Long Spoon Lane Read online

  “I believe so. I’m expecting it.”

  She let out her breath in a sigh. “I see.”

  He wanted to lean forward and touch her, take her in his arms, but the awareness of his evasion kept him back.

  He slid a little farther down in the seat, as if he were exhausted, and smiled at her. He meant it far more than she would ever know. “I’ll be careful,” he promised. “I haven’t forgotten what he did, any more than you have, or Vespasia.”

  5

  THE MORNING THAT Pitt went to St. Paul’s to meet with Voisey, Charlotte telephoned Emily to say that she was coming, and the matter she wished to discuss was of some importance. Emily obligingly canceled her proposed errands to her milliner and her dressmaker, and was at home when Charlotte arrived.

  She received her in her private sitting room with the big floral-patterned cushions. The embroidery frame stood with the basket of silks below the painting of Bamburgh Castle outlined against the sea.

  Emily was wearing a morning dress of fine muslin in her favorite shade of pale green. It was actually last year’s cut, but no one would have noticed it unless they were a devotee of the minutiae of fashion.

  The years had been extremely kind to Emily. In her mid-thirties, she still had a slender figure—she had had only two children rather than the half dozen or so that many of her friends had had—and her skin had the alabaster delicacy of the naturally fair. She was not quite beautiful, but she had elegance and character. Best of all, she knew exactly what flattered her and what did not. She avoided the obvious, choosing the cool colors, the blues and greens of water, the grays and cold plums of shadow, for all important occasions. She would not have worn red even if freezing had been the only alternative.

  When it came to fashion, Charlotte was limited by finances. There had been many occasions when, if she wished to move in society, she had been obliged to borrow clothing either from Emily, which was awkward because she was a couple of inches taller, or from great-aunt Vespasia.

  “Charlotte!” Emily met her at the sitting room door, her face full of animation. She hugged her quickly, then stepped back. “What is it? Something has happened, or you would not be here at this hour. Is it one of Thomas’s cases?” There was a note of urgency in her voice, almost of hope.

  Charlotte remembered the time when the two of them had involved themselves in Pitt’s investigations. These had usually been murders, driven by personal greed and hunger, or by fear of the exposure of some private sin. Together they had done things in the name of detection that now seemed outrageous, and yet she was not ashamed. They had uncovered truths and obtained at least some kind of justice, even if there had been tragedy as well. She also missed those times, even though much of what had made such exploits impossible now were Jack taking his career in Parliament too seriously for Emily to risk a wild indiscretion, and Pitt’s move to secret and more dangerous work in Special Branch. Jack’s move was good; Pitt’s was unavoidable; and therefore it was foolish to grieve over either.

  “In a sense it is related to Thomas’s work,” she answered the question. She followed Emily into the room and sat down. “It is to do with this anarchist bombing in Myrdle Street, where Magnus Landsborough was killed,” she finished.

  The light went out of Emily’s face. “Oh, that’s appalling! I mean it’s awful for the destruction, of course, and Magnus Landsborough’s death, although one wonders what on earth he was doing with such people! But there is a group in Parliament who are trying to bring in a bill to arm the police and make it possible to search people’s homes at the drop of a hat. Jack is afraid it will undo years of goodwill, and far from helping the police, it will actually make their day-to-day work much harder.” Her eyes were now deeply shadowed. “I’m not sure that it matters as much as he says, but nothing I can do persuades him not to fight against it.”

  Charlotte looked at Emily, sitting hunched forward on the elegant sofa. Her hands were stiff, her face tight with anxiety. For all the sunshine and the colors around them, the bowls of flowers and the scent of cut grass blowing in through the half-open window, there was fear in the room.

  “You don’t want him to?” Charlotte asked. Surely after all the wasted years of Jack’s youth, Emily should be proud of him for taking up a battle, even relieved that he had such a sense of purpose. She had wanted it long enough, fought, cajoled, and persuaded him.

  Emily’s delicate mouth tightened impatiently. “It’s an ugly battle, Charlotte!” she said tersely. “A lot of people care about it very much. They’re frightened, and fear makes people dangerous. Tanqueray is nobody in particular, but he’s only the spokesman. There are powerful interests behind him, and they are not going to have patience, or mercy, with anyone who tries to block them.”

