The Angel Court Affair Read online

  “What is here that you did not expect?” Pitt asked a little skeptically.

  Brundage shrugged. “Someone I can’t dismiss as a harmless lunatic I suppose,” he answered with a degree of self-deprecation. “I thought her followers would be the usual collection of idealists, dependents and hangers-on. And of course those who want to take her place. I’m not wrong about that. Although they are more intense than I expected.”

  “A threat to her?” Pitt asked quickly.

  “I hope not.” He met Pitt’s eyes. “But it is not impossible.”

  “Who are they? Names. Do we know any of them?”

  “They’re all with her full time. They don’t do anything else. They’ve given their lives to this. The most important, certainly in his own estimation, is Melville Smith,” Brundage began. “He is the only one who’s English. In his fifties. Ambitious, but denies it. Seems loyal, but I think to the ideas rather than to her. Ramon Aguilar, on the other hand, is about fifteen years younger than Smith, and he’s loyal to Sofia over all else. He’s Spanish, very soft spoken, gentle.” Brundage smiled. “Sings to himself while he’s walking around. The three women who came with her are all harder to read. Cleo Robles is small and pretty, about twenty-five; English mother and Spanish father. I’m guessing there is some tragedy in her background…” He left the words unfinished, as he was uncertain what to add.

  Pitt formed the instant opinion that Brundage had liked her.

  “Elfrida Fonsecca is quiet, watchful,” Brundage continued. “Heavier, but in a comfortable sort of way. Womanly, if you know what I mean? And she has a lovely skin, not a mark on it.”

  Pitt nodded. “Do you know anything about her?”

  “She seems devout, withdrawn,” Brundage answered with a small shake of his head. “I can’t get any history from her. But she bites her nails. Something bothers her.”

  “Go on,” Pitt told him.

  “Henrietta Navarro is older. I think she was in some kind of religious order before she joined Sofia. She refuses to speak of it, and I can’t press her without causing real anger. I tried, and Sofia herself told me in no uncertain words to leave the subject alone.”

  Pitt heard a new note in Brundage’s voice, something he had not ever heard before in the year and a half he had known the man. It spoke of a certain awe.

  “And Sofia herself?” Pitt asked.

  Brundage hesitated.

  Pitt waited. Honesty was more important than speed.

  “I don’t know,” Brundage said eventually. “I can tell you about the others. They’re not all that different from many I’ve known.” He regarded Pitt earnestly. “But she is. I can’t even tell you if I think the threats against her are real. I also can’t tell you if she thinks they are, or if she believes some kind of holy angel is going to protect her, so they don’t matter.”

  Pitt stared at him. “Is there anything useful you can tell me?” he said with an effort at courtesy. Brundage probably did not want this task any more than he did himself. There were other, genuine and important cases to work on, specifically the industrial sabotage one he had mentioned to Sir Walter, which was growing more serious with time.

  Brundage shifted his weight.

  “Ramon Aguilar is loyal. If there’s going to be an attack from inside it’ll be Melville Smith.”

  They could hear the sound of movement back and forth along the passage, footsteps, quiet voices.

  “Relationships among the followers?” Pitt asked.

  Brundage pursed his lips. “Pretty strong dislike between the two men. They think it’s concealed, but it isn’t. The two older women are distant with each other, but polite. Henrietta Navarro seems to be closer to Smith in attitude. And there’s another woman who sweeps and cleans in the yard at Angel Court, where they are staying. But she’s new, apparently, only just joined them, and doesn’t talk to anyone.”

  “Then let’s see if Sofia Delacruz will speak with me now,” Pitt replied. “I suppose she’s preparing to give her sermon, or whatever it is.”

  Brundage looked relieved. He straightened up and went out the door without any further comment.

