Whitechapel Conspiracy

“I think we all failed to understand, Mr. Gleave,” Juno replied. “I wish I could clarify it for you, but I am afraid I cannot.”

“It must be very troubling for you also.” His voice was full of sympathy. “It is part of grief to wish to understand.”

“You are very kind,” she said simply.

A flare of interest quickened in him, so faint as to be almost indiscernible, but Charlotte knew Juno had made a mistake. She had been careful rather than frank. Should she intervene? Or would that only make it worse? Again she hovered on the edge of speech. What was Gleave? Simply a defense lawyer who had lost a client he felt to be innocent, and perhaps for which his peers held him accountable? Or a member of a powerful and terrible secret society, here to judge how much the widow knew, if there were papers, evidence they needed to destroy?

“I confess,” Juno went on suddenly, “I should like to know why … what …” She shook her head, and her eyes filled with tears. “Why Martin died. And I don’t! It doesn’t make any sense at all.”

Gleave responded the only way possible to him. “I am so sorry, Mrs. Fetters. I did not mean to distress you. It was clumsy of me to have raised the subject at all. Do forgive me.”

She shook her head. “I understand, Mr. Gleave. You had faith in your client. You must be distressed also. There is nothing to forgive. In truth, I would have liked to ask you if you know the reason, but of course even if you did, you would not be free to say so. Now at least you have made it plain you know no more than I do. I am grateful for that. Perhaps now I shall be able to let it go and think of other things.”

“Yes … yes, that would be best,” he agreed, and for the first time he looked fully at Charlotte. His eyes were dark, clever, searching her mind, perhaps warning her also.

“Delighted to have met you, Mrs. Pitt.” He added nothing more, but meanings unsaid hung in the air.

“And you, Mr. Gleave,” she responded charmingly.

As soon as he was gone and the door closed behind him, Juno turned to her. Her face was pale and her body was trembling.

“He wanted to know what we have found,” she said huskily. “That’s why he came … isn’t it?”

“Yes, I think so,” Charlotte agreed. “Which means you are right in there is something more. And he doesn’t know where it is either … but it matters!”

Juno shivered. “Then we must find it! Will you help me?”

“Of course.”

“Thank you. I shall think where to look. Now, would you like a cup of tea? I would!”

Charlotte had not told Vespasia what had happened to Pitt. At first she was embarrassed to, although it was in no way due to his negligence, rather the opposite. Still, she felt it a blow she would rather not allow anyone else to know of, particularly someone whose opinion Pitt cared about as much as he did Vespasia’s.

However, now the whole matter had become one she was unable to carry alone, and there was no one else she could trust both as to loyalty and ability to understand the issues and be able to advise on what next to do.

Therefore she arrived on Vespasia’s doorstep the morning after having visited Juno Fetters. She was shown in by the maid. Vespasia was at breakfast, and invited Charlotte to join her in the yellow-and-gold breakfast room, at least for tea.

“You look a little harassed, my dear,” she observed gently, spreading her wafer-thin toast with a smear of butter and a large dollop of apricot preserves. “I presume you have come to tell me about it?”

Charlotte was glad not to pretend. “Yes. Actually it happened three weeks ago, but I only realized how serious it was yesterday. I really have no idea what to do.”

“Does Thomas not have an opinion?” Vespasia frowned and allowed her toast to go unregarded.

“Thomas has been removed from Bow Street and put into Special Branch to work in Spitalfields.” Charlotte let the words pour out with all the distress she felt, the wondering and the fear she had to hide from the children, even in part from Gracie.

“Worst of all, he has to live there. I haven’t seen him. I can’t even write to him because I don’t know where he is! He writes to me—but I can’t answer!”

“I’m so sorry, my dear,” Vespasia said, sorrow filling her face. If she was angry also, it came second. She had seen too much injustice to be surprised anymore.

“It is partly in revenge for his testimony against John Adinett,” Charlotte explained. “And partly to protect him … from the Inner Circle.”

“I see.” Vespasia bit into the toast delicately. The maid brought fresh tea and poured it for Charlotte.

When the maid had gone, Charlotte resumed her story. She told Vespasia how she had determined to find the motive for Martin Fetters’s death, and had gone to visit Juno for that purpose. She recounted as exactly as she could recall what she had read in the papers in Fetters’s desk, and then spoke of Gleave’s visit.

Vespasia remained silent for several minutes.