Long Spoon Lane (16 page)

“Surely they cannot pass it?” Vespasia let out her breath slowly. “It would be a charter for blackmail. It would…” She did not bother to finish her sentence. “I suppose it is driven by fear, without thinking ahead to what it will become.” She looked suddenly tired. “Sometimes I despair of how stupid people can be. Ask anyone who has dealt with servants; they are people like anyone else—good, bad, and indifferent. They have their passions and rivalries, greeds and ambitions, as we all do. And they can be manipulated, or at times do the manipulating. Some will say whatever you want, just to please you. Some will take any chance for attention, or to put down a rival.”

“Perhaps the members’ wives will persuade them not to be so idiotic?” Charlotte said, without any hope at all. “Isn’t it strange what people will do if they are frightened? But I believe we have one ally.”

“Who?”

Charlotte felt a chill in the sunlit room as she said it. “Charles Voisey.”

Vespasia was motionless, her chin high, her eyes far away. “I see. And is that for love of liberty, I wonder, or hatred of the police, as represented by Superintendent Wetron?”

“Hatred,” Charlotte replied immediately. “But it’s not his hatred of Wetron that frightens me,” she elaborated. “It is the fact that Thomas is involved in the issue, on the same side. He has said very little to me. In fact, he is being evasive, which is not like him at all. I did not press him because I could see that he was most uncomfortable. I might have forced him into a position where he had either to tell me something he didn’t wish to, or else say something that was not true.”

She needed to explain it to Vespasia, as if to herself. “He could even have had to break confidence, or else lie to me. And I don’t want either of those. If he were to lie, it would open up a gulf between us we might never entirely bridge again. We should both remember it.” She watched Vespasia’s face to see if she understood. “So I let it go. But I know Voisey is involved. Thomas admitted that much, and I am afraid of what he will do. I don’t know if Thomas even believes anyone could be as consumed by hate as Voisey is.”

Vespasia nodded slowly.

“I know people like Voisey,” Charlotte went on. “Thomas doesn’t. He thinks gentlemen with a certain background also have certain qualities, acts to which they will not descend. That’s not true.” She looked desperately at Vespasia’s steady eyes. “Thomas will almost always give people a second chance. He doesn’t hate—not implacably, like the hatred I saw in Voisey’s eyes when the Queen knighted him. He’d lose the world to be revenged on us for that.”

Vespasia let out a soft sigh. “And I assume you have no idea what Thomas intends to do that might involve Voisey?”

“No.”

“Then we need to find some ammunition that we could use against Voisey, should we need it. We do not know enough about him. We might do well to recall the story of David and Goliath…”

“Is he really a Goliath?” Charlotte asked miserably. “I know the Davids win in the Bible, but they very often lose in life. I suppose if they didn’t there would be no point in the story.” She smiled a trifle lopsidedly. “I am sure enough that our cause is God’s cause, but I don’t have such faith in our absolute righteousness that I want to go out in front of the entire Philistine army with nothing but a slingshot and a couple of stones. I lack faith, don’t I? Or am I simply more modest, and realistic?” She was joking to cover the sharp, aching fear for Pitt that gnawed inside.

“I have no intention of facing Goliath alone,” Vespasia replied with some asperity. “I was referring to the fact that he was clad in impenetrable armor, which, however, left his temples uncovered—a small but highly vulnerable spot to someone with an accurate aim. Where is Charles Voisey’s vulnerable spot? We need to aim.”

“I don’t know!” Charlotte gulped and took a shaky breath. “I’m sorry, I think my fear is running away with me. Thomas is so upset that there is police corruption. At least some of it is in Bow Street, where he used to be. I hate to see him hurt like this.”

Vespasia sighed. “I suppose with Wetron in charge, corruption was a great likelihood. I take it you are quite certain?”

“No, but it is an educated guess,” Charlotte replied, thinking back to the evening before. “Tellman is courting Gracie…”

Vespasia smiled with sudden, genuine pleasure. “My dear, I am quite aware of that. You are going to miss her greatly.”

“I am. I don’t know what life will be like without Gracie’s comments on it. I loathe the thought of having someone else in my house. And Daniel and Jemima will be devastated. But I know it must happen.”

