Whitechapel Conspiracy

She took the omnibus and then walked. Money should be guarded, and it was a perfectly pleasant day. Of course she knew from Pitt where Martin Fetters had lived, and the newspapers had made the address famous anyway. It was on Great Coram Street, between Woburn Place and Brunswick Square, a handsome house no different from its neighbors except for the drawn curtains. If there had been straw in the street to muffle the passing carriages at the time of Fetters’s death, it was not there now.

She went up the steps without hesitation and knocked on the door. She had no real idea whether Mrs. Fetters would welcome her, or be so deep in grief she would consider her call both impertinent and intrusive. But Charlotte did not care. It was a case of necessity.

The door was opened by a somber butler who surveyed her with polite disinterest.

“Yes, madam?”

She had planned what she intended to say. “Good morning.” She held out her card. “Would you be kind enough to give this to Mrs. Fetters and ask her if she would spare me a few moments of her time. It concerns a matter of the utmost importance to me, and I believe it may be to her also. It is in regard to my husband, Superintendent Thomas Pitt, who investigated Mr. Fetters’s death. He is unable to come himself.”

The butler looked startled. “Oh dear.” He fumbled for words that were suitable. It was very apparent he had never met with such a circumstance and was still suffering from the distress and the grief of the past two months. “Yes madam, I remember Mr. Pitt. He was very civil to us. If you care to wait in the morning room I shall ask Mrs. Fetters if she will see you.” He did not indulge in the polite fiction of pretending he did not know if she were at home.

Charlotte was conducted to a small, bright room facing the early sun and decorated with fashionable Chinese prints, porcelain, and gold chrysanthemums on a silk screen. Within five minutes the butler returned and conducted her to another, very feminine room in rose-pink and green which opened onto the garden. Juno Fetters was a handsome woman, full figured, carrying herself with great dignity. Her skin was very fair even though her hair was an unremarkable brown. Naturally at the moment she was dressed entirely in black, and it became her more than it did most women.

“Mrs. Pitt?” she said curiously. “Please come in and make yourself comfortable. I have left the door open because I like the air.” She indicated the door to the garden. “But if you find it cold, I shall be happy to close it.”

“No, thank you,” Charlotte declined, sitting in the chair opposite Juno. “It is delightful. The smell of the grass is as sweet as flowers. There are times when I prefer it.”

Juno regarded her with concern. “Buckland said that Mr. Pitt is unable to come himself. I hope he is not unwell?”

“Not at all,” Charlotte assured her. She looked at Juno’s intelligent, highly individual face with its direct gaze and lines that at any other time would have suggested humor. She decided to tell her the truth, except where Pitt was, and she knew very little of that anyway. “He has been removed from Bow Street and sent somewhere on a secret mission. It is a sort of punishment for having testified against Adinett.”

Juno’s face filled with astonishment, and then anger.

“That is monstrous!” Unconsciously she had chosen the very word in Charlotte’s mind. “To whom can we speak to have it changed?”

“No one.” Charlotte shook her head. “By pursuing the case he has made powerful enemies. It is probably better if he is out of their sight for a while. I came to you because Thomas spoke very highly of you, and he was certain you believed that your husband was the victim of murder, not an accident.” She tried to read Juno’s expression and was startled to see a moment of unguarded grief in it. Instead of being perceptive, she felt she had intruded.

“I do believe it,” Juno said quietly. “I didn’t at first. I was simply numb. I couldn’t grasp that it had happened. Martin is not … was not clumsy. And I know perfectly well that he would never have put his books on Troy and Greece on the top shelf. It made no sense at all. And it was other things as well when Mr. Pitt pointed them out: the chair that wasn’t where it usually was, and the pieces of fluff on his shoe.” She blinked several times, struggling to keep her emotion in control.

Charlotte spoke, to give her a moment and perhaps take her mind from the acutely personal subject of the shoes. Surely mention of them must make her picture Fetters being dragged backwards across the floor. It would be all but unbearable.

“If you had known why Adinett did it, you would surely have said so at the trial, or before.” She leaned forward a little. “But have you had time to reconsider since then?”

“I have little else to do,” Juno said with an attempt at a smile. “But I can’t think of anything.”