Betrayal at Lisson Grove (Treason at Lisson Grove)

Stoker did not hesitate. “Looks like it could be someone at Mr. Narraway’s bank, sir. I daresay one time and another, he’s made some enemies. Or it could just be someone willing to be paid. Nice to think that wouldn’t happen, but maybe a bit innocent. There’d be those with enough money to buy most things.”

“I suppose so,” Croxdale replied. “Perhaps Narraway found out already? That would explain a great deal. What other news have you from Ireland?”

Stoker told him about Narraway’s connections, whom he had spoken to and their reactions, the confrontation with O’Neil at the soirée. Never once did he mention Charlotte. At least some of what he described was so unlike Narraway, panicky and protective, that it seemed as if his whole character had fallen apart.

Pitt listened with disbelief and mounting anger at what he felt had to be a betrayal.

“Thank you, Stoker,” Croxdale said sadly. “A tragic end to what was a fine career. Give your report on Paris to Mr. Pitt.”

“Yes, sir.”

Stoker left, and Croxdale turned to Pitt. “I think that makes the picture clearer. Gower was the traitor, which I admit I still find hard to credit, but what you say makes it impossible to deny. We may have the disaster contained, but we can’t take it for granted. Make as full an investigation as you can, Pitt, and report to me. Keep an eye to what’s going on in Europe and if there is anything we should inform the French of, then we’ll do so. In the meantime there’s plenty of other political trouble to keep us busy, but I’m sure you know that.” He rose to his feet, extending his hand. “Take care of yourself, Pitt. You have a difficult and dangerous job, and your country needs you more than it will ever appreciate.”

Pitt shook his hand and thanked him, going out into the night without any awareness of the sudden chill. The coldness was already inside him. What Stoker had said of Narraway’s bank betraying him could be true, although he did not believe it. The rest seemed a curious set of exaggerations and lies. Pitt could not accept that Narraway had fallen apart so completely, either to steal anything in the first place, or to so lose the fundamental values of his past as to behave in the way Stoker had described. Pitt could not possibly believe that Narraway was a cold-blooded murderer. And surely Stoker must at the very least have noticed Charlotte?

Or was Stoker the traitor at Lisson Grove?

He was floundering, like a man in quicksand. None of his judgments was sound. He had trusted Stoker, he had even liked Gower. Narraway he would have sworn his own life on … He admitted, he still would. Something had to be amiss. The Narraway that Pitt had known would never kill for any reason other than self-defense.

Croxdale’s carriage was waiting to take him home. He half saw the shadow of a man on the pavement who moved toward him, but he ignored it. The coachman opened the door for him and he climbed in, sitting miserable and shivering all the way back to Keppel Street. He was glad it was late. He did not want to make the intense effort it would cost to hide his disillusion from Daniel and Jemima. If he was fortunate, even Minnie Maude would be asleep.

I

N THE MORNING HE was halfway to Lisson Grove when he changed his mind and went instead to see Vespasia. It was too early for any kind of social call, but if he had to wait until she rose, then he was willing to. His need to speak with her was so urgent he was prepared to break all the rules of etiquette, even of consideration, trusting that she would see his purpose beyond his discourtesy.

In fact she was already up and taking breakfast. He accepted tea, but he had no need to eat.

“Is your new maid feeding you properly?” Vespasia asked with a touch of concern.

“Yes,” he answered, his own surprise coming through his voice. “Actually she’s perfectly competent, and seems very pleasant. It wasn’t …” He saw her wry smile and stopped.

“It wasn’t to seek recommendation for a new maid that you came at this hour of the morning,” she finished for him. “What is it, Thomas? You look very troubled indeed. I assume something new has occurred?”

He told her everything that had happened since they last spoke, including his dismay and disappointment over Stoker’s sudden change of loyalties, and the brutal details with which he had described Narraway’s falling apart.

“I seem to be completely incompetent at judging anyone’s character,” he said miserably. He would like to have been able to say it with some dry wit, but he felt so inadequate that he was afraid he sounded self-pitying.

She listened without interrupting. She poured him more tea, then grimaced that the pot was cold.

“It doesn’t matter,” he said quickly. “I don’t need more.”