Long Spoon Lane (23 page)

Voisey swore, and let out his breath slowly. This time he did not bother to hide his emotion. His cheeks were flushed, almost hiding the blotchy freckles. “I knew it!” he said between clenched teeth. “The corruption goes all the way! Who told you about Piers Denoon? Wetron?”

“Indirectly,” Pitt said.

Very deliberately Voisey glanced at Wellington’s tomb. “Great tactician,” he said, his expression now impossible to read; there was irony in it, amusement, anger. “Do you know about his ‘scorched earth’ policy? I don’t think you would approve of it.” The inflection in his voice suggested that his own opinion was different, and that the disagreement in Pitt was based on some kind of weakness, a failure of courage.

He looked again at the huge, imposing tomb.

Pitt was at a disadvantage, as was undoubtedly Voisey’s intention. “I assume this scorched-earth policy has some relevance to Wetron, or Denoon, or you would not bother mentioning it now?”

“Of course it has, but he’s not a lovable hero, is he!” That was a remark almost thrown away. “I imagine you prefer Nelson. They all adored him. And of course he had the exquisite good taste to die on deck at the height of his greatest victory. Who could question him after that? It seems like blasphemy. Whereas Wellington, stupid sod, had the poor judgment to come home safe and sound, and go on to be prime minister. Unforgivable.”

Voisey flashed a brief smile. “He won in Vimiero early in the Peninsular War, then the year after chased the French army all the way to Madrid. But when they forced him to retreat, in 1810, he laid waste to the land behind him as he moved on. Ugly, but very effective.”

“You admire it?” Pitt asked, then realized how he had betrayed his own revulsion.

Voisey savored the moment. “Do you want to separate the man from the campaign?” he asked with a lift in his voice. “Without Wellington, Napoleon might have won. Almost certainly he would have. He was a genius. Or don’t you think so?” There was a challenge in his voice, undisguised.

“Of course he was,” Pitt agreed. “A little ill-considered to attack Moscow! A wiser man might have learned from the scorched-earth policy in Spain. Maybe he didn’t appreciate that scorched and frozen are essentially the same when it comes to feeding an army.”

Voisey’s eyes widened, a flash of humor in them. “You know, Pitt, I could almost forget myself and like you! Just when I think you are utterly predictable, you surprise me.”

“Very arrogant to think you can predict someone,” Pitt observed. “And arrogance is stupid, sometimes fatally so. We can’t afford that.”

“One moment you are pedestrian,” Voisey went on as if Pitt had not spoken, but the sharp angle of his body betrayed his tension. “The next acutely perceptive, then complacent to the point of idiocy! Perhaps it comes from being half gamekeeper, half would-be gentleman.”

Pitt forced himself to smile. The slur on his heritage stung. Why did Voisey feel a need to attack him so sharply that he could not govern it? What was it in Pitt that disturbed him so much that he did not hide it? “Does Wellington’s scorched-earth policy in the Peninsular War have anything at all to do with Wetron and the anarchist bombs, or Simbister and Denoon?” he asked curiously. “Or did you just want to see if I knew as much military history as you did?”

Quite suddenly Voisey started laughing, openly and with apparently quite genuine humor.

Pitt had to remind himself that Voisey hated him. Voisey had caused the death of the Reverend Rae, a good and innocent old man, and he had killed Mario Corena himself, even if he had been forced into it. He was behind scores of other acts of greed and destruction. His wit and essential humanity, his power to laugh or to be hurt were irrelevant. His hate was all that mattered, and Pitt must never forget it. If he did, it could cost him all he had.

“Do you think Wetron is planning to scorch the earth if he’s forced to retreat?” Pitt asked aloud.

“I think he’ll burn it to a cinder,” Voisey replied. “Don’t you?”

“Only if he is sure he’s lost. He is a long way from losing now.”

Voisey was still watching him intently. If anyone else passed by the tombs of the famous, neither of them saw or heard. “I think he’ll be happy to cast Sergeant Tellman into the flames,” Voisey said softly. “And he could most certainly do it.”

“Of course,” Pitt agreed. “But he won’t destroy a tool he believes he can use.”