“What has it to do with corruption in Bow Street?”

“Two evenings in a row now Tellman has canceled his engagement to take her out,” Charlotte replied. “That means he must be doing something of intense importance. He would not do it for less. He didn’t explain to her, so we both assumed it was something for Thomas, and at the moment it can only be to do with anarchy, and corruption.”

“I agree. It seems inescapable.” Vespasia nodded. “The more urgently we need to find Voisey’s weakness. There must be something he cares about that can be gained or lost, some passion or need. Thomas may feel himself bound by his own code of honor—”

“He does.”

“Of course. And we both love him the more for it,” Vespasia said unhesitatingly. “But whether we are required to use it or not, we must find a means of protecting him. What does Voisey wish to gain from this, do you suppose? Is it as simple as vengeance upon Wetron?”

Charlotte was about to say that it was, then she thought a little more deeply. “I don’t know. Perhaps he intends somehow to use Thomas to destroy Wetron, and then replace him? We need a weapon, don’t we! The trouble is, if I have a weapon, I am afraid I might use it.” She stared intently at Vespasia, searching her eyes, trying desperately to see in them some comforting answer that would ease away the fear inside her.

“Of course you would,” Vespasia replied unhesitatingly. “Any woman would if those she loves are in danger. Threaten a woman’s husband or her child, and she will fight to the death, and only think of the cost afterwards, when it is all too late to undo. But even then, I doubt she will regret it. But we still need a weapon, for all that. Sometimes the knowledge of it is sufficient.”

“Is it?” Charlotte said doubtfully. “Or would he call my bluff?”

“Bluff?” Vespasia said gently.

Charlotte chose to change the subject. “I am sorry for interrupting your afternoon. I hope I have not inconvenienced you a great deal, but I am so grateful you gave me the time. There is absolutely no one else I could have told.”

Vespasia smiled. There was pleasure in her eyes. “I had no errands of importance,” she dismissed the subject. “Please consider what you do regarding Voisey. Since he and Jack are in agreement about Tanqueray’s bill, you have every excuse to take an interest in him. But do not for an instant imagine that he is foolish, or assume that he will necessarily underestimate you.” Vespasia rose to her feet. “I am going to look much more deeply into the whole subject of anarchy, and why on earth a young man like Magnus Landsborough should be prepared to give up a very agreeable life in order to pursue it.”

Charlotte rose also. “Thank you,” she said softly. “I really am very grateful.”

“For heaven’s sake, don’t say anything,” Emily urged late in the afternoon as she and Charlotte took their seats in the Strangers’ Gallery in the House of Commons. The debate was about to begin in which Tanqueray’s bill would be discussed. Around them was the rustle of silks and repositioning by ladies to either side of them—wishing to see over the rail, all dressed in the extravagant height of fashion. Emily leaned forward. “There he is,” she whispered eagerly.

Charlotte followed her gaze, but could not see Jack, whose handsome head would have been easily distinguishable. “Where?” she asked.

“Halfway along, just behind the front bench,” Emily replied. “Sort of reddish-brown, like a rather faded fox.”

“What?”

“Voisey, Charlotte! Not Jack,” she hissed.

“Oh, yes. Which is Tanqueray?”

“I don’t know. He’s about forty-five, apparently, but I know nothing of his appearance.”

They were only just in time. The Speaker in his wig and robes called for order. The Home Secretary mentioned the subject of anarchists and general violence in the East End, and that the government had given it careful consideration and would formulate its plans accordingly.

There were boos and hisses of contempt from Her Majesty’s Loyal Opposition. A few moments of general insults and applause ensued, then a man with a soft, blunt face rose to his feet. The lights shone in his thick hair, which was winged with white at the temples. The Speaker recognized him as the honorable member for Newcastle-under-Lyme.

“That’s Tanqueray,” Emily whispered to Charlotte. “I recognize his constituency.”

Tanqueray began by expressing the grief of the House in general for the fear and loss of property of the people in Myrdle Street, and then elaborated to include the whole of the East End. He then spoke of the implied possibility of anarchism progressing to the rest of London.