  It was less than five minutes later that the door opened again. Pitt swung around expecting to see Brundage returning with the message that Delacruz was too busy to see him, because she was praying or studying, or whatever she did to prepare herself. Instead he saw a slender woman of more than average height. Dark hair was drawn back from the most remarkable face he could ever recall seeing. His first thought was that she was not beautiful. She was too fierce, her slate-blue eyes too deeply set. Then he realized as she walked toward him that indeed she was beautiful, in a way that was both savage and tender. There was a burning intelligence in her—and something in her expression that might have been amusement.

  “I am Sofia Delacruz,” she said quietly. “I understand you are Commander Pitt of Special Branch.”

  Pitt inclined his head. “Yes, ma’am. I hope we can help avoid any unpleasantness occurring for you.”

  To his surprise she laughed, a rich, spontaneous sound. “I hope that will not be the case. It will mean I am so bland that no one can find anything to object to. Then I need not have come.”

  Pitt was confused. This was not how he had pictured a woman who was dedicated to religion, regarded by some as a saint. He realized that he had expected a calmness, a purity apart from the world, in fact apart from reality. But Sofia seemed very present, very earthy.

  “You came with the intention of disturbing people?” he asked, trying to keep surprise from his voice, and a thread of exasperation. Perhaps she was merely a troublemaker who thrived on attention and shock. He saw nothing holy in that, in fact the opposite. It was contemptible.

  She walked across the floor in front of him. She held her head high, proud. The light overhead accentuated the bones of her cheeks and the fine lines about her eyes and mouth. Then she was in the shadows again. She moved with extraordinary grace.

  “What do you expect me to say?” she asked him. “Do you think I came here to tell people that there is nothing to do, nothing to worry about? That everyone is perfect, just continue as you are? God loves you and will give you everything you want, so there is no need for you to do anything at all?” She gave a shrug so slight it was barely a movement. “The complacent do not need me to tell them that. The sinless, and those who know in their hearts that this is not the glory possible for them, would both go away empty, and wonder why I had even bothered to come. That is what you expected of me? Why would anyone threaten me, then, Commander? I would be guilty of lying, and of perpetuating boredom, but no one kills for such things, as long as the lies are comfortable enough.”

  Pitt drew a deep breath. He reminded himself that whatever it cost him in patience or tact, Sir Walter had made it very clear that any attack on this woman while she was in England would be more than embarrassing; it could be the spark that would ignite an international incident that could escalate into a war.

  “So what do you propose to tell them?” he asked as mildly as he could. “What is it that makes someone wish to hurt you?”

  “I cannot truly say why someone would want to harm me,” she replied smoothly. “But I have had several threats of death that I know of. I believe that there have been others from which Ramon has protected me.”

  “Only Ramon? Not Melville Smith?” he asked immediately.

  The smile was back in her eyes—amusement, not warmth. “No. The ones I did receive were handed to me by Melville. His protection is not of me, but of the faith we share.” There was no other expression on her face or in her voice. She was leaving him to draw his own conclusions as to her feelings.

  “Do you trust him?” he inquired.

  She was startled. It showed in her eyes for an instant, and then was gone. “You are very direct,” she responded.

  This time the amusement was his. “That troubles you? I’m afraid I have neither time nor inclination to be more tactful. Do you trust Mr. Smith?�
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  “I trust him to do what he believes to be in the interest of the faith.” She looked directly at him as she spoke. “I do not take for granted that that will always be what I believe. But before you ask me, no, I do not think Melville will hurt me.”

  “Does he wish you to stir up controversy?” he pursued.

  Now there was appreciation in her face. Her feelings were as swift and as visible as light and shadow on water. “An excellent question, Commander. I am not certain that I have an easy answer for you.”

  “Do you listen to his advice?”

  “Of course. But I do not always take it.”

  He could imagine their confrontations. Melville Smith would likely be the arrogant type, insistent, perhaps afraid for her, certainly exasperated. She would be fierce, certain of herself, quite plainly listening to him only as a matter of courtesy. She would still do exactly what she wished.