  “Do you know who else is involved?” Charlotte asked, avoiding the subject of danger until she was certain her own anger would not show through.

  “I could give you a dozen names!” Emily responded immediately. “Some of them are in very high office, and quite willing to ruin Jack, or anyone else who stands in their way. What does Thomas think? Does he want guns for the police? Jack said he wouldn’t, but perhaps after the gun battle in Long Spoon Lane he might feel differently.”

  Charlotte bit her lip. She had not intended to confide her sense of exclusion to Emily, but she found it almost impossible to hold it secret any longer. She understood Emily’s fear so very well. They should not be separate even in this.

  “He doesn’t,” she said quietly, meeting Emily’s eyes. “There is something troubling him far more than he is telling me, and I think it is not only a danger, but something that he is both sad and ashamed of, which is why he won’t discuss it.”

  “Thomas?” Emily said in surprise. “Ashamed?”

  “Not for himself,” Charlotte corrected the error defensively. “For the police. He has mentioned corruption, but I think it is worse than he is saying. There’s hardly anyone he can trust.”

  “Corruption!” Emily said sharply, the last vestige of ease vanishing from her face. “No wonder Jack hates the thought of them having guns. If he could show that, then—”

  “No!” Charlotte put out her hand as if she could physically stop her. “Remember, Wetron is in charge in Bow Street. That could mean the whole of the Inner Circle might be involved, which could mean Parliament, or at least some of it.”

  The muscles in Emily’s face tightened. “The Circle wanted Jack to become a member, you know? He refused.” She swallowed. “Sometimes I wish he hadn’t won a seat. Then he could have followed some other profession with an easy conscience, and been safe.” She bit her lip, embarrassed at the confession.

  “Do you? Is that who you want him to be?” Charlotte asked. Then she smiled, halfheartedly, at her own weakness. “I wish that too, sometimes. If Thomas could have stayed in the police, just doing what somebody else told him to, as a constable, he wouldn’t have had to make any decisions that other people might not have liked, and he wouldn’t be in much danger. Poorer of course. And if Jack had stayed in a junior position, that wouldn’t affect you, because of the money you inherited, but it would affect Jack. He’d hate it.”

  “I know. I know,” Emily surrendered, lowering her eyes. “And what we would have liked doesn’t matter anyway, it’s what we have that we must deal with. There are some good people against the bill—Somerset Carlisle, of course. He would be.” She named half a dozen other members of Parliament with wry, slightly disparaging comments. “And of course several of their prosperous constituents are crying out for peace in the streets and safety in the home, a return of the rule of law, and so on. They are saying the police are ineffectual because we don’t give them the power or the weapons they need.” She looked very steadily at Charlotte. “One of the most serious opponents of the bill, and best speaker against it, is Charles Voisey.”

  “Oh.” Charlotte’s mind raced. She remembered a dark night on Dartmoor, fleeing the rented cottage with Gracie and the children; Tellman help
ing them; then long evenings alone in Keppel Street because Pitt was in Whitechapel and she had no idea when he would be home, or even if he would be at all. He had had to live there in lodgings, walk the alleys in the failing gaslight and the shadows. It was all Voisey’s doing, his guilt and his hatred. It made most perfect sense that he would fight this battle, even if only to thwart Wetron. “Not the ally I would have chosen,” Charlotte said aloud, smiling ironically. “But perhaps better than none.”

  “I would rather look for others,” Emily said curtly. “By the way, his sister, Mrs. Cavendish, is back in society, you know. There is even talk that she may marry again, and well. But that is by the way. I shall have to learn what more I can about the members. You know, sometimes I wish women did have the vote, then perhaps people would be obliged to listen to us with more attention.”

  “We can hardly afford to wait for that!” Charlotte retorted. “But by all means let us think whose aid we might enlist now.”

  They considered it for some time, making suggestions and adopting or abandoning them. Working together on a plan was something Charlotte had missed, and there was a warmth to it, in spite of the gravity of the subject. It was almost time for luncheon when they heard Jack’s footsteps outside, and the moment later he stood in the doorway. He looked harassed, and surprised to see Charlotte.

