Whitechapel Conspiracy

They were interrupted by the maid, who had come to say that Mr. Reginald Gleave had called, and begged her pardon for the inconvenience of the hour, but he would very much like to see her, and commitments he could not escape made the traditional time impossible for him.

Juno looked startled. She turned to Charlotte.

“I’ll wait wherever you wish,” Charlotte said quickly.

Juno swallowed. “I will receive him in the withdrawing room,” she told the maid. “Give me five minutes, then show him in.” As soon as the maid had gone she turned to Charlotte. “What on earth can he want? He defended Adinett!”

“You don’t have to see him.” Charlotte spoke out of compassion, but she knew it was the refusal of an opportunity to learn more. Juno was exhausted, frightened of what she might discover, and profoundly alone. “I’ll go and tell him you are unwell if you wish.”

“No … no. But I should be grateful if you would remain with me. I think that would be quite seemly, don’t you?”

Charlotte smiled. “Of course.”

Gleave looked startled when he was shown in and saw two women present. It was immediately apparent that he had not met Juno before and was for a moment uncertain which she was.

“I am Juno Fetters,” Juno said coolly. “This is my friend, Mrs. Pitt.” There was a challenge in her voice, the lift of her chin. He must remember the name and not fail to associate it.

Charlotte saw the recognition in his eyes, and the flare of anger.

“How do you do, Mrs. Fetters. Mrs. Pitt. I had no idea you were acquainted.” He bowed very slightly.

Charlotte regarded him with interest. He was not particularly tall but he gave an impression of great size because of his powerful shoulders and heavy neck. It was not a face she liked, but there was no mistaking the intelligence in it, or the immense strength of will. Was he no more than a passionate advocate who had lost a case, he believed unjustly? Or was he a member of a secret and violent society prepared to commit private murder or public riot and insurrection to achieve its ideals?

She looked at his face, his eyes, and had no idea.

“What may I do for you, Mr. Gleave?” Juno asked with a little shiver in her voice.

Gleave’s eyes moved from Charlotte’s back to hers.

“First, may I offer my condolences upon your loss, Mrs. Fetters? Your husband was a fine man in every respect. No one else’s grief can match yours, of course; nevertheless, we are all the poorer for his passing. He was a man of high morality and great intellectual gifts.”

“Thank you,” she said politely, her expression almost bordering on impatience. They both knew he had not come to tell her this. It would have been better said in correspondence, more memorable and less intrusive.

Gleave lowered his gaze, as if he felt awkward.

“Mrs. Fetters, I care very much that you should know that I defended John Adinett because I believed him innocent, not because were he guilty I would have imagined any excuse whatever for what he did.” He looked up quickly. “I still find it almost impossible to imagine that he could have done such a thing. There could have been … no … reason!”

Charlotte realized with a shiver that he was watching Juno intently, his eyes fixed upon her face so completely he must see even the faintest flicker of breath, the wavering of her gaze for an instant. He watched as an animal watches its prey. He had come to learn how much she knew, if she had found anything, guessed or suspected.

Charlotte willed Juno to tell him nothing, to be bland, innocent, even stupid if necessary. Should she intervene, take matters into her own hands? Or would that tell him she was afraid, which could only be because she knew something? She drew in her breath and let it out again.

“No,” Juno said slowly. “Of course he wouldn’t. I admit, I don’t understand it either.” She allowed herself to relax, deliberately, starting with her hands. She even smiled very slightly. “I always saw them as the best of friends.” She added nothing more, leaving him to pick up the thread.

It was not what he had expected. For a moment uncertainty flashed in his face, then it was gone. His expression eased.

“That is what you saw also?” He smiled back at her, avoiding Charlotte’s gaze. “I wondered if perhaps you had any perception as to what may have gone so tragically wrong … not evidence, of course,” he added hastily, “or you would have spoken of it to the appropriate authorities. Just thoughts, intuition even, born of your understanding of your husband.”

Juno said nothing.

Gleave’s voice was unctuous, but Charlotte saw the flash of doubt again. He had not expected the conversation to go this way. He was not controlling it as he had intended. Juno was obliging him to speak more because she offered less. Now he had to explain his interest.

“I apologize for pursuing it, Mrs. Fetters. The case troubles me still because it seems so … unresolved. I …” He shook his head a little. “I feel as if I failed.”