Anne Perry - Midnight at Marble Arch

As a young man the Home Secretary had studied at Oxford and been an outstanding scholar, a man well liked by his friends. One friend in particular had been charming, ambitious but a trifle equivocal in some of his moral choices. He was not averse to cheating when he needed to pass an exam that was beyond his ability.

He had begged the Home Secretary to cover for him, necessitating a lie. In loyalty to his friend the Home Secretary had done so. He had learned afterward, painfully, that he had been used, made a complete fool of. He had paid for it bitterly in regret and had never done such a thing again.

The friend had fared well, progressing financially. That exam success had laid the foundation of his career. He had climbed higher in his chosen field, still using people at every step. The Home Secretary had never betrayed him, nor had he ever spoken with him again, except as was necessary. As far as Pitt was aware, very few other people had ever known of the incident, and most of those were long dead.

Unwillingly but without question, the Home Secretary could be persuaded to grant a stay of execution to Alban Hythe. Pitt could make his alternative far too painful for him to refuse. He had the upper hand.

But it was a terrible abuse of power. If he did this, would he no longer be capable of knowing where to draw the line? A little pressure, a little force, a little twisting of the fear. How was this so different from rape, in essence?

No, he acknowledged, there had to be another way.

He leaned forward and rapped on the partition to attract the driver’s attention. “Changed my mind,” he said. He gave the man Townley’s address instead.

“Yes, sir,” the driver agreed wearily, adding something else less courteous under his breath.

Pitt leaned back in the seat, Sweat was running over his skin, and yet he felt cold enough to shiver. Was it so easy to misuse power, and to let it misuse you?

Townley’s footman permitted him in only because he insisted.

“I’m sorry,” Pitt said to the man. “Time is short and I am fighting for a man’s life, otherwise I would not disturb you at this hour of the evening. I need to speak to Mr. Townley and very possibly the rest of his family. Please inform him so.”

Townley came out of the sitting room to where Pitt was waiting in the hall. The man’s face was grim and anger lay as close to the surface as good manners and a level of fear would allow it. He did not bother with a greeting.

Pitt was uncomfortable, wretchedly aware of how close he had come to exercising the power he possessed in a way he would ever after regret.

“I’m sorry to disturb you, Mr. Townley,” Pitt said quietly. “I need your help-”

“I cannot give it to you, sir,” Townley interrupted him. “I have a good idea of what it is you wish of me. My answer is the same as before. I don’t know what can have made you imagine it would be different.”

“The conviction of Alban Hythe of a crime he did not commit,” Pitt said simply. “In three weeks they will hang him, then any evidence that proves his innocence will be of little use to him, or to his young widow. I shall pursue it, eventually I will prove our terrible mistake, and in so doing shake everyone’s faith in our system of justice, and I daresay ruin a few men’s careers in the process. Then I may also catch the man who is actually responsible, but not before he will have raped other young women and, unless they are very fortunate, ruined their lives as well-perhaps even taken them. I am sure you understand why I would very much prefer to correct it while I still can, rather than try to mitigate the disaster afterward.”

“I cannot help you,” Townley repeated. “Neville Forsbrook violated my daughter and there is nothing I can do about it, except protect her from public ruin. Now will you please leave my house, and allow my family to have what little peace we may.”

Pitt clenched his fists by his sides, trying to control his voice.

“Will you come and watch the hanging?” he asked levelly, even though he was trembling. “Will you try to console the man’s wife afterward? She is not so very much older than your daughter. And speaking of your daughter, how will you comfort her in the years to come, when she wakens in the night knowing that it was possible she could-”

“Get out of my house before I strike you, sir!” Townsley said between his teeth. “I don’t care a jot who you are, or what office you hold.”

The sitting-room door opened and Mrs. Townley came out, her face stiff, eyes wide.

Townley swung around. “Mary! Go back to the withdrawing room. Commander Pitt is leaving.”

Mrs. Townley looked past her husband, her eyes meeting Pitt’s.

“I don’t think he is, Frederick,” she said quietly. “I think he will remain here until we act, because we are standing in the path of justice, and I do not choose to do that.”

“Mary …” Townley began. “For heaven’s sake, think of Alice!”

“I am,” she said with gathering confidence. “I think she would rather speak to Mr. Pitt and gain some kind of justice than believe that her experience has so damaged her that she would see a man die wrongly rather than tell him the truth.”

“You have no right to make that decision for her, Mary,” Townley said quietly, struggling to be as gentle as possible.

“Neither have you, my dear,” she pointed out. She turned to Pitt. “If you will be good enough to wait, sir, I shall ask my daughter whether she will hear you out or not.”

“Thank you, ma’am,” he said, the sudden release of tension rippling through him like an easing warmth.

Five minutes later Pitt was in the withdrawing room facing Alice Townley, who was pale, clearly very apprehensive, but waiting with her hands folded in her lap, knuckles white.

“I am sorry to ask you again,” Pitt began, sitting opposite her. “But events have not gone at all as I would have liked. Mr. Alban Hythe has been convicted of raping and beating Mrs. Quixwood and causing her to take her own life.” He did not shrink from using the appropriate words. “I believe he is not guilty, and I have only three weeks in which to prove it-”

“Mama told me,” Alice interrupted. “Do you think Mr. Forsbrook did it? He wasn’t anything like so-violent with me. He did not … beat me. Although … although I did feel pretty dreadful.” She moved her right hand off her lap, lifted it, then let it fall again. “It was revolting.” She blushed scarlet. “It wasn’t anything like love.”

“No, he did not act out of love,” Pitt said gently. “Can you tell me exactly what he did?”

She looked at the floor.

“Perhaps you would prefer to tell your mother, and she could tell me?” he suggested.

She nodded, not raising her eyes.

Pitt stood up and left the room, Townley, still angry, on his heels.

They waited in silence in the morning room, chilly, fire unlit at this time of the year. After just over a quarter of an hour Mary Townley came in.

Pitt rose to his feet as a matter of courtesy.

“I think it would be a good idea if you were to go and sit with her,” Mrs. Townley said to her husband. “I’m sure she would find your presence comforting. She doesn’t want to feel that you disapprove of her decision, as if she has defied you. She is doing what she believes is right, and brave, Frederick.”

“Of course … of course.” He stood up and left without even glancing at Pitt.

Mary Townley sat down, inviting Pitt to do the same. She was very pale and clearly found the matter embarrassing. Hesitantly, in a voice so carefully controlled as to be almost expressionless, she told him exactly what had happened, in Alice’s words, including that Forsbrook had bitten her painfully hard on the left breast.