Seven Dials Page 0,34

was acceptable to speak of the ugly situation in Manchester regarding the cotton workers, and from that everyone's mind moved quite naturally to the murder of Edwin Lovat, because of the connection with Ryerson, although no one actually spoke of it.

The waiter brought them the first course of their excellent luncheon, a delicate Belgian pate for Mr. Jamieson, a clear soup for Charlotte and Emily.

Emily did not waste any more time, knowing that Jamieson would have to return to his duties soon. She could trespass only so much.

"This is an enquiry for a very secret department of the government," Emily began shamelessly, having kicked Charlotte under the table to warn her to show no surprise, and certainly not to argue. "My sister"-she glanced at Charlotte-"has made me aware of a way in which I can help, in the utmost confidence, you understand?"

"Yes, Mrs. Radley," Jamieson said gravely.

"A young man's life may depend upon it," Emily warned. "In fact, he may already be dead, but we hope profoundly that he is not." She ignored his look of alarm. "Mr. Radley tells me that you are a member of White's. Is that correct?"

"Yes, yes I am. Surely there is no-"

"No, of course not," Emily assured him hastily. "There is no question of White's being involved." She leaned a little towards him, ignoring her soup, her face intent with concentration. "I had better be candid with you, Mr. Jamieson..."

He leaned forward also, his eyes wide. "I promise, Mrs. Radley, that I shall hold it in the most total confidence... from everyone."

"Thank you."

The waiter returned to take away their dishes and serve the entree-poached fish for the ladies, roast beef for Jamieson.

As soon as he had gone Charlotte drew in her breath, and felt Emily's foot tap her ankle. She winced very slightly.

"I believe a young man named Stephen Garrick could give us information which would help," she said.

Jamieson frowned, but he did not look as puzzled or as surprised as she would have expected. "I'm sorry to hear that," he said quietly. "We all knew there was something wrong."

"How did you know?" Charlotte urged, trying to suppress the eagerness in her voice, and the edge of fear she knew was there.

He looked at her frankly. He had wide, clear blue eyes. "He drank far too much for pleasure," he answered. "It was as if he were trying to drown out something inside himself." There was pity in his expression. "At first I thought it was just overindulgence, as anyone might, you know? Keeping up, not wanting to be the first to cry off. But then I began to realize it was more than that. It made him ill, but still he went on. And... he drank alone, as well as with company."

"I see," Emily acknowledged. "There is apparently something that causes him great pain. I presume from the fact that you do not mention it that you do not know what it is."

"No." He shrugged very slightly. "And honestly I don't know how I could find out. I haven't seen him for several days, and the last time I did, he was in no condition to answer anything sensibly. I... I'm sorry." It was not clear if his apology was for his inability, or for having spoken to them of such a distasteful subject.

"But you do know him?" Charlotte pressed. "I mean, you have his acquaintance?"

Jamieson looked doubtful, as if he sensed in advance what she would ask. "Yes," he admitted guardedly. "Er... not well. I'm not one of his..." He stopped.

"What?" Emily demanded.

Jamieson looked back at her. She sat straight-backed, like Great-Aunt Vespasia, smiling at him expectantly, her head beautifully poised.

"One of his circle," Jamieson finished unhappily.

"But you can enquire," Emily stated.

"Yes," he said reluctantly. "Yes, of course."

"Good." Emily was relentless. "There is great danger. Even a short time may be too late. Can you call upon him this evening?"

"Is it really... so..." Jamieson was not sure if he was excited or alarmed.

"Oh, yes," Emily assured him.

Jamieson swallowed a mouthful of beef and roast potato. "Very well. How shall I tell you what I learn?"

"Telephone," Emily said immediately. She pulled out a card from the tiny silver engraved case in her reticule. "My number is on it. Please do not speak to anyone but me... not anyone at all. Do you understand?"

"Yes, Mrs. Radley, of course."

CHARLOTTE THANKED EMILY with profound sincerity and accepted the offered ride home in the carriage. At half past eight, when she and Pitt were sitting in the