Betrayal at Lisson Grove (Treason at Lisson Grove)

He tried to imprint it on his mind. He would tell Charlotte about it, how beautiful it was, how it was like stepping back in time. He should bring her here one day, take her to dine where the shellfish was so superb. She hardly ever left London, let alone England. It would be fun, different. He imagined seeing her again so vividly he could almost smell the perfume of her hair, hear her voice in his mind. He would tell her about the city, the sea, the tastes and the sounds of it all. He wouldn’t have to dwell on the events that had brought him to France, only on the good.

Someone bumped against him, and for a moment he forgot to be startled. Then the chill ran through him, and he realized how his attention had wandered.

The man apologized.

Pitt spoke with difficulty, his mouth dry. “It’s nothing.”

The man smiled. “Lost my balance. Not used to the sea.”

Pitt nodded, but he moved away from the rail and went back into the main cabin. He stayed there for the rest of the crossing, drinking tea and having a breakfast of fresh bread, cheese, and a little sliced ham. He tried to look as if he were at ease.

When they reached Southampton he went ashore carrying the light case he had bought in France and looking like any other holidaymaker returning home. It was midday. The quayside was busy with people disembarking, or waiting to take the next ferry out.

He went straight to the railway station, eager to catch the first train to London. He would go home, wash, and dress in clean clothes. Then if he were lucky, he’d just have time to catch Narraway before he left Lisson Grove for the evening. Thank heaven for the telephone. At least he would be able to call and arrange to meet with him wherever was convenient. Maybe with his news about Gower, a rendezvous at Narraway’s home would be better.

He felt easier now. France seemed very far away, and he had had no glimpse of Gower on the boat. He must have satisfied him with his explanation.

The station was unusually busy, crowded with people all seemingly in an ill humor. He discovered why when he bought his ticket for London.

“Sorry, sir,” the ticket seller said wearily. “We got a problem at Shoreham-by-Sea, so there’s a delay.”

“How long a delay?”

“Can’t say, sir. Maybe an hour or more.”

“But the train is running?” Pitt insisted. Suddenly he was anxious to leave Southampton, as if it was still dangerous.

“Yes, sir, it will be. D’yer want a ticket fer it or not?”

“Yes I do. There’s no other way to London, is there?”

“No, sir, not unless yer want ter take a different route. Some folk are doing that, but it’s longer, an’ more expensive. Trouble’ll be cleared soon, I daresay.”

“Thank you. I’ll have one ticket to London, please.”

“Return, sir? Would you like first, second, or third class?”

“Just one way, thank you, and second class will be fine.”

He paid for it and went back toward the platform, which was getting steadily more and more crowded. He couldn’t even pace backward and forward to release some of the tension that was mounting inside him, as it seemed to be for everyone else. Women were trying to comfort fretful children; businessmen pulled pocket watches out of their waistcoats and stared at the time again and again. Pitt kept glancing around him, but there was no sign of Gower, although he was not sure if he would have noticed him in the ever-increasing crowd.

He bought a sandwich and a pint of cider at two o’clock, when there was still no news. At three he eventually took the train to Worthing, and hoped to catch another train from there, perhaps to London via a different route. At least leaving Southampton gave him an illusion of achieving something. As he made his way toward a seat in the last carriage, again he had the feeling of having escaped.

The carriage was nearly full. He was fortunate there was room for him to sit. Everyone else had been waiting for some time and they were all tired, anxious, and looking forward to getting home. Even if this train did not take them all the way, at least they were moving.

One woman held a crying two-year-old, trying to comfort her. The little girl was rubbing her eyes and sniffing. It made him think of Jemima at that age. How long ago that seemed. Pitt guessed this girl had been on holiday and was now confused as to where she was going next, and why. He had some sympathy for her, and it made him engage the mother in conversation for the first two stops. Then the movement of the train and the rhythmic clatter over the connections on the rail lulled the child to sleep, and the mother finally relaxed.

Several people got off at Bognor Regis, and more at Angmering. By the time they reached Worthing and stopped altogether, there were only half a dozen people left in Pitt’s carriage.

“Sorry, gents,” the guard said, tipping his cap back a little and scratching his head. “This is as far as we go, till they get the track cleared at Shoreham.”