  Emily turned towards him, then stood up quickly. There was a solicitude in her manner that was not characteristic, and Charlotte knew her well enough to read her fear in it. She greeted Jack; he spoke to both of them, but he looked as if he had anxieties on his mind, and was disconcerted not to find Emily alone.

  “We were talking of the Police Bill,” Charlotte said, by way of explaining her presence. “Thomas is very unhappy about it.”

  “Yes, I know,” Jack agreed as he sat down. “He saw me earlier this morning.”

  Emily stood in the middle of the room. The sunlight fell in bright patterns on the carpet and the polished wood in the wide margins around it. The perfume of the late tulips was heady in the warmth.

  “We were trying to think who else might be helpful,” Emily said. “We have a few ideas.”

  Jack frowned. “I would prefer you did not involve yourself,” he told her. “I appreciate your help, but not this time.” He saw her body stiffen, and the mixture of anger and unhappiness in her face. “It’s going to be ugly,” he tried to explain. “People are frightened. Edward Denoon has stirred up all kinds of specters of violence, as if we were all in danger of being bombed, just because the police don’t know who these anarchists are.”

  “They’ll find them!” Charlotte said a trifle more sharply than she had meant to. Jack’s remark had sounded like a criticism of Pitt. “You can’t expect to solve a murder in a couple of days.”

  Jack looked tired, even though it was barely midday. “No,” he agreed wearily.

  Emily was very pale. She looked at Jack almost as if she could no longer see Charlotte. “Then if you can’t win, don’t ruin your career trying,” she said with a gulp. “That’s pointless. Don’t speak for it, but don’t speak against it either. Leave it to Somerset Carlisle, and Charles Voisey. I won’t go to anyone for help, I promise!”

  He said nothing.

  “Jack!” She took a step towards him. “Jack?”

  Charlotte felt a shiver of surprise, and alarm. For the first time she realized how truly afraid Emily was, and she wondered how long she herself had lived with fear that Pitt would be hurt, either emotionally or physically. She could see the urgency in Emily, because she was unaccustomed to such turmoil within. Emily was used to being safe. And she could read very clearly the anger in Jack, the knowledge that he was forced into something that frightened him, and yet from which he could see no escape. There was going to be pain, and a clash of wills in which she should not intrude.

  Charlotte rose to her feet. “Perhaps we should leave this after all.” She smiled at Emily, who was too consumed in her confrontation with Jack to notice.

  “Charlotte’s right,” Emily said firmly. “And perhaps it isn’t so bad anyway. The police have to stop crime. We all want that.”

  “That isn’t the issue,” Jack replied. “It’s how they do it. And anarchy isn’t the only crime.”

  “Of course it isn’t,” Emily agreed. “Everyone says that robbery, burglary, and arson are increasing as well. And violence in the streets, not to mention prostitution, forgery, and anything else you care to think of.”

  “That isn’t what I meant.” He looked unhappy, as if the entire discussion were against his will. “I have to oppose the bill, Emily. It’s wrong. It’s…”

  “No, you don’t!” she said hotly. “You can’t win anyway. Just leave it for someone else. Let Charles Voisey do it, if he wants to. Who cares what happens to him? Or Somerset Carlisle, if he’s stupid enough.” She took a step towards him, touching her hands lightly on the lapels of his jacket. The sunlight sparked fire in the diamonds on her ring. “Please, Jack! You are worth far more than ruining your career fighting a cause that’s lost anyway.” She drew in her breath to continue.

  “That isn’t all, Emily,” he said hurriedly.

  He took her hands gently and eased them away from him.

  “What else is there?” Emily was angry. “The police have guns anyway. They must have, or they couldn’t have had a battle in Long Spoon Lane! Let them have more, if they need them. If they stop too many people in the street or search their homes, then Parliament can reverse the bill.”

  “You can’t just turn the tide of feeling because you want to,” he replied.

  Charlotte stepped closer to him. “Jack, you said that wasn’t all. What else is there?”

