” he accepted. “That would be excellent.”

“If you will wait in the morning room, sir.” The footman led the way and opened the door for Drummond, showing him into a room furnished in cool greens and filled with sunlight. There was a large fireplace of polished marble; Drummond guessed it to be an Adam design from the previous century, simple and unadulterated of line. The pictures on the walls to either side were seascapes, and when he turned around, behind him were Dutch pastoral scenes with cows. He had never realized before how pleasing to the mind were the awkward, gentle angles of a cow’s body. It was uniquely restful.

The long green velvet curtains were splayed out on the floor and s wagged with braided sashes, the only thing in the room which jarred on him. He had no idea why, but he disliked the display of overlength curtains, even though he knew it was customary in houses of wealth. It was a conventional sign of plenty, that one had enough velvet to waste.

There was a large cut-glass bowl of roses on the low mahogany table between the chairs.

He walked over to the window and stood in the sun waiting for the footman to return.

However when the door opened it was Lady Byam herself who came in, closing it behind her, making it apparent she intended to speak with him in this room rather than conducting him elsewhere. She was taller than he had remembered, and in this sharp, hard light he could see she was also older, perhaps within a few years of his own age. Her skin was pale and clear and there was light color in her cheeks, and he could see a few very fine lines about her eyes. It made her seem more approachable, more vulnerable, and more capable of laughter.

“Good morning, Mr. Drummond,” she said with a faint smile. “I am afraid Lord Byam is out at the minute, but I expect he will return soon. May I offer you some refreshment until then?”

He had no need of either food or drink, but he heard himself accepting without hesitation.

She reached for the bell cord and pulled it. The footman appeared almost immediately and she sent him for tea and savories.

“Forgive me, Mr. Drummond,” she said as soon as the footman was gone. “But I cannot help but ask you if you have any information regarding the death of Mr. Weems?”

He noticed that in spite of the blackness of her hair, her eyes were not brown but dark gray.

“Very little, ma’am,” he answered apologetically. “But I thought Lord Byam would wish to hear how we have progressed, regardless that it is so slightly, and all of it merely a matter of elimination.”

“Elimination?” Her cool, level voice lifted with a moment of hope. “You mean reason why it was not my husband?”

He wished he could have told her it was. “No, I am afraid not. I mean people whom we had reason to suspect, people who had borrowed money from Weems, but whom we find can account for their whereabouts at the time of his death.”

“Is that how you do it?” Her brow was furrowed; there was anxiety in her eyes and something he thought was disappointment.

“No,” he said quickly. “No-it is merely a way of ruling out certain possibilities so we do not waste time pursuing them. When someone like Weems is killed it is difficult to know where to begin, he had so many potential enemies. Anyone who owed him money is at least a possibility.” He found himself talking too quickly, saying too much. He was aware of doing it and yet his tongue went on. “We have to establish who had a reason for wishing him dead and then who had an opportunity to commit the crime, and would have the means at their disposal. There will not be many who had all three. When we have thus narrowed it down we will try to establish from the evidence which of those people, assuming there are more than one, actually is guilty.” He looked at her to see if she understood not only his bare words, but all the meaning behind them; if it was of any reassurance to her that they knew their profession.

He was rewarded to see her doubt lessen, and her shoulders relax a trifle under the soft fabric of her gown, which was dark green like the room, reminding him of deep shade under trees in summer. But the anxiety was still there.

“It sounds extremely difficult, Mr. Drummond. Surely people must lie to you? Not only whoever is guilty, but other people as well?” Her brows furrowed. “Even if we have no part in it, and no knowledge of the murder, most of us have things we would rather were not known, albeit petty sins and uglinesses by comparison. How do you know what to believe?”

Before he could answer, the footman returned with tea and the requested small savories. Eleanor thanked him absently and he withdrew. She invited Drummond to partake of the food, and poured tea for him and herself.

The savories were delicious, tiny delicate pastries, merely a mouthful, and small crisp fingers of toast spread with pâté or cheeses. The tea was hot and clean in the mouth. He sat opposite her, trying to balance himself and eat at the same time, feeling clumsy compared with her grace.

“It is difficult,” he said, taking up the conversation as if there had been no interruption. “And of course from time to time we make mistakes, and have to begin again. But Inspector Pitt is an excellent man and not easily confused.”

She smiled fully for the first time. “Such a curious man,” she said, looking down at the roses in their exquisite bowl. “At first I wondered who in heaven’s name you had brought.” She smiled apologetically. “His pockets must have been stuffed with papers, his jacket hung at such an odd angle, and I cannot believe he has seen a good barber in months. Then I looked at his face more closely. He has the clearest eyes I have ever seen. Have you noticed?”

Drummond was taken aback, unsure how to answer.

She smiled at herself.

“No, of course you haven’t,” she answered her own question. “It is not a thing a man would remark. I should feel ashamed if your Mr. Pitt caught me in an untruth. And I don’t find it hard to believe he would know. I hope he has a similar effect on other people he questions-” She stopped as she saw the doubt in his face. “You think I am fanciful? Perhaps. Or maybe I hope too much-”