She did not want the past overwhelmed by the present. It was too precious, too deeply woven into the fabric of her dreams.

No, she would not ask.

Then the moment slipped past, and they were no longer alone. A man named Richmond greeted them pleasantly, introducing his wife, and the moment after, Charles Voisey and Thorold Dismore joined them and conversation became general. It was trivial and mildly amusing until Mrs. Richmond made some comment about ancient Troy and the excitement of Heinrich Schliemann’s discoveries. Vespasia forced her attention to the present and its trivia.

“Remarkable,” Dismore agreed. “Extraordinary persistence of the man.”

“And the things they discovered,” Mrs. Richmond enthused. “The mask of Agamemnon, the necklace probably worn by Helen. It makes them all real in a way I had never imagined… actual flesh and blood, just like ordinary people. It is the oddest sensation to take them out of the realms of legend and make mortals of them, with lives that leave physical remains, artefacts behind.”

“Probably.” Voisey sounded cautious.

“Oh, I think there’s little doubt!” she protested. “Have you read any of those marvelous papers by Martin Fetters? He’s brilliant, you know. He makes it all so immediate.”

There was a moment’s silence.

“Yes,” Dismore said abruptly. “He is a great loss.”

“Oh!” Mrs. Richmond colored deeply. “I had forgotten. How terrible. I am sorry. He… fell…” She stopped, clearly uncertain how to continue.

“Of course he fell!” Dismore said tartly. “God knows how any jury came to the conclusion they did. It’s patently absurd. But it will go to appeal, and it will be reversed.” He looked at Voisey.

Richmond turned to look at him as well.

Voisey stared back.

Mario Corena was puzzled.

“Sorry, Corena, can’t give an opinion,” Voisey said tersely. His face was pale, his lips pinched. “I shall almost certainly be one of the judges to sit when it comes to appeal. But this much I do know, that damned policeman Pitt is an ambitious and irresponsible man with a grudge against those of better birth and fortune than himself. He’s determined to exercise the power his position gives him, just to show he can. His father was deported for theft, and he’s never got over it. This is some kind of revenge against society. The arrogance of the ignorant when they are given a little responsibility is terrifying.”

Vespasia felt as if she had been slapped. For a moment she had been at a loss for words. She heard the anger in Voisey’s voice, saw the heat in his eyes. Her own anger was equal.

“I was not aware you were acquainted with him,” she said icily. “But then I am certain a member of the judiciary such as you are would not judge any man, regardless of his birth or status, other than on the most carefully tested evidence. You would not allow other men’s words or deeds to weigh with you, least of all your own feelings. Justice must be equal to all, or it is no justice at all.” Her voice dripped sarcasm. “Therefore I must presume you know him far better than I do.”

Voisey’s skin was so pale the freckles on it stood out. He drew in his breath but did not speak.

“He is a relative of mine, by marriage,” Vespasia finished. A very distant relative, but she had no need to add that. Her great-nephew, now dead, had been Pitt’s brother-in-law.

Mrs. Richmond was astounded. For a moment she found it almost amusing, then she realized how seriously everyone else was taking it; the emotion was charged in the air like a coming storm.

“Unfortunate,” Dismore said in the silence. “Probably the fellow was doing his duty as he saw it. Still, no doubt at all the appeal will reverse the verdict.”

“Ah… yes,” Richmond added. “No doubt at all.”

Voisey kept his discretion.

CHAPTER THREE

A little over three weeks later Pitt was home early from Bow Street and pottering happily in the garden. May was one of the most beautiful months, full of pale blossom, new leaves and the brilliant flare of tulips, the heavy scent of wallflowers rich as velvet. The lupines were beginning, tall columns of pinks, blues and purples, and he now had at least half a dozen Oriental poppies opening, fragile and gaudy as colored silk.

He was doing more admiring than actual work, even though there were sufficient weeds to have kept him fully occupied. He was hoping Charlotte would finish whatever domestic duties she had and would join him, and when he heard the French doors open he turned with pleasure. But it was Ardal Juster who walked down the lawn, his dark face grim.

Pitt’s first thought was that the appeal judges had found some flaw in the procedure and the verdict had been overturned. He did not believe there was new evidence. He had searched everywhere at the time and questioned everyone.

Juster stopped in front of him. He glanced to right and left at the flower beds, then up at the sunlight pouring through the chestnut leaves at the far end of the lawn. He drew in a deep breath of the fragrance of damp earth and blossoms.

Pitt was about to break the tension himself when Juster spoke.

“Adinett’s appeal failed,” he said quietly. “It will be in the newspapers tomorrow. A majority verdict-four to one. Voisey delivered it. He was one of the four. Abercrombie was the only dissenting voice.”

Pitt did not understand. Juster looked as if he had brought news of a defeat, not a victory. He seized on the only explanation he could think of, the one he felt himself, that to hang a man was a solution that degraded yourself and allowed the man no answer to his sin, no time to change. Certainly he believed Adinett had committed a profound evil, but it had always troubled him that he had no idea of the reason. It was just conceivable that had they known the whole truth everything might have looked different.

But even if it did not, and whatever Adinett was, to demand the final payment from him diminished those who exacted it more than it did him.

Juster’s face in the evening sun was bleak with anxiety. There was only reflected light in his eyes.

“They’ll hang him.” Pitt put it into words.

“Of course,” Juster answered. He pushed his hands into his pockets, still frowning. “That’s not why I came. You’ll read about it in the newspapers tomorrow, and anyway, you know as much about that as I do. I came to warn you.”

Pitt was startled. A chill grew inside him, in spite of the balmy evening.

Juster bit his lip. “There was nothing wrong with the conviction, but there are many people who can’t believe a man like John Adinett really murdered Fetters. If we could have provided them with a motive then they might have accepted it.” He saw Pitt’s expression. “I don’t mean the ordinary man in the street. He’s perfectly happy that justice has been done… possibly even agreeable that a man in Adinett’s position can meet with the same justice as he would. Such people don’t need to understand.” He squinted a little in the light. “I mean men of Adinett’s own class, men of power.”

Pitt was still uncertain. “If they didn’t overturn the verdict, then the law accepts both his guilt and that the trial was fairly conducted. They may grieve for him, but what else can they do?”

“Punish you for your temerity,” Juster answered, then smiled lopsidedly. “And perhaps me too, depending on how far they consider it my choice to prosecute.”

The warm wind stirred the leaves of the chestnut tree, and a dozen starlings swirled up into the air.

“I thought they had already hurled every insult that they could think of at me when I was on the witness stand,” Pitt replied, remembering with a flash of anger and pain the charges against his father. He had been taken by surprise that it still hurt so much. He thought he had pushed it into the background and allowed it to heal over. It startled him that the scab was so easily ripped off and that the wound should bleed again.