Southampton Row (2 page)

It was appalling, but Pitt could already see how it was possible. Every argument died on his lips before he spoke it.

Narraway relaxed fractionally, an easing of the muscles so slight it was barely visible. “He’s standing for the South Lambeth seat.”

Pitt quickly thought of his London geography. “Wouldn’t that take in Camberwell, or Brixton?”

“Both.” Narraway’s eyes were steady. “And yes, it’s a Liberal seat, and he’s Conservative. But that doesn’t ease my mind, and if it eases yours, then you’re a fool!”

“It doesn’t,” Pitt said coldly. “He’ll have a reason. There’ll be somebody he can bribe or intimidate, some place where the Inner Circle has its power he can use. Who is the Liberal candidate?”

Narraway nodded very slowly, still looking at Pitt. “A new man, one Aubrey Serracold.”

Pitt asked the obvious. “Is he Inner Circle, and will stand down at the last moment, or throw the election in some other way?”

“No.” Narraway said it with certainty, but he did not explain how he knew. If he had sources somewhere deep inside the Inner Circle, he did not disclose them, even to his own men. Pitt would have thought less of him if he had. “If I could see where it was coming from, or how, I wouldn’t need you to stay in London and watch,” Narraway continued. “Throwing you out of Bow Street may prove to be one of their greatest mistakes.” It was a reminder of their power, and the injustice against Pitt. Precise knowledge of what he was saying sparkled hard and bright in his eyes, and he made no pretense to hide it. They both knew he did not need to.

“I can’t affect the vote!” Pitt said bitterly. It was no longer an argument against losing his holiday and his time with Charlotte and the children, it was helplessness in the face of an insoluble problem. He could see nowhere even to begin, let alone to achieve a victory.

“No,” Narraway agreed. “If I wanted something like that done I have more skilled men for it than you.”

“It would also make you little better than Voisey,” Pitt said with chill.

Narraway sighed, shifting his position to one more at ease. “You are naive, Pitt, but I knew that. I work with the tools I have, and I don’t try to saw wood with a screwdriver. You will watch and listen. You will learn who are Voisey’s tools and how he uses them. You will learn Serracold’s weaknesses and where they may be exploited. And if we are fortunate enough that Voisey has any unguarded vulnerabilities, then you will find them and inform me immediately.” He breathed in and out very slowly. “What I may choose to do about him is not your concern. Understand me in that, Pitt! You are not exercising your conscience at the expense of the ordinary men and women of this country. You know only a small part of the picture, and you are not in a position to make grand moral judgments.” There was not a shred of any kind of humor in his eyes or his mouth.

The flippant answer died on Pitt’s tongue. What Narraway was asking of him seemed all but impossible. Had he any idea of the real power of the Inner Circle? It was a secret society of men sworn to support each other above all interests or loyalties apart. They existed in cells, no one man knowing the identities of more than a handful of others, but obedient to the demands of the Circle. He knew of no instance in which one had betrayed another to the outside world. Internal justice was immediate and lethal; it was the more deadly because one never knew who else was Circle. It could be your superior, or some ordinary clerk of whom you took little notice. It could be your doctor, your bank manager or even your clergyman. Only one thing were you certain of, it was not your wife. No woman was allowed any part in it or knowledge of it whatever.

“I know the seat is Liberal,” Narraway was going on. “But the political climate at the moment is turning extreme. The Socialists are not only noisy but making actual headway in some areas.”

“You said Voisey was standing as a Tory,” Pitt pointed out. “Why?”

“Because there will be a Conservative backlash,” Narraway replied. “If the Socialists go far enough, and mistakes are made, then it could sweep the Tories into power for a long time—quite long enough for Voisey to become Lord Chancellor. Even Prime Minister one day.”

The thought was cold and ugly, and certainly too real to dismiss. To turn away from it as far-fetched was to hand Voisey the ultimate weapon.

“You said Parliament rises in four days?” Pitt asked.

“That’s right,” Narraway agreed. “You’ll start this afternoon.” He took a deep breath. “I’m sorry, Pitt.”

“What?” Charlotte said incredulously. She was standing at the bottom of the stairs facing Pitt as he had come in through the front door. Her face was flushed with exertion, and now temper.

