The Angel Court Affair (Thomas Pitt 30) (7 page)

Smith moved a step closer to Ramon. ‘For once I agree completely. There are certain papers I would like to show you, Mr Pitt.’

Ramon drew in his breath sharply, then looked at Smith and changed his mind about arguing.

Smith turned back to Pitt. ‘If you would come with me to my office . . .’ He began to walk away, his bearing stiff, and very upright.

Pitt nodded to Ramon, and then followed after Smith out of the hall into a corridor, leaving Ramon standing alone, his face reflecting the trouble within him. Ramon did not seem to be aware of Henrietta Navarro marching towards him, her angular frame stooped a little forward.

Smith led Pitt to a room that had been made into an office, which was very pleasant, if a little dark. The mullioned windows looked out on to the court itself. The direct sun was blocked by the height of the surrounding buildings, leaving only a gentle light. He closed the door and invited Pitt to be seated.

Pitt waited for Smith to open a drawer for the papers he had referred to, but instead he simply sat down on the opposite side of the desk and folded his hands.

‘I am reluctant to tell you so much,’ he began, ‘but I fear that events have made it necessary. It is after eleven o’clock, and we have had no word from Señora Delacruz, or either of the women who appear to have gone with her. This has never happened before, and is entirely out of her character. She is committed to the cause.’

Pitt did not interrupt him. He looked at Smith’s high-boned, rather pale face and found himself unable to read it. He appeared worried, but not deeply afraid. That could have been so for many reasons. Perhaps he knew that Sofia had disappeared by intent, to create a stir, and thereby reach a far wider audience. Did he disapprove or did he find it manipulating and insincere? Was that what he had meant by there being many ways to teach?

Perhaps he even knew where she had gone, for some reason Sofia was reluctant to have other people know.

Worse, it was possible that he welcomed her disappearance because that would leave him as leader of this fast-growing sect, and free to take it in a direction he might prefer, or feel to be more likely to succeed.

Smith drew in a deep breath. ‘Sofia has come to England primarily to meet with Barton Hall, who is a cousin in some degree, although he is considerably older than she. She did not hide from me that it is a matter of some urgency, although I have no idea why. Hall is apparently in good health.’ He stopped, waiting for Pitt to respond.

‘And the “mission”?’ Pitt asked curiously. If Smith were right then it altered the way in which he should look at everything that had happened.

Smith bit his lip. ‘It is a chance to preach that we should not lose, and I believe much wiser we do not make it obvious that meeting Hall was Sofia’s real purpose in coming to England.’

Pitt looked at Smith. He was sitting uncomfortably, his back straight, his hands clasped in front of him, knuckles white – but there was no wavering in his eyes.

‘Do you know anything of their business?’ Pitt asked.

‘No,’ Smith replied. ‘But I came to believe that my first supposition that it was a family matter was at least partially mistaken, perhaps entirely.’

‘What changed your mind?’ Pitt said. He wanted far more than simply to know Smith’s decision; he needed the reasons for it. His own conclusion might be different. If Sofia Delacruz had come to England for a reason other than her religious beliefs, or to resolve an old quarrel, then that other reason might explain her absence now.

Smith frowned. ‘It is hard to be precise, and I feel somewhat foolish about it,’ he said hesitantly. ‘If it had been clear to me then I should have prevented this, and you will think me incompetent . . .’

That word again. ‘Incompetent?’ Pitt said ruefully. ‘If she has gone away in order to whip up greater public interest in her message, then she has duped me, and I assume you also. If something unpleasant has happened to her, then it is my charge to protect her, and therefore my inadequacy that she is now missing.’

For a moment Smith looked embarrassed, almost compassionate, then it was gone again. ‘I have known her for nearly six years,’ he stated. ‘If she went willingly then I should have seen it coming. At least I should have been more aware of the danger. Having seen the threatening letters, I believed those who wrote them to have been no more than cranks, people whose words were violent, but who had not the courage to act.’ He smiled sourly. ‘At least not so criminally . . .’