  “What are you going to tell people?” he asked, returning to his earlier question. He was increasingly curious to know what this unusual woman believed in, what it was that she cared about so intensely that she had to tell strangers of it, even if it might cost her her life. Was she hysterical, touched by delusions? She would certainly not be the first. History was full of women who saw visions and profoundly believed them to be from God. Joan of Arc was burned alive because she would not deny her “angels.”

  But this woman in front of him, in a simple, dark blue dress, did not seem in the least emotionally overwrought. In fact she appeared to be cooler than he was.

  She smiled, and for an instant he saw uncertainty in her eyes. Then it was gone again. It was not doubt of herself, but perhaps of him.

  “I am going to tell them that they are the children of God,” she said levelly, watching his face. “As is every human being on earth. That there is no other kind of person.”

  “Why should that upset them?” he asked, wondering as he said it if it was a stupid question, or if it was exactly what she had intended him to say.

  “Because children are required to grow up,” she replied unwaveringly. “If we are the children of God, rather than simply creatures of His hands, then we may eventually become as He is. Not in this life, but now is the time to begin, to make the choice that this will be our path. And growing up can hurt. Lessons must be learned, mistakes put right, some errors paid for. Ask any child if he will find it easy to become like his father, especially if his father is a great man.”

  She smiled slightly, almost in self-mockery. “But what disturbs many people more, what is in fact the ‘blasphemy’ they cannot abide, is that if we may one day become as God is, then it follows logically that He may, in the infinite past, have once been as we are now. Which is, of course, why He understands us totally; every fear, every error and every need. And possibly even more terrifying to some, He knows that we can do it, that we can become like Him—if we are willing to try hard enough, pay the price in effort and patience, humility and courage, and never give up.

  “Most of us want something immeasurably easier than that, far smaller and safer. That is the devil’s plan for us—stunted, eternally less than we could have been.”

  “You are saying that men and God are the same thing?” Pitt asked incredulously.

  “Only in the sense that a caterpillar and a butterfly are the same,” she replied. “There is no safety, nothing to be bought except by the growth of the heart and the soul. And that is frightening to many. It changes all the rules we thought we knew. There is no hierarchy, except of the ability to love with a whole heart. Obedience is not enough, it is only a beginning. It is a small thing, compared to understanding.”

  “Are you frightened?” he asked after a long hesitation.

  “Yes.” Her voice was very quiet. “But the only thing more frightening would be to deny what I know is true. Then I would have nothing left at all.”

  “We will see that nothing happens to you,” he promised. But as he excused himself and turned away he was sure there was nothing to fear. Her ideas might well be offensive, especially if taken seriously, but no more so than any of the activists who wanted economic reform, higher wages, votes for women. Even if what she preached was blasphemy, he did not think that would be enough to disturb anyone to active violence.

  —

  THE MEETING WAS FAR better attended than Pitt had foreseen. Word had spread that Sofia Delacruz was controversial, and many people had turned up out of curiosity if nothing else. The large preponderance of them were women.

  Pitt checked in with Brundage, and with the regular police, going around the doors, watching the crowd, looking for anyone excitable, furtive or who seemed out of place.

  Sergeant Drury was clearly annoyed at being taken from his regular duties for what he considered a frivolous purpose. He was broad-shouldered, a little corpulent, and he stood at the main entrance with a somber look. A gaunt woman in black took in his presence appraisingly, but did not speak.

  “She’s come to complain, that one,” he observed to Pitt, who was standing near him. “But I can’t see her being dangerous, can you? What the devil do they think is going to happen, sir? Nobody’s going to throw a bomb at this woman! From what I hear, the anarchists would be on her side!”

  Pitt’s reply was prevented by the presence of a large woman passing by. She glanced at Drury and nodded her approval.

  “Ma’am,” Drury acknowledged her.