“Gentlemen, we must address this threat now!” he said fervently. All in the House waited with bated breath. Tanqueray outlined the measures he had in mind to make guns available to every police station. He further proposed that the law itself be changed to give police on patrol the right to stop whoever they wished and to search their persons or their homes or premises of business.

The floor of the House erupted in cries of approval, a ripple of applause and shouts of “Hear, hear!” Even the Opposition voiced no serious argument.

Charlotte stiffened, waiting for the added measure about questioning servants. She glanced momentarily at Emily beside her and Emily gave her a tiny, bleak smile.

In front of them a large woman in bombazine clutched the hand of the younger woman next to her. “There you are, my dear,” she whispered fiercely. “I knew we should be protected.”

Tanqueray detailed his plan, with many stories of the hardship suffered by ordinary people because of robbery, arson, and the threats of violence. Each one was greeted with murmurs of sympathy and outrage. “We must do all we can!” he finished. “It is our duty to the country to exercise every power and discretion we have. And I pledge that I will never rest until we have given our police every assistance possible, and every protection in the fulfillment of their task to keep us safe.”

The moment he resumed his seat amid a tumult of applause, Jack Radley demanded to be heard, and was backed vigorously by his own leader.

Emily smiled, but she drew in her breath. Charlotte saw her hands clench, pulling the fabric of her gloves tight across her knuckles.

“My honorable friend refers to the hardships of ordinary people,” Jack began. “He quite rightly says that they must be protected in the pursuit of their business and their lives. Their homes and families must be safe. That is the prime duty of the police.”

There were murmurs of approval. Tanqueray looked pleased with himself.

Voisey’s face darkened.

“I believe this will not be served by refusing to give them the same rights of dignity and privacy that we ourselves wish to enjoy,” Jack continued.

There was a stunned silence. People turned to each other in puzzlement. What did he mean?

“Is there any man here who is happy to have policemen searching his home?” Jack asked, gazing around at the members. “Reading his letters, looking through his belongings? Perhaps his personal clothes and effects, his bedroom, his study? Even his wife’s gowns and petticoats and gloves, because that policeman might think you have hidden something among them that might be contrary to the law?”

There were murmurings of alarm rising to anger. Members turned to each other, looking for support, and to assess if there could possibly be agreement for such deeply offensive ideas.

Emily closed her eyes and gave a groan. Her shoulders were locked, hunched forward. Her hands gripped each other in her lap.

Charlotte could see that she was afraid. She knew how much of both social and political success were dependent upon patronage. Jack was on the brink of the promotion he had worked so hard to achieve, and here he was as if bound and determined to make enemies.

“If they can do this,” Jack continued with dreadful clarity, as if determined now to seal his own fate, “what else may they do purely in the pursuit of curiosity? Might they read your wine merchant’s bill? The letter from your tailor, your banker, your father-in-law…heaven forgive us, your mistress?”

There was a splutter of laughter, but it was a slightly hysterical sound, utterly without joy.

“And what will the servants make of it?” Jack asked, shrugging his shoulders deliberately.

Emily sat rigid, craning as far forward as she could.

“Police in the house, searching everyone’s things will offer the cook the chance she has always been looking for to give notice!” It was a very real threat. No one with a good cook wanted to lose her. Their social success or failure too often depended upon it.

Charlotte gave silent applause in her mind. To have reminded people of their creature comforts and their popularity in one stroke was masterly.

Jack continued as soon as the mutterings died down sufficiently. He did not mention the issue of servants again. Instead he argued that the success of the police, who were drawn largely from precisely the class of people most likely to be stopped or searched, depended upon the support of the community. He gave moving examples, and ended by stating that he thought Tanqueray’s bill was excessive and misjudged.

Two members argued in support of it, pouring into their speeches both emotion and logic.

Then Voisey rose. The rustles died away to silence. The woman in black beside Charlotte murmured something in approval. Charlotte had no idea whether the woman knew what Voisey was going to say, or not.

He began by praising Jack’s words and his courage in saying them, at possible cost to himself. He was a man of principle not expediency. At this point Emily shot a rueful glance sideways. Charlotte met her eyes, then looked back at Voisey. No matter what he said, she must never forget that he was the enemy. She must study him until she found his vulnerability, personal or professional: a dream, a hope, a mistake, anything at all.