  “It’s only suggested,” he said, but his face was heavy with the weight of it. “It might not happen, but I have to fight it as if it will.” He looked back at Emily. “I’m sorry,” he apologized. “There’s no choice. They want to include the right for police to question domestic servants without the knowledge or permission of anyone else in the house.”

  Emily was astounded. “Question them about what? Stolen goods? Guns? What, for heaven’s sake?”

  “No one will know, will they?” The old, easy smile played about his mouth for a moment, then it was gone. “That’s exactly the point. Who was here, how much money was spent, where your coachman took you, who you spoke to, who you wrote letters to, who wrote to you? What did they say? Everything!”

  Emily shook her head. “But why? Why could they possibly care?”

  Charlotte saw the enormity of it. But she was more familiar with the work of police and she felt Pitt’s fear of corruption. “That would be a charter for blackmail,” she said softly, her stomach tightening. “If you ask the right questions, you could imply almost anything. We’d all live in terror of whispers, misunderstandings. It’s a kind of irony! In the past servants have lived in fear of losing their good character if a master or mistress should speak ill of them. Now I can see a glimpse of what that would be like. We would live in fear of them. A wrong word to the police, and we’d be the ones to lose our character. But surely such a bill couldn’t pass, could it?”

  Jack turned to face her, his eyes shadowed. “I don’t know. Think of the power. All it needs is one dishonest policeman, even one who is indiscreet, one who wants a favor or thinks himself insulted. The possibilities are endless. It will begin as a law used only where anarchy or treason is suspected, then it will be used for robberies, suspected embezzlement, or conspiracy to commit fraud, or to blackmail the blackmailers. The police will have power to do almost anything, because everyone will be vulnerable.”

  “But we don’t have anything to—” Emily began.

  “Hide?” he asked, eyebrows raised. “Who says it will have to be about the truth? What about a disgruntled servant, one caught stealing, a lazy or impertinent one, one who drinks or gambles or keeps a mistress, or simply wants more money or more power?” His voice sharpened. “Or one who is simply frightened, or in love, or easily le
d? Or one who is related to someone in trouble, or—”

  “All right!” Emily shouted. “I see! I see! It’s monstrous. No Parliament in its right mind will pass such a law.”

  “Emily, it won’t be phrased that way!” he said exasperatedly. “It will sound like a very reasonable right for police to question servants in private. The master or mistress won’t know, in order to protect the servant in question from pressure to lie in order to keep his position.”

  “Can’t they do that now?” Charlotte asked, puzzled.

  “Of course they can question servants, or anyone else,” he responded. “But not secretly. This could be living eyes and ears in your house, at your dining table, your kitchen, in your bedroom! It’s the excuse to do it in the name of protecting everyone from anarchy that’s the difference. They don’t need to show any reason for it. Now you have to suspect someone of a particular crime, and question them openly. This would be secret, and without any reason shown. It would begin softly, and grow without our ever realizing it.”

  Emily lowered her eyes. “I see. I suppose you have to fight.” There was resignation in her voice, acceptance.

  “When did you hear of this?” Charlotte asked him.

  “Just now. After Thomas left to…to go back to Special Branch, I suppose. I’ll tell him. He’ll have to know. I’m sorry. I didn’t want to burden you with it, either of you.” He turned to Emily, his face creased with regret, his eyes gentle. “You see why I have to do it, whatever it costs? If I’d never known about it I could back out, but I do know.”

  “Who told you?” Emily asked.

  “Voisey. But it’s true. I’ve seen the draft.”

  “Voisey?” Emily said with fury.

  He put both his hands on her shoulders, holding her tightly, but without hurting her, unless she fought him. “It’s true. I’ll take it to the top, to the prime minister if need be, before I react, and I’ll be the happiest man in Westminster if it proves to be a lie, but it won’t. The police have asked for it. They say Special Branch is incompetent to stop the anarchist violence and the rising crime.” He gave a little shiver. “In order to protect the people, they have to have the power to use if they need it. It’s a tiny thing, and they say they hardly ever will use it, but the point is that once they have the power we can’t stop them, and we know that the very nature of power is that it corrupts, and we have built in no way to stop it.”