He was not in the House of Commons, and Pitt caught up with him just after four o’clock, walking in the sun across St. James’s Park, a slight breeze sending a few early yellow leaves fluttering down over the grass.

Jack stopped and turned when he heard Pitt call his name. He was surprised to see him, but not displeased.

“The Eden Lodge case?” he said wryly as Pitt fell into step with him.

“Sorry,” Pitt apologized. They had a genuine liking for each other, but their social circles as well as their professions kept them apart almost all the time. Jack had no money of his own, but he had always managed to live as well as his good birth invited. To begin with, it had been by liberal use of his great personal charm. Since marrying Emily, it was on the fortunes she had inherited from her first husband.

For the first year or two he had been content to continue merely enjoying himself in society. Then, with Emily’s pushing, and some example of Pitt’s, and possibly the respect he had observed both his wife and her sister had for achievement, he had taken up a vivid interest in politics. That did not alter the fact that he and Pitt met seldom.

“I don’t know Ryerson,” Jack said regretfully. “Bit above my political reach… for the time being.” He saw Pitt’s face. “I mean I intend to climb,” he corrected quickly, “not that I think he is going to fall. Is he?” Now his expression was suddenly very serious.

“Too early to say,” Pitt replied. “No, I’m not being discreet. I really don’t know.” He pushed his hands into his pockets, a dramatic contrast to Jack, who would never have dreamed of doing so. It would ruin the line of his clothes, and he was far too innately elegant to do that.

“I wish I could help,” Jack said with implied apology. “It all seems ridiculous, from what I’ve heard.”

A small black-and-white dog was charging around, wagging its tail with excitement. It did not seem to belong to the courting couple near the trees, or to the nursemaid in starched uniform, the sun shining on the fair hair escaping her white cap as she pushed a perambulator along the path.

Pitt bent and picked up a piece of stick and threw it as far as he could. The dog hared after it, barking with excitement.

“Did you know Lovat?” he asked.

Jack glanced sideways at him, unhappiness in his eyes. “Not well.”

Pitt could not afford to let him escape so lightly. “He’s been murdered, Jack. If it were not important I wouldn’t ask.”

Jack looked startled. “Special Branch?” he said with disbelief. “Why? Is there something in the Ryerson speculation? I thought it was just the newspapers.”

“I don’t know what it is,” Pitt retorted. “And I need to know, preferably before they do. Did you know Lovat? Without the censorship of decency toward the dead.”

Jack’s mouth tightened and he stared into the distance.

The dog came galloping up to Pitt and dropped the stick, dancing backwards in anticipation, gazing up at him.

He bent, picked up the stick and pitched it far again. The dog hurtled after it, ears and tail flying.

“A difficult man,” Jack said at last. “An ideal candidate for murder, I suppose, in a way. Actually, I’m damned sorry it happened.” He turned to look at Pitt. “Tread softly, Thomas, if you can. There are a lot of people who could be hurt, and they don’t deserve it. The man was a bastard where women were concerned. If he’d stayed with the sort of married women who’ve had their children and now play the field a bit, no one would have minded a lot, but he courted women as if he loved them, young women expecting marriage, needing it, and then once he had them, he suddenly cried off. Left everyone wondering what was the matter with them. The conclusion was usually that they had lost their virtue. Then, of course, nobody else wanted them either.” He did not need to paint a further picture. They both knew what lay ahead for an unmarriageable woman.

“Why?” Pitt said miserably. “Why court a decent woman you have no intention of marrying? It’s cruel… and dangerous. I’d-” He stopped, but in his mind he thought for a moment of Jemima, trusting, eager, so easy to hurt. If a man had done that to her, Pitt would have wanted to kill him, but not shoot him cleanly in someone else’s garden in the middle of the night. He would have wanted to beat him to a pulp first, feel the crack of bone on bone, the impact of his fist on flesh, see the pain, and the understanding of why it was happening. It was probably primitive, and would be of no help at all to Jemima, except to let her know she was of infinite value to someone and that she was not alone in her pain. And it would serve the point at least that the man would be a great deal less inclined to do it again.

He looked sideways at Jack, and saw something of the same raw anger in his face. Perhaps he was thinking of his own daughter, barely more than a baby.

“You know it for certain?” Pitt asked quietly.

“Yes. I suppose you want names?”

“No. I don’t want them,” Pitt replied. “I would far rather let the poor devils keep their pain secret, but I have to. If we don’t get the right person, then the wrong man… or woman, will be hanged.”

“I suppose so.” Jack listed off four names, and what he knew of where they might be found.

Pitt did not need to write them down. He wished he did not even need to hear them or make enquiries; he could understand their emotions too easily. Imagination was necessary to his job, but it was also a curse.

The dog came back, quivering with excitement and delight, dropping the stick at Pitt’s feet and dancing around waiting for him to throw it again. It did not often meet people so willing to play, and who obviously understood the game.

Pitt obliged and the animal went racing off again. He really would like to have a dog. He would tell Charlotte the cats would just have to accommodate it.

“You could ask Emily,” Jack said suddenly, looking at Pitt and biting his lip. He looked slightly abashed to be saying it. “She notices things about people…” He left it hanging. They were both aware of past cases where Charlotte and Emily had interfered, sometimes dangerously, but their acute discretion and understanding of nuances of meaning had been key to the solution.

“Yes,” Pitt agreed, surprised that he had not thought of it for himself. “Yes, I’ll do that. Will she be at home?”

Jack smiled suddenly. “I’ve no idea!”

ACTUALLY, IT TOOK PITT two hours to catch up with Emily. Her butler told him that she had gone to a newly opened art exhibition, and after that she expected to return home only for the time it took her to change for the evening, and dinner at Lady Mansfield’s home in Belgravia. Tomorrow morning she would be riding in the park, and then visiting her dressmaker before taking an early luncheon and making the usual afternoon calls. The evening would be spent at the opera.

Pitt thanked the butler, asked for directions to the exhibition, and took himself there immediately.

The gallery was crowded with women in beautiful gowns, and a few men escorting them, flirting a little, and passing grave and wordy comments on the paintings.

Pitt looked at them only briefly, which he regretted. He thought them not only beautiful but of great interest. The style was impressionist in a manner he had not seen before, blurred and hazy, and yet creating a feeling of light which pleased him enormously.

But he was not here for interest. He must find Emily before she left, and that would require concentration, and even considerable physical effort merely to keep on excusing himself and pushing between groups of chattering people, women with skirts which brushed up against each other and blocked the way for several feet in every direction.

He received several angry and imperious glances and heard mutters of “Well, really!” on more than one occasion, but he could not afford the time to wait until they moved on and allowed him to pass of their own accord.