“Against whom?” Voisey raised his eyebrows. “He would hurt you far more by destroying Tellman than anything else he could do.” There was a sharp, satisfied glitter in his eye. “You would miss him, but the guilt for using him, and putting him in the path of such danger, would corrode inside you forever.” He stared at Pitt, trying to read his mind and touch the soft, vulnerable passions inside, to see where the center of pain lay. Was he speaking of Wetron? Or reminding Pitt that he too could do that if he chose?

Pitt looked away from Voisey and regarded the monument to Wellington. “He was a great soldier,” he remarked almost casually. “I suppose victors have certain things in common. One is that they don’t go chasing personal vanities, petty issues of vengeance or justification, instead of the main cause.” His eyes followed the name on the marble facade. “He would never have left the field of Waterloo to fight a duel with one man, whoever he was. He would have chosen his lieutenants for their ability, not because he liked or disliked them, or for favors owed or expected. He never lost sight of the real goal.” He looked back at Voisey. “That’s a rare quality, the ability to concentrate. I think Wetron has that, don’t you?”

A flush of fury washed up Voisey’s cheeks. They both knew Wetron had beaten Voisey to take over the leadership of the Inner Circle. It was the last thing he wanted to be reminded of.

“It isn’t over yet,” he said in a thin, hard voice. “Don’t they say ‘he laughs best who laughs last’? Don’t be arrogant, Pitt.” There was an edge of spite to that, a warning of how thin the veneer of wit or alliance was. “If you imagine because you beat him once that you can do it every time, you’re more of a fool than I took you to be, and you’re no use to me as an ally, except as cannon fodder!” He said the last words with immeasurable contempt.

“A soldier who won’t face the cannons is not much use to anyone,” Pitt pointed out. “So far the best attack from our side has come through Tellman. It is in both our interests to do what we can to keep him alive. If that means letting Wetron imagine he can feed information both ways, I’ll do that. However, it seems that Piers Denoon is definitely linked to the anarchists, by providing money to them. When he felt threatened, he went straight to Simbister, at one o’clock in the morning. And he was admitted.”

“The question,” Voisey said slowly, “is how much is Edward Denoon behind the anarchists? And can we prove it? Or for that matter, how much did Sheridan Landsborough know about his son’s activities?”

“It could be anything, or nothing,” Pitt answered. “And while it is interesting, it doesn’t help us fight against the bill. All it will tell us, at best, is which side they ally with. So far we know from his newspaper that Denoon is for the bill, and Landsborough has said nothing at all.”

“What will he say?” Voisey asked softly.

“I don’t know. He’s lost his only son. I daresay he doesn’t know either. But this new side of the bill may be a step too far. It could be a blackmailer’s charter.”

“The right to question servants without the master knowing?” Voisey said bitterly, his face tight with anger. “Of course it’s a blackmailer’s charter, for God’s sake! Wetron could have the leaders of the nation in his hands. Is there any man in England whose valet doesn’t know something about him that he would rather were not repeated? Even if it is only that he wears a corset to hold his belly in, or that his wife would rather sleep with the footman—although with luck she has more sense than actually to do it.”

“Probably not,” Pitt agreed. “But that is its weakness, not its strength. It means that no one will feel secure enough to vote for it.”

Voisey closed his eyes. “You are beautifully naive! At least it would be beautiful, if it weren’t so damn dangerous.” His eyes opened wide. “They won’t phrase it like that, you fool! There’ll be all kinds of promises that it won’t apply to the innocent. They’ll swear it will only be used on those suspected of anarchist conspiracies. Every man in Parliament will know that he is either guiltless in that, or else he is already allied with Wetron, and imagines that protects him. And if he is in the Inner Circle, he is probably right. ‘The guilty flee where no man pursueth,’” he quoted. “And all too often the innocent stand rooted to the spot imagining their innocence will save them. Until it is too late to run.”

“Surely you have the skill, and either have or can acquire the knowledge to suggest to a few of your more articulate friends that there are issues in their private lives they would prefer no servant were pressured to speak of?” Pitt asked.

Voisey stood still for several seconds, a wry slow smile curving his lips. “Why, Pitt! You have quite a flair for blackmail yourself! How very interesting. I confess, I never suspected it of you.”

“You have to have some idea of what the crime is before you can become successful at solving it,” Pitt said drily.

Voisey pushed his hands into his pockets. “Now that much is obvious about Wetron,” he remarked. “I wonder why I never realized it about you? I accept the criticism.”

