Whitechapel Conspiracy

She kept her eyes down so Juno would not see the doubt in her. It was as if she had betrayed Pitt that the thought had even existed.

“He wrote brilliantly,” she said aloud. “I not only feel as if I have been there and learned what happened in those streets, but as if I cared about it almost as much as he did.”

Juno smiled very slightly. “He was like that … so alive I couldn’t have imagined he would ever die, not really.” Her voice was gentle, far away. She sounded almost surprised. “It seems ridiculous that for everybody else the world goes on just the same. Part of me wants to put straw down on the streets and tell everyone they must drive slowly. Another part wants to pretend it never happened at all, he’s just away somewhere again, and he’ll be back in a day or two.”

Charlotte looked up at her and saw the struggle in her face. She could understand it so easily. Her own loneliness was only a fraction of this. Pitt was all right; he was just a few miles away in Spitalfields. If he gave up the police force he could come home any day. But that would answer nothing. Charlotte had to know that he had been right about Adinett, and why, and she had to prove it to everyone.

Perhaps Juno had to know just as urgently, and the darkness in her face was fear as to what she might find out about her husband. There had to be something vast … and at least to Adinett, unendurable.

And secret! He had gone to the gallows rather than speak of it, even to excuse himself.

“We had better look further,” she said at last. “What we want may not be here in this room, but it is the best place to begin.” It was also the only place, so far.

Juno bent obediently and opened the desk drawers. For one of them Juno sent to the kitchen for a knife, and then pried it open, splintering the wood.

“A pity,” she said, biting her lip. “I don’t suppose it can be mended, but I didn’t have the key.”

They began there since it was the only one specifically protected from intrusion.

Charlotte had read three letters before she started to see a pattern. They were carefully worded; the casual glance would have found nothing remarkable in them—in fact, they were rather dry. The subject matter was theoretical: the political reform of a state which had no name, whose leaders were spoken of personally rather than by office. There was no drama, no passion, only ideals; as if it were an exercise of the mind, something one writes for an examination.

The first letter was from Charles Voisey, the appeals judge.

My dear Fetters,

I read your paper with the greatest interest. You raise many points with which I agree, and some I had not considered, but on weighing what you have to say, I believe you are quite right in your thinking.

There are other areas in which I cannot go as far as you do, but I understand the influences which have affected you, and in your place I might share your view, even if not the extremity of it.

Thank you for the pottery, which arrived safely, and now graces my private study. It is a most exquisite piece, and a constant reminder to me of the glories of the past, and the spirits of great men to whom we owe so much … as you have said, a debt for which history will hold us accountable, even if we ourselves do not.

I look forward to conversing with you further,

Your ally in the cause,

Charles Voisey

The next one was in a similar tone; it was from Thorold Dismore, the newspaper proprietor. It too was largely in admiration for Fetters’s work, and requested that he write a further series of articles. It was very recently dated, so presumably the articles were yet to be written. There was a rough draft of Fetters’s acceptance. There was no way of telling whether the final had been sent or not.

Juno held out a letter from the pile she had taken, her eyes filled with distress. It was from Adinett. Charlotte read:

My dear Martin,

What a marvelous piece you have written. I cannot praise you enough for the passion you display. It would be a man devoid of all that distinguishes the civilized from the barbaric who would not be fired by what you have said, and determined at all costs to spend all his strength and his substance in creating a better world.

I have shown it to various people, whom I will not name, for reasons you will know, and they are as profound in their admiration as I am.

I feel there is real hope. It is no longer a time merely of dreams.

I shall see you on Saturday.

John

Charlotte looked up.

Juno stared at her, her eyes wide and hurt. Then she passed over a sheaf of notes for further articles.

Charlotte read them with growing misgiving, then alarm. The mention of reform became more and more specific. The Roman revolution of ’48 was referred to with passionate praise. The ancient Roman Republic was held as an ideal and kings as the pattern of tyranny. The invitation to a modern republic, after the overthrow of the monarchy, was unmistakable.