Seven Dials

Charlotte felt as if she had betrayed him too, and yet surely he must have known when he told her of Garrick’s nightmares that she would have to come back to him, and when she did it would be with Pitt at least. She looked across at Pitt now, and caught the pity in his face. There was no blame in him as he met her gaze. He understood the pain inside her, and exactly why.

Tears prickled her eyes and she turned away. This was not a time to allow her own emotions to govern anything; they had no place in this.

“I need to know what happened, Mr. Sandeman,” Narraway said without any leniency in his voice. “Whatever I may feel or wish, there is no room for anything but the truth.”

“I know that,” Sandeman replied. “I suppose I always knew that one day it would be uncovered. You can bury the dead, but you can’t bury guilt.”

Narraway nodded. “We know about the sacrifice of the pig and the desecration of the sanctuary. What happened after that?” he asked.

Sandeman spoke as if the pain were still with him, physically eating into his gut. “A woman returning from caring for the sick saw the torchlight and came to see what it was. She screamed.” Without being aware of it, he moved his hands as if to put them over his ears and keep out the sound. “Lovat caught hold of her. She struggled.” His voice was barely audible. “She went on and on screaming. It was a terrible sound… thick with terror. He broke her neck. I don’t think he meant to.”

No one interrupted him.

“But she had been heard,” he whispered. “Others came… all sorts of people… They saw the dead woman lying there… and Lovat…”

The fire was burning and yet the room seemed to freeze.

“They came at us,” Sandeman went on. “I don’t know what they wanted… but we panicked. We… we shot them.” His voice broke. He tried to add something, but the scene inside his head suffocated everything else.

Charlotte felt as if she could not breathe.

“They weren’t found,” Narraway stated.

“No… we set fire to the building.” Sandeman’s voice was hoarse. “We burnt them all… like so much rubbish. It wasn’t difficult… with the torches. It was taken to be an accident.”

Narraway hesitated only a moment.

“How many were there?” he asked.

Sandeman shivered.

“About thirty-five,” he whispered. “Nobody counted, unless it was the imam who buried them.”

The room was engulfed in a hideous silence. Narraway was about as ashen as Sandeman. “Imam?” he repeated huskily.

Sandeman looked up at him. “Yes. They were given a decent Muslim burial.”

“God in heaven!” Narraway let out his breath in a sigh of anguish.

Charlotte felt a needle of fear inside herself, far down in the pit of her stomach. She was not even certain yet why, but something vast and unseen was terribly wrong. It was there in Narraway’s face, in the stiffness of his body in its elegant suit.

“By whom?” Narraway said, his voice shaking. “Who arranged it? Who found this imam?”

“The commanding officer,” Sandeman answered. “General Garrick. The place burned like an inferno, but there must have been something left.” He swallowed. His face was sheened with sweat. “Anyone looking at them would know they died of gunshots, and it couldn’t have been an accident.”

“Who else knows about it?” Narraway asked, his voice wavering.

“No one,” Sandeman replied. “General Garrick covered it up, and the imam buried the bodies. They were all wrapped up in shrouds, and he conducted all the appropriate prayers and rites.”

“And that is what drove Stephen Garrick mad?” Narraway continued. “Guilt? Or fear somebody one day would come after him for vengeance?”

“Guilt,” Sandeman replied without hesitation. “In his nightmares he relived it. It was the men and women we murdered who came after him.”

Narraway stared back at him, unblinking. “And you, do the dead pursue you as well?”

“No,” Sandeman replied, meeting his eyes, hollow and haunted by pain, but unflinching. “I let them catch me. I admitted my guilt. I can’t ever undo what I did, but I shall spend whatever is left of my life trying to give back something. And if whoever killed Lovat comes after me, they will find me here. If they kill me, then so be it. If you want to arrest me, I shan’t resist you. I think I am of more use here than at the end of a rope, but I shan’t argue the case.”

Charlotte could feel the ache in her chest tighten so hard it almost stopped her breathing.

“God is your judge, not I,” Narraway said simply. “But if I need you again, you would be wise to be here.”

“I shall be,” Sandeman answered.

“And repeat this to no one else,” Narraway added, his voice suddenly harsher than before, a note of threat in it. “I make a very bad enemy, Mr. Sandeman. And if you whisper even a word of this story to any man alive, I shall find you, and the end of the noose would seem very attractive to you in comparison with what I will do.”

Sandeman’s eyes widened. “Good God! Do you think it is something I repeat willingly?”

“I’ve known men who tell their crimes over and over, seeking absolution for them,” Narraway replied. “If you repeat this, it may cost a thousand times as many lives as you have already taken. If you feel tempted to seek some kind of release by confession, remember that.”

A look of irony as deep cutting as a knife to the heart covered Sandeman’s face. “I believe you,” he said. “I imagine that is why you do not arrest me.”

An answering flash softened in Narraway, but only for a moment. “Oh… and mercy also,” he responded. “Or perhaps it is justice? What could anyone else do to you that will equal the honesty with which you punish yourself?” He turned and walked very slowly back across the hallway towards the outside door, and Pitt took Charlotte by the arm. She tugged away from him long enough to look at Sandeman, to smile at him and know that he had seen her and understood, then she allowed herself to be led outside as well.

None of them spoke until they reached Seven Dials itself, and turned along Little Earl Street towards Shaftesbury Avenue.

It was Charlotte who broke the silence. “Surely the murder of Lovat has to be co

Narraway’s face was blank. “For it to be otherwise would be a coincidence to beggar belief,” he answered. “But that does not take away our difficulty. In fact, it adds a dimension so appalling it would be better to allow Ryerson to hang than to-” He stopped because Pitt had grasped hold of him and swung him around so sharply Charlotte almost collided with them both.

Narraway took Pitt’s hand off his arm with a strength that amazed Pitt and made him wince.

“The alternative,” Narraway said between his teeth, “is to allow the truth to be brought out-and see the whole of Egypt go up in revolt. After the Orabi rising, the bombardment of Alexandria, then Khartoum and the Mahdi, the place is like tinder. One spark and it could all ignite. We would lose the Suez Canal, and with it not only trade in Egypt but in the whole eastern half of the empire. Everything would have to go ’round the tip of Africa, not only tea, spice, timber and silk imports, but all our exports as well. Everything would cost half as much again. Not to mention the military and colonial traffic.”

Charlotte saw the tight fear in his face, and she turned to Pitt. It was there in him also as the enormity of it hit him, as if he had seen it before but clung to the hope that it was not real, just his own personal nightmare.

“Four drunken British soldiers massacring thirty-five peaceful Muslims in their own shrine,” Narraway said, barely above a whisper. Only by watching his lips could they be certain of the words. “Can you think what that will do in Egypt, Sudan, even India, if it’s known?”

“You mean Ayesha killed Lovat in revenge for her own people?” Pitt said slowly. His face betrayed how deeply the thought wounded him.