‘What gave you the thought that she was not here to resolve an old family quarrel?’ Pitt reverted to the earlier, still unanswered question.

‘From what she said to me of it, there was little chance that a meeting would make it better,’ Smith answered. ‘More likely it would raise old issues that are far better left to rest.’ He leaned forward a little. ‘When she was in her early twenties, about seventeen years ago, I think, she was betrothed to be married to someone extremely suitable, in her parents’ view.’

Pitt could well imagine what was to come, but he did not interrupt.

‘She refused to accept the man,’ Smith said with a faint shrug of his shoulders. ‘I have no idea why. She may have known something of him that was repellent to her. She never spoke of it to me. She simply left England and ran off to Spain. Or more accurately, first to France, then later to Spain, ending up in Toledo. There she met and married a Spanish man – Nazario Delacruz.’

‘Is that unforgivable?’ Pitt tried not to sound condescending about it, but it seemed such a trivial thing over which to carry a hatred for nearly two decades. Then he thought of his own sixteen-year-old daughter, and how he would feel if she ran away to a foreign country and married someone neither he nor Charlotte had ever met. ‘Is she happy?’ He asked the one question that would have mattered to him, had it been Jemima in that situation.

‘I believe so,’ Smith replied. ‘But that is not the issue.’ He looked away and smiled uncomfortably. ‘Nazario Delacruz was already married, with two young children. I know little of what actually happened, but it was both tragic and scandalous. That is what her family could not forgive.’

Pitt was grieved and confused. It seemed completely out of character of the woman he had met. Even Smith, sitting tensely a few feet away from him, was without the sort of emotion Pitt would have expected: distaste, even condemnation.

Smith was waiting for him to say something.

‘Then what is it that she feels she can accomplish in coming here now?’ he asked. It did not seem to make sense. Had he missed some element that changed the whole situation?

Smith took a deep breath. ‘She is not coming with regard to the past,’ he said quietly. ‘It is something current. She would not discuss it, even with me.’ There seemed to be much more that he wished to say and could not find the words, or did not trust himself to control his feelings.

Did he harbour feelings for her that he did not acknowledge? She was beautiful, in her own way, and, frightening in the depth of her conviction, her courage, whether well- or ill-judged.

‘Do you know Barton Hall?’ Pitt changed the direction of the enquiries a little.

‘Only from what Sofia has said.’ Smith made a small, rueful gesture. ‘He is a leading lay member of the Church of England. It is of great importance to him socially and, to do the man justice, perhaps spirituality as well.’ A shadow passed over his face. His voice was softer when he spoke. ‘There is a sense of continuity to it, the safety of what has been tested and sacrificed for over the centuries. Men have died for the right to have the Bible in the vernacular, freedom from the Church of Rome to preach and teach as they believed.’

Pitt was struck by his own indifference to it all in his life so far. Faith was not a passion, only a comforting presence in the background. Every village had its church tower or spire. It was the symbol of certainty over the ages, unchanging, infinitely reliable. Church bells rang on a Sunday morning, in city streets or village lanes; people in their best clothes walked along the paths, all in the one direction.

Memories came back to him from childhood. He had walked beside his mother, holding her hand. He could almost feel her grip again. Had she ever doubted? Or was that one of the many things, like her illness, that she had chosen to shield him from?

‘It takes a lot of courage to abandon the familiar and step outside the group,’ Smith said. ‘Barton Hall would have a great deal to lose. Being part of the establishment is necessary to his career. You have to be very certain it is better than what you already have.’

‘And true?’ Pitt asked.

Smith smiled slightly. ‘You can only know that by following it. Stronger and more beautiful, yes. True? I don’t think even Sofia was without her doubts, at times.’

‘You said he’s a lay person,’ Pitt prompted.

‘Oh, yes! She said Mr Hall is a banker of some considerable distinction. He is an officer of high standing in one of the investment banks. Perhaps even governor. He deals with the investments of the Church of England, which of course are enormous, and also of the Royal Family, whose fortune is not inconsiderable.’