“I have to stay because there’s going to be a general election,” he repeated. “Voisey’s going to stand!”

She stared at him. For a moment all the memories of Whitechapel came back, and she understood. Then she closed it from her mind. “And what are you supposed to do about it?” she demanded. “You can’t stop him from standing, and you can’t stop people from voting for him if they want to. It’s monstrous, but it is we who made him into a hero because it was the only way to stop him. The republicans won’t even speak to him now, let alone elect him. Why can’t you let them deal with him? They’ll be furious enough to shoot him! Just don’t stop them. Arrive too late.”

He tried to smile. “Unfortunately, I can’t rely on their doing that efficiently enough to be of any use to us. We have only about ten days.”

“You have three weeks’ holiday!” She bit back sudden tears of disappointment. “It’s not fair! What can you do? Tell everybody he’s a liar, that he was behind the conspiracy to overthrow the throne?” She shook her head. “Nobody even knows there was one! He’d have you sued for slander, or more likely locked up as a lunatic. We made sure everyone believed he practically single-handedly did something wonderful for the Queen. She thinks he’s marvelous. The Prince of Wales and all his friends will be behind him.” She sniffed fiercely. “And no one will beat them—not with Randolph Churchill and Lord Salisbury as well.”

He leaned against the newel post. “I know,” he admitted. “I wish I could tell the Prince of Wales how close Voisey came to destroying him, but we have no proof now.” He reached forward and touched her cheek. “I’m sorry. I know I haven’t much chance, but I have to try.”

The tears brimmed over her cheeks. “I’ll unpack in the morning. I’m too tired to do it now. What on earth am I going to tell Daniel and Jemima—and Edward? They’ve been looking forward to it so much—”

“Don’t unpack,” he interrupted. “You go . . .”

“Alone?” Her voice rose to a squeak.

“Take Gracie. I’ll manage.” He did not want to tell her how much it was for her safety. At the moment she was angry and disappointed, but in time she would realize he was challenging Voisey again.

“What will you eat? What will you wear?” she protested.

“Mrs. Brody can cook something for me, and do the linen,” he answered. “Don’t worry. Take the children, enjoy it with them. Whether Voisey wins or loses, there’s nothing I can do after the results are in. I’ll come down then.”

“There’ll be no time left!” she said angrily. “Results go on coming in for weeks!”

“He’s standing for a London seat. It’ll be one of the first.”

“It could still be days!”

“Charlotte, I can’t help it!”

Her voice was barely controlled. “I know! Don’t be so damnably reasonable. Don’t you even mind? Doesn’t it infuriate you?” She swung her hand violently, fist tight. “It isn’t fair! They have loads of other people. First they throw you out of Bow Street and send you to live in some wretched rooms in Spitalfields, then when you save the government and the throne and heaven knows what else, they reinstate you—then throw you out again! Now they’re taking your only holiday . . .” She gasped for breath and it turned into a sob. “And for what? Nothing at all! You can’t stop Voisey if people are stupid enough to believe him. I hate Special Branch! It seems they don’t have to answer to anyone! They do whatever they like and there’s nobody to stop them.”

“A bit like Voisey and the Inner Circle,” he replied, trying to smile very slightly.

“Just like him, for all I know.” She met his eyes squarely, but there was a flash of light in hers, in spite of her attempts to hide it. “But nobody can stop him.”

“I did once.”

“We did!” she corrected him sharply.

This time he did smile. “There’s no murder now, nothing for you to solve.”

“Or you!” she countered immediately. “What you mean is it’s all about politics and elections, and women don’t even vote, much less campaign and stand for Parliament.”

“Do you want to?” he said with surprise. He was happy to talk about any subject, even that one, rather than tell her how he feared for her safety once Voisey knew he was involved again.

“Certainly not!” she retorted. “But that’s got nothing to do with it!”

“An excellent piece of logic.”

She poked a stray piece of hair back into its pin. “If you were at home and spent more time with the children you’d understand it perfectly.”

“What?” he said with total disbelief.

“The fact that I don’t want it doesn’t mean I shouldn’t be allowed it—if I did! Ask any man!”