Pitt knew what he was doing. The comparison with Wetron was meant to hurt. “Because Wetron is head of the Inner Circle,” he replied levelly. “You likened him to yourself.”

The barb went home perfectly. He saw it in Voisey’s face. Voisey winced very slightly, then surprisingly he shrugged. “I underestimated you, Pitt. If you don’t lose your nerve, you could be really very useful. You have more intelligence than I thought you had. It’s your rather erratic conscience I worry about.”

Pitt grinned. “We all fear what we don’t know.”

Voisey gave a little grunt, but there was humor in his eyes. He started to walk slowly away from the tomb.

Pitt swung around and caught up with him. “You appear to have forgotten something,” he said.

“Do I?” Voisey did not stop.

“You told me when you suggested this…collaboration…that you had particular knowledge to bring to it regarding the Inner Circle. It is time you offered some. To begin with, is Sheridan Landsborough a member?”

“No,” Voisey said with hesitation. “Unless he has joined in the last half year, which I suppose is possible, but I doubt it. Rather high-flown ideals—that eccentric conscience again. Self-indulgent.” His eyes caught Pitt’s and flickered away. “Would never have left Waterloo to fight a personal duel, but he might well have left it to rescue a drowning dog, or something of the sort. Highly impractical. Now we would all be speaking French.”

“I always thought anarchy was a little impractical.” Pitt fell into step with him. “I like ideals, but only those that actually work. And considering what will work, you must know several of the members of Parliament who are in the Circle, and know them well enough to be aware of what they would rather keep out of police hands. Remind them of the dangers.”

“Inner Circle members do not betray one another,” Voisey said as they approached the steps up into the main body of the cathedral. “That is one of its great strengths—loyalty above all.”

“Yes, I know,” Pitt agreed. “And the penalty for betrayal is death. I’ve seen it. Is Parliament planning that only those police in the Inner Circle are to have the power to question people’s servants?”

Voisey turned and missed his step, catching his balance by gripping onto the rail. “Your point is well taken,” he said quietly. “It is a weapon we must use. Next time we will make it Turner’s memorial.”

“Good,” Pitt agreed. “I like Turner.”

Voisey smiled. “Police must earn a better wage than I thought! Have you many Turners at home? Or do you have lots of time to go around to the galleries?”

“Robbery detail,” Pitt replied with a smile. “Not much point in trying to recover a stolen painting you wouldn’t recognize from a forgery.”

“Fascinating,” Voisey said drily. “Police work is obviously more complex than I thought.” He continued up the steps towards the host of people who were gathering, staring around them.

“The house where I grew up had a Turner,” Pitt went on. “I always preferred him to Constable. It’s all in the use of light.” He smiled at Voisey and walked away. It was true; the estate on which his father had been gamekeeper had had several fine paintings. But Pitt let Voisey make his own assumption.

Pitt reported to Narraway briefly. He needed him to know about Piers Denoon and Simbister, not that he expected him to be surprised.

“So Denoon is running with the hare and hunting with the hounds,” Narraway remarked, stretching out in his chair and regarding Pitt. “Or father and son are on different sides? Interesting. What about the Landsboroughs? Were they on different sides also? Sheridan Landsborough used to be extremely liberal in his youth. He had a considerable social conscience and deplored what he perceived as heavy-handed government. ‘Interference’ was the word he used. But then, as they say, every man with a heart is liberal in his youth, and every man with a head is conservative in his old age. What is he now, Pitt? Mature preserver of order, or senile tolerator of license?” He raised his eyebrows. “Wise politician, bereaved father, husband who wants peace in his home? Brother to defend his sister’s son? Or simply a man confused, hurt, and out of his depth?”

“I don’t know,” Pitt admitted. “I’ve been too busy pursuing police corruption.” He said it with defiance, not in anger in case he were attacked, but simply in a statement to Narraway that that was his priority. He cared very much who had killed Magnus Landsborough, but solving that crime would have to wait upon the larger issue. He did not even know if the murder had been personal or political. That was the next thing he intended to learn. He told Narraway about Jones the Pocket, and his plan to make the next collection of extortion money himself.

Narraway sat up straight. “I don’t like it, Pitt,” he said quietly. “I can’t protect you—or Tellman. You’ve left him wide open.”