Whitechapel Conspiracy

She was stung too. “I don’t imagine he was looking for plans to overthrow the monarchy and set up a new constitution,” she said coldly. “It would have been a more complete case if he could have found the motive, but it was not necessary. And then Adinett chose to go to the gallows rather than reveal it himself—which indicates how wide he believed the conspiracy to be. He knew of no one he dared trust, even to save his life.”

Voisey’s face was dark with blood under the skin, his eyes glittering.

Charlotte wondered how much he blamed himself, as a judge who had sat on the appeal, that he had condemned a man he now had to acknowledge as both a victim and a hero. She was sorry she had spoken so bluntly, but she could not bring herself to say so to him.

“And was he mistaken, Mrs. Pitt?” he said softly, his jaw tight. “If he had told the inspector his reason for killing Fetters, would he have met with belief and help?” He left the other half of the question unsaid.

“If you are asking if my husband is a revolutionary, or would have conspired with them—” She stopped, seeing his smile. She knew exactly what he was thinking: that Juno Fetters had believed in her husband’s innocence also—and been wrong. “I am certain he would have done what he could to expose the conspiracy,” she answered him. “But I take your point that he would not have known any better whom to trust. They would simply have destroyed the evidence, and him also. But he didn’t see it, so the question does not arise.”

He turned back to Juno, and his expression changed, the pity returned to it. “What have you done with this book, Mrs. Fetters?”

“I have it here,” she replied, offering it to him. “I believe that we should … that I must … see that Mr. Adinett’s name is vindicated and does not pass into history as that of a man who murdered his friend for no reason. I … I wish I could award that, for my husband’s sake, but I cannot.”

“Are you certain?” he said gently. “Once you have put the proof into my hands I cannot give it back to you. I must act upon it. Are you sure you would not prefer to destroy it and keep your husband’s name as it is: that of a man who fought for the freedom of all men, in his own way?”

Juno hesitated.

“Will it really do good for the public to know that there are such men among them?” he went on. “Men you cannot name, and therefore the rest you cannot exclude, who would overthrow our Houses of Lords and of Commons, our monarchy, and set in their place a president and a senate, however reformed, whatever justice or equality it offered? Those are strange ideas to the man in the street, who does not understand them and who feels safe with what he is accustomed to, even with the ills and iniquities it sustains. John Adinett may well have kept silent because he knew what turmoil knowledge of such a conspiracy could cause, as well as not knowing whom he could trust. Have you considered that?”

“No,” Juno said in a whisper. “No, I had not thought of it. Perhaps you are right. Maybe … if he were afraid to speak then, he would wish it kept silent now. He was a very fine man … a great man. I see why it grieves you so much that he is dead. I am sorry, Mr. Voisey … and ashamed.”

“You have no need to be,” he said with a brief smile, full of sadness. “It is not your fault. Yes, he was a great man, and maybe history will yet show him to be, but not yet, I think.”

Juno rose to her feet and walked over to the fireplace. Deliberately, she dropped the book into the flames. “I thank you profoundly for your advice, Mr. Voisey.” She looked across at Charlotte.

Charlotte stood up too, her head swimming, her thoughts in chaos, but at the brilliant, blazing core of her lay one piece of certainty—Charles Voisey was at the heart of the conspiracy! He knew those papers more intimately than they did. Juno had mentioned a presidency, but she had said nothing of a senate. Nothing of doing away with the Lords and Commons.

“Mrs. Pitt …” His voice cut across her thoughts.

“Mr. Voisey,” she replied, knowing she sounded awkward, preoccupied in a way for which there was no reason. He was staring at her, his clever eyes studying every expression of her face. Did he guess she knew?

“Perhaps you are right.” She forced the words out. Let him think she was disappointed because it would have vindicated Pitt. He hated Pitt. He would believe that. They must get out of here, away from him. Get home safely.

Safely! Martin Fetters had been murdered in his own library. She would have to tell Juno, get her to leave London and go to the country somewhere, completely anonymous. Never be found until they could protect her, or it no longer mattered.

“I believe so,” he said with a twisted smile. “It would do more harm than the good of restoring Adinett’s good name … which he was prepared to forfeit for his country’s sake.”