Pitt was impressed. It was an almost incalculable weight of responsibility. Presumably Hall shared at least some of it with others. He tried to imagine what Sofia’s refusal of marriage had meant to him. Were any of his clients or colleagues aware of her affair in Toledo with a man already married? And a Roman Catholic, at that?

Why had she wished to see him now, so many years after the scandal?

‘Do you know what it was that brought Señora Delacruz here now so urgently?’ he said aloud.

‘No,’ Smith answered without hesitation. ‘I have wondered that since she first told me that she must come, and I broached the subject with her. But she refused to discuss it. I knew only that it was of the greatest importance to her. I had the impression that it was something she believed she owed Mr Hall and it could not wait. She has people in Spain who are desperately troubled and relying on her spiritual guidance. I have racked my mind as to what it could be, and I know no more now than I did the day she first mentioned it in Toledo. I’m sorry.’

‘Did you know that she was in communication with Mr Hall?’

‘No. She never mentioned it.’

Pitt knew from Smith’s face that he had nothing more to say on the subject. ‘Do you know if it might concern any of the threats she has received?’ he said instead.

Smith looked startled. ‘I had not connected the idea. Certainly not any she told me about. But if it was something she kept to herself, then of course it is possible.’ There was doubt in his voice. ‘But she was not running away from anyone. If she were it would not be to Barton Hall, or to somewhere as vulnerable as Angel Court. There are places in Spain where she would be far safer, and which would not require such travel.’

‘So even before she proposed coming here she received threats to her life?’ Pitt was not yet prepared to let the matter rest.

‘Yes,’ Smith agreed unhappily. ‘But it was almost always that God would destroy her, for blasphemy rather than an intent that the writer would.’

‘The writer was not the instrument of God?’

Smith’s lips tightened. ‘Sometimes. I don’t know whether to take such people seriously. Perhaps that is because my conviction is that anyone may believe whatever they wish. Intolerance is a greater offence against God than holding a strange or even inconsistent belief. You have the right to worship anything you wish – a pile of stones in your garden – as long as you do not injure others. God gave you that, and I have no right whatsoever to mock you, or prevent you doing so. And I know that—’ He stopped abruptly, and then looked at Pitt. ‘I can hear Sofia’s voice in my words. But that is the truth, whatever Barton Hall may believe. Please find her, Mr Pitt. This whole . . . whole journey has become a fiasco. I must keep up everyone’s spirits.’ He rose to his feet. ‘There is nothing more I can tell you. I doubt there is anything further Ramon could tell you, and certainly not Henrietta. Please don’t distress them unnecessarily.’

‘I will do all I can to protect them,’ Pitt promised. ‘Now may I see these letters, Mr Smith?’

‘Of course.’ Smith pulled open a drawer in the beautiful old oak desk and pulled out a pile of letters, still in their envelopes. He passed them over to Pitt, and then rose stiffly to his feet. ‘I shall leave you to read them.’

Pitt opened the first letter and read it. It was written in pen in a scrawled hand right from one side of the page to the other, tilting slightly downwards at the end of each line.

Sofia Delacruz,

You are a blasphemer against the God who created you.

You are feeding poison to the people who believe in truth and you should be stoned to death, as all liars deserve. You are a servant of the devil and will surely die in hell.

It was signed with a squiggle of lines that was indecipherable. Pitt put it aside as of little meaning.

The second was darker in tone, and written with a strong, firm hand.

Señora Delacruz,

Charity requires that I try to think of you as an ignorant and ambitious woman who has little idea of the damage you do with your seeds of discontent. Is there not enough violence in the world, enough rising up of the discontented masses, without you giving them the insane idea, the dreams of madmen, that they are destined to become gods one day?

Your ideas go beyond madness into the realms of evil.

You stray over the verge into the realms of sedition, as if your will is to have anarchy. You do not openly advocate bombings, murders and outrages, but they will be the inevitable outcome of your teachings that give men already primed to murder and destruction the belief that order is unnecessary and should be hurled down, and trodden upon. The order and civilisation that has adorned society since the Dark Ages should be overturned! Virtue, modesty and obedience are worthless and courage lies in creating chaos!