Betrayal at Lisson Grove (Treason at Lisson Grove)

“No,” Pitt replied. “But I’ve been on your side of them often enough, as I told you. I’m a policeman myself. I have another number I would like you to call, seeing that Mr. Narraway doesn’t seem to be there. Please. I need to let someone know where I am. My wife and family, at least.”

“ ’Oo would that be, sir?” The constable put down the tea and backed out of the cell again, closing and locking the door. “You give me the number and I’ll do it. Everyone deserves that much.”

“Lady Vespasia Cumming-Gould,” Pitt replied. “I’ll write the number down for you, if you give me a pencil.”

“You jus’ tell me, sir. I’ll write it down.”

Pitt obeyed. There was no point in arguing.

The man returned ten minutes later, his face wide-eyed and a trifle pale.

“She says as she knows yer, sir. Described yer to a T, she did. Says as ye’re one o’ the best policemen in London, an’ Mr. Narraway’s ’oo yer said ’e were, but summink’s ’appened to ’im. She’s sending a Member o’ Parliament down ter get yer out of ’ere, an’ as we’d better treat yer proper, or she’ll be ’avin’ a word wi’ the chief constable. I dunno if she’s real, sir. I ’ope yer understand I gotter keep yer in ’ere till this gentleman comes, wi’ proof ’e’s wot ’e says ’e is, an’ all. ’e could be anyone, but I know I got two dead bodies on the tracks.”

“Of course,” Pitt said wearily. He would not tell him that Gower was Special Branch, and Pitt had not known that he was a traitor until yesterday. “Of course I’ll wait here,” he said aloud. “I’d be obliged if you didn’t take me before the magistrate until the man arrives that Lady Vespasia sends.”

“Yes, sir, I think as we can arrange that.” He sighed. “I think as we’d better. Next time yer come from Southampton, sir, I’d be obliged if yer’d take some other line!”

Pitt managed a lopsided smile. “Actually I’d prefer this one. Given the circumstances, you’ve been very fair.”

The constable was lost for words. He struggled, but clearly nothing he could think of seemed adequate.

It was nearly two hours later that Mr. Somerset Carlisle, MP, came sauntering into the police station, elegantly dressed, his curious face filled with a rueful amusement. Many years ago he had committed a series of outrages in London, to draw attention to an injustice against which he had no other weapon. Pitt had been the policeman who led the investigation. The murder had been solved, and he had seen no need to pursue the man who had so bizarrely brought it to public attention. Carlisle had remained grateful, becoming an ally in several cases since then.

On this occasion he had with him all his identification verifying the considerable office he held. Within ten minutes Pitt was a free man, brushing aside the apologies of the local police and assuring them that they had performed their duties excellently, and he found no fault with them.

“What the devil’s going on?” Carlisle asked as they walked outside into the sun and headed in the direction of the railway station. “Vespasia called me in great agitation this morning, saying you had been charged with a double murder! You look like hell. Do you need a doctor?” There was laughter in his voice, but his eyes reflected a very real anxiety.

“A fight,” Pitt explained briefly. He found walking with any grace very difficult. He had not realized at the time how bruised he was. “On the platform at the back of a railway carriage traveling at considerable speed.” He told Carlisle very briefly what had happened.

Carlisle nodded. “It’s a very dark situation. I don’t know the whole story, but I’d be very careful what you do, Pitt. Vespasia told me to get you to her house, not Lisson Grove. In fact she advised me strongly against letting you go there at all.”

Pitt was cold. The sunlit street, the clatter of traffic all seemed unreal. “What’s happened to Narraway?”

“I don’t know. I’ve heard whispers, but I don’t know the truth. If anyone does, it’ll be Vespasia. But I’ll take you