Anne Perry - Traitors Gate

“Where else may the other information have come from?” Pitt elaborated. “What precisely is it that does not pass through this office?”

“Oh. Yes, I see. Financial matters. You have included details here of the various loans and guarantees given MacKinnon and Rhodes, among others. And backing from the City of London and from bankers in Edinburgh. The generalities any diligent person with a knowledge of finance might learn for himself, but the times, conditions, precise amounts could only have come from the Treasury.”

His lips tightened. “This is very ugly indeed, Pitt. It seems there is a traitor in the Treasury as well. We shall owe you a great deal if you uncover this for us, and manage to do it discreetly.” He searched Pitt’s eyes. “Do I need to warn you how damaging this could be to the entire government, not only to British interests in Africa, if it becomes public that we are riddled with treason?”

“No,” Pitt said simply, rising to his feet. “I shall do everything in my power to deal with it discreetly, even secretly if possible.”

“Good. Good.” Chancellor sat back and looked up at Pitt, his handsome, volatile face released of some of its tension at last. “Keep me aware of your progress. I can always make a few minutes in the day to see you, or in the evening if necessary. I don’t imagine you keep exact hours any more than I do?”

“No, sir. I shall see you are acquainted with my progress. Good day, Mr. Chancellor.”

Pitt went immediately to the Treasury, but it was nearly five o’clock, and Mr. Ransley Soames, the man he needed to see, had already left for the day. Pitt was tired and aching profoundly. He was not sorry to be thwarted in his diligence, and able to stop a hansom in Whitehall and return home.

He had debated whether or not to tell Charlotte the full extent of the incident with the coach. It would be useless trying not to mention it at all. She would be aware that he was hurt the instant she saw him, but it would not be necessary to mention the gravity of it, or that Matthew had been injured even more. He decided it would only worry her to no purpose.

“What happened?” she pressed him the moment he had finished telling her the barest outline. They were sitting in the parlor with a hot cup of tea. Both children were upstairs, having had their meal. Jemima was doing homework. There were only four more years to go before the examinations which would decide her educational future. Daniel, two years younger, was still excused such rigorous study. At five and a half he could read quite tolerably, and was learning multiplication tables by heart, and a great deal more spelling than he desired. But at this time in the early evening he was permitted simply to play. Jemima was endeavoring to master a list of all the Kings of England from Edward the Confessor in 1066 to the present Queen in 1890, which was a formidable task. But when it was time for her examinations she would be required to know not only their names and order of succession, but their dates and the outstanding events of their reigns as well.

“What happened?” Charlotte repeated, watching him closely.

“A coach had apparently run out of control, and brushed me when it came ’round the corner at close to a gallop. I was knocked over, but not hurt more than a few bruises.” He smiled. “It is really nothing serious. I wouldn’t have told you at all, except I don’t want you to fear I am crippled with old age just yet!”

There was no answering smile in her face.

“Thomas, you look dreadful. You should see a doctor, just to make sure….”

“It is not necessary.”

She made as if to stand up. “I think it is!”

“No, it isn’t!” He heard the edge to his voice, and was unable to curb it. He sounded sharp, frightened.

She stopped, looking at him with a pucker between her brows.

“I’m sorry,” he apologized. “I have already seen a doctor.” He told her the same stretching of the truth he had told Chancellor. “There is nothing at all except a few bruises, and a sense of shock and anger.”

“It is not all. Why did you go to a doctor?” she asked, looking at him narrowly.

It was too complicated to lie, and he was too tired. It was only to protect her that he had evaded it. He wanted to tell her.

“Matthew was with me,” he replied. “He was more seriously hurt. The doctor came for him. But he will be all right,” he added quickly. “It was simply that he was insensible for a few moments.”

She looked at him closely, her eyes clouded with worry.

“Was it an accident, Thomas? You don’t think the Inner Circle came after Matthew as well, do you?”

“I don’t know. I doubt it, because dearly as I would like to think he is a danger to them, I don’t.”

She looked at him doubtfully, but said no more on the matter. Instead she went to run him a hot bath and find some ointment of arnica.

“Good morning, Superintendent.” Ransley Soames made it a question, although the wording was not such. He was a good-looking man with regular features and thick, wavy, fair hair brushed back off his brow. His nose was rather high at the bridge and his mouth had a hint of softness in it. Without self-discipline he might have been indulgent. As it was he had a considerable presence and he looked at Pitt steadily and with gracious interest. “What may I do for you?”

“Good morning, Mr. Soames,” Pitt answered, closing the office door behind him and accepting the seat offered. Soames was sitting behind a high and very finely carved desk, a red box to one side, closed and with its ribbons tied. “I apologize for troubling you, sir, but I am enquiring, at the request of the Foreign Office, into certain information which has been very seriously misdirected. It is necessary that we know the source of the information, and all who may have been privy to it, in order to rectify the error.”

Soames frowned at him. “Your language is very diplomatic, Superintendent, one might even say obscure. What sort of information are you referring to, and where has it gone that it should not?”

“Financial information regarding Africa, and I should prefer at this point not to say where it has gone. Mr. Linus Chancellor has asked that I be as discreet as possible. I expect you understand the necessity for that.”

“Of course.” But Soames did not look as if he thought well of being included in the proscription. “You will also understand, Superintendent, if I require some confirmation of what you say … simply as a formality?”

Pitt smiled. “Naturally.” He produced a letter of authority Matthew had given him, with the Foreign Secretary’s countersignature.

Soames glanced at it, recognized Lord Salisbury’s hand, and sat up a little straighter. Pitt noticed a certain tension in him. Perhaps he was becoming aware of the gravity of the matter.

“Yes, Superintendent. Precisely what is it you wish to learn from me? An enormous amount of financial information passes across my desk, as you may appreciate. More than a little of it is to do with African matters.”

“That which concerns me is to do with the funding of Mr. Cecil Rhodes’s expedition into Matabeleland, which is presently taking place, among other things.”

“Indeed? Are you not aware, Superintendent, that the greatest part of that has been funded by Mr. Rhodes himself, and his South Africa Company?”

“Yes sir, I am. But it was not always so. It would help me greatly if you could give me something of the history of the finances of the expedition.”

Soames’s eyes widened.

“Good gracious! Going back how far?”

The window was open, and amidst the faint rumble of traffic came the sound of a hurdy-gurdy, then it was gone again.

“Let us say, the last ten years,” Pitt replied.