He shook his head. “Ask him what?”

“Whether he would let me, or anybody else, decide whether he could or not,” she said in exasperation.

“Could or could not do what?”

“Anything!” she said impatiently, as if it had been obvious. “It’s one lot of people making rules for another lot of people to live by, when they wouldn’t accept them themselves. For heaven’s sake, Thomas! Haven’t you ever told children to do something, and they’ve said to you, ‘Well, you don’t!’ You may tell them they’re impertinent and send them upstairs to bed, but you know it’s unfair, and you know they know it too.”

He blushed hot at one or two memories. He forbore from drawing any similarities between the public’s attitude to women and parents’ towards children. He did not want to quarrel with her. He knew why she spoke as she did. He felt the same anger and disappointment choking inside himself, and there were better ways of showing it than temper.

“You’re right!” he said unequivocally.

Her eyes opened wide for a moment in surprise, then in spite of herself she started to laugh. She put her arms around his neck and he took hold of her, drawing her body to his, caressing her shoulder, the soft line of her neck, and then kissing her.

Pitt went to the station with Charlotte, Gracie and the children. It was a huge, echoing place crowded with people hurrying in all directions. It was the terminus for the London and South Western line, and the air was loud with the hiss of escaping steam, clanging doors, feet on the platform walking, running, shuffling, wheels of luggage trolleys, shouts of greeting and farewell, an excitement of adventure. It was full of beginnings and endings.

Daniel jiggled up and down with impatience. Edward, fair-haired like Emily, tried to remember the dignity of being Lord Ashworth, and succeeded for a full five minutes before racing along the platform to see the fires roaring as a stoker poked more coal into the bottom of a vast engine. The stoker looked up, smiling at the boy before wiping his hand across his brow and beginning again.

“Boys!” Jemima muttered under her breath with a glance at Charlotte.

Gracie, still not much larger than when she had entered their employ as a thirteen-year-old, was dressed up for traveling. It was the second time she had been away from London on holiday, and she was managing to look very experienced and calm, except for the brilliance of her eyes and the flush in her cheeks—and the fact that she clung on to her soft-sided bag as if it were a life preserver.

Pitt knew they must go. It was for their safety, and he wanted to be free of anxiety and certain he could face Voisey with the knowledge they were where he could never find them. But he still felt an ache of sadness inside himself as he called a porter over and instructed him to put their luggage into the van, giving him threepence for his trouble.

The porter tipped his cap and piled the cases onto his trolley. He whistled as he pushed it away, but the sound was lost in the roar of a belch of steam, the sliding of coal off the shovels into the furnaces, the guard’s shrill whistle blast as an engine jolted forward and began to pick up speed, pulling out.

Daniel and Edward raced each other along the platform, looking for the least occupied compartment, and came back waving their arms and whooping with triumph.

They put their hand baggage inside, then came to the door to say good-bye.

“Look after each other,” Pitt told them after he had hugged them all, including Gracie, to her surprise and pleasure. “And enjoy yourselves. Have every bit of fun you can.”

Another door clanged shut and there was a jolt. “Time to go,” Pitt said, and with a wave he stepped back as the carriage lurched and juddered, the couplings locked, and it moved forward.

He stood watching, seeing them leaning out of the window, Charlotte holding them back, her face suddenly bleak with loneliness as she was pulled away. Clouds of steam billowed upwards and drifted towards the vast, many-arched roof. There were smuts in the air and the smell of soot and iron and fire.

He waved until they were out of sight as the train curved around the track, then he walked as fast as he could back along the platform and out into the street. At the cab rank he climbed into the first hansom and told the driver to take him to the House of Commons.

He sat back and composed his mind to what he would say when he got there. He was south of the river now, but it would not take him long, even in the mid-morning traffic. The Houses of Parliament were on the north bank, perhaps thirty minutes away.

He had always cared intensely about social injustice, the pain of poverty and disease, ignorance and prejudice, but his opinion of politicians was not high and he doubted that they would address many of the issues that troubled him unless forced into it by individuals with a passion for reform. Now was a good time to reassess that rather hasty judgment and learn a great deal more about both the individuals and the process.