“Not yet. Do you think Rose could be involved in this wretched murder?” He stopped, turning to face Pitt. “I’ve known her for a couple of years, Thomas. She’s eccentric, certainly, and has some idealistic beliefs which are highly impractical, but that’s a very different thing from killing anyone.” He pushed his hands into his pockets, which was uncharacteristic in him; he cared too much about the cut of his suits to so misuse them. “I don’t know what on earth possessed her to go to this medium now, of all times.” He winced. “I can imagine how the press would ridicule it. But honestly, Voisey’s making pretty heavy inroads into the Liberal position. I started off believing Aubrey would get in as long as he didn’t do anything totally stupid. Now I’m afraid Voisey’s winning is not as impossible as it seemed even a couple of days ago.” He continued walking, looking straight ahead of him. They were both dimly aware of supporters, out of uniform, twenty yards behind.
“Rose Serracold,” Pitt reminded him. “Her family?”
“Her mother was a society beauty, as far as I know,” Jack replied. “Her father was from a good family. I did know who, but I forget. I think he died quite young, but it was illness, nothing suspicious, if that’s what you’re thinking.”
Pitt was reaching after every possibility. “A lot of money?”
They crossed the alley and turned left, feet echoing on the cobbles.
“I don’t think so,” Jack answered. “No. Aubrey has the money.”
“Any connection with Voisey?” Pitt asked, trying to keep his voice light, free from the emotion that surged up in him at even the mention of his name.
Jack glanced at him, then away again. “Rose, you mean? If she has, then she’s lying, at least by implication. She wants Aubrey to win. Surely if she knew anything about him at all, she would say so?”
“And General Kingsley?”
Jack was puzzled. “General Kingsley? You mean the fellow who wrote that harsh piece in the newspaper about Aubrey?”
“Several harsh pieces,” Pitt corrected. “Yes. Has he any personal enmity against Serracold?”
“None that Aubrey knows of, unless he’s concealing something as well, and I’d swear he isn’t. He’s actually quite transparent. He was pretty shaken by it. He’s not used to personal attack.”
“Could Rose know him?”
They were halfway along a stretch of narrow pavement outside a warehouse wall. The single street lamp lit only a few yards on either side, cobbles and a dry gutter.
Jack stopped again, his brows drawn together, his eyes narrow. “I presume that is a euphemism for having an affair?”
“Probably, but I mean any kind of knowing,” Pitt said with rising urgency. “Jack, I have to find out who killed Maude Lamont, preferably show beyond any doubt at all that it was not Rose. Mocking her for attending séances will be nothing compared with what Voisey will see that the newspapers do to her if any secret emerges which suggests she committed murder to hide it.”
They were still under the light. Pitt saw Jack wince, and he seemed almost to shrink into himself. His shoulders drooped and the color ebbed from his face.
“It’s a hell of a mess, Thomas,” he said wearily. “The more I know of it the less I understand, and I can explain almost nothing at all to people like those.” He jerked a hand backwards to indicate the crowd near the dockside, now out of sight beyond the jutting mass of the warehouse.
Pitt did not ask him to explain; he knew he was going to.
“I used to imagine the election rested on some kind of argument,” Jack went on, starting to walk again. Ahead of them, the Goat and Compasses public house was glowing invitingly in the rapidly thickening dusk. “It’s all emotion,” he went on. “Feeling, not thought. I don’t even know if I want us to win . . . as a party, I mean. Of course I want power! Without it we can’t do anything. We might as well pack up and leave the field to the opposition!” He glanced at Pitt quickly. “We were the first country in the world to be industrialized. We manufacture millions of pounds worth of goods every year, and the money that earns pays most of our population.”
Pitt waited for the rest of it after they entered the Goat and Compasses, found a table and Jack sank into a chair and requested a large ale. Pitt fetched his usual cider and returned with both tankards.
Jack drank for several moments before continuing. “More and more goods all the time. If we are to survive, then we need to sell all those goods to someone!”
Pitt had a sudden perception where Jack was reaching. “The Empire,” he said quietly. “Are we back to Home Rule again?”
“More than that,” Jack replied. “We’re on the whole moral subject of should we have an empire at all!”
“Bit late for that, isn’t it?” Pitt asked dryly.
“Several hundred years. As I said, it isn’t based on thought. If we divest ourselves of the Empire now, who do we sell all our goods to? France and Germany and the rest of Europe, not to mention America, are all manufacturing now as well.” He bit his lip. “The goods are growing more and the markets less. It’s a wonderful ideal to give it all back, but if we lose our markets, untold numbers of our own people will starve. If the country’s economy is ruined there’ll be no one with the power to help them, for all the good intentions in the world.” A wet glass slipped from someone’s hand and splintered on the floor. They cursed fluently. A woman laughed too loudly at a joke.
Jack gave an abrupt, angry little gesture. “And try campaigning by telling people, ‘Vote for me and I’ll free you of the Empire you are so against. Of course, unfortunately it will cost you your jobs, your homes, even your town. The factories will go out of business because there’ll be too few customers being courted to buy too many goods. The shops will close, and the factories and the mills. But it’s a high-minded thing to do, and must surely be morally right!’ “
“Are our manufactured goods not competitive against the rest of the world?” Pitt asked.
“The world doesn’t need them.” Jack picked up the second half of his beer. “They’re making their own. Can you see anybody voting you in on that?” He raised his eyebrows, his eyes wide. “Or do you think we should tell them we won’t, and then do it anyway? Lie to them all in the name of moral righteousness! Isn’t it up to them whether they want to save their souls at that price?”
Pitt said nothing.
Jack did not expect an answer. “It’s all in the uses and balances of power, isn’t it?” he went on softly, staring into the distance of the crowded tavern. “Can you pick up the sword without cutting yourself? Someone must. But do you know how to use it any better than the next man? Don’t you believe anything enough to fight for it? And what are you worth if you don’t?” He looked at Pitt again. “Imagine not caring for anything sufficiently to take a risk for it! You’d lose even what you had. I can imagine what Emily thinks of that.” He stared down at the mug in his hand, smiling a trifle twistedly. Then suddenly he looked up at Pitt. “Mind, I’d sooner face Emily than Charlotte.”
Pitt winced, a new set of images in his mind, racing away, one melting into another. For an instant he missed Charlotte so much it was a physical ache. He had sent her away to be safe, but he was not stepping forward to fight some noble battle by choice. Looking at it now with hindsight, if he could have evaded Voisey, perhaps he would have. “Are you thinking of what will happen if you are given office?” he said suddenly.
A swift color stained Jack’s cheeks, making a lie impossible. “Not exactly. They asked me to join the Inner Circle. Of course I won’t!” He spoke a little too quickly, his eyes fixed on Pitt’s. “But it was very clearly pointed out to me, if I were not with them, then my opponents would be. You can’t step outside it all . . .”
Pitt felt as if someone had opened the doors onto a winter night. “Who was it that asked you?” he said softly.