  Pitt gave a nod to the sergeant and moved on. He was looking at other entrances, and the increasing crowd, when he spotted Charlotte. It was the familiar angle of her head that drew his attention, and the unique grace with which she turned to the young woman beside her. He smiled with pleasure, until he realized with a jolt that the “young woman” was Jemima. Her long chestnut hair was wound high on her head and she wore one of Charlotte’s plainer hats. She was lovely. He had known her all her life, and yet suddenly his daughter seemed almost a stranger. He stared at her a moment longer before he was interrupted by one of his own men coming to repeat a slightly unpleasant exchange. Suddenly he was aware of a cold shiver of warning. The letters to Sofia had not threatened argument, or even ugly or embarrassing scenes—they had threatened death. He must see that it did not happen, not just for Sofia’s sake, but for everyone here, including Charlotte and Jemima.

  Fifteen minutes later the hall was nearly full. Glancing around it from his position by the stage, Pitt could see less than a dozen empty seats among the five hundred he estimated were in the room. There was a low buzz of conversation. A few heads turned to recognize acquaintances, but the air of expectation prevented the simple pleasure of gossip.

  All fell silent as Melville Smith climbed up the steps to the platform and stood facing them. He was of average height, a little pigeon-chested. It was when he spoke that he commanded the attention; his voice was beautiful. He introduced himself and welcomed the audience as if he were the host at some party in his home, and Sofia Delacruz the favored guest.

  Finished, he stepped back and Sofia made her entrance. If she was afraid, there was no reflection of it in her bearing. She stood straight, her head high, a slight smile on her remarkable face.

  Pitt would have liked to watch her and listen to how she told a crowd of strangers about the extraordinary beliefs she’d shared with him. But it was his duty to look for any threats, even if he felt sure none would arise. It was the regular police’s job to keep out any obvious troublemakers, and should unruly behavior begin, to quell it. But tackling any serious attempt on Sofia’s life was Pitt’s task. He did his best to tune out her words as he faced the audience, watching, trying to judge their reactions.

  She spoke as she had warned him she would, gently to begin with: the comforting, familiar ideas of God as a father of all mankind.

  In the second row, near the center, a young man yawned conspicuously. It was a discourteous gesture. Pitt glanced at Sofia and saw that she was aware of it. The man had chosen a very visible seat from which to be rude.

  Sofia
was moving on to the creation of the world, and man’s place in it. Her voice was lifting with enthusiasm, the vibrancy in it carrying to the back reaches of the hall.

  The young man in the second row was now watching her intently. He was no longer pretending boredom, and his body was rigid, shoulders high.

  Sofia continued, moving forward to the front of the platform, as she spoke of the earth and its creatures. The awe she felt toward the beauty she was describing was clear in her face.

  “What about Darwin?” a man yelled out, his voice so shrill he sounded close to hysteria.

  “Exactly my point,” Sofia replied without hesitation. “Things change and evolve all the time. It is possible that we may forever improve, becoming wiser, braver, kinder and more honest, learning into eternity.”

  “But what about Darwin himself, who says we are little more than monkeys?” Now the man was standing, his fists clenched, his red beard bristling. His face suffused with anger.

  Sofia smiled. “Even Darwin,” she replied. “There is no one for whom progress is impossible.”

  Pitt knew she had intended to be funny, but she had misjudged at least part of her audience. Far to the left someone laughed, but the man with the beard was enraged.

  “Don’t you dare mock us!” he yelled, his voice even louder. “Blasphemer! No man takes the name of God lightly, still less some…some woman! You come here from a godless place and make fun of us, try to make fools imagine they are the equal of God! You—”

  The burly figure of Sergeant Drury was getting ready to move forward.

  Sofia preempted him. “I mock no one, sir.” She said it levelly, but her voice had intense power. “Spain is not a godless country, and as an Englishwoman who has been made welcome there, I am ashamed to hear you speak so of your fellow man, simply because they do not worship God in exactly the same manner you do.”

  Another man rose to his feet. He was bald-headed and wearing a stiff dark suit. “The insult to Spain is but of ignorance,” he said, dismissing it with a wave of his hand. “But to suggest that man is the same as God is indeed blasphemy! I will not stand by and listen to it in silence, or I am guilty of it too.” Again he waved his hand. “As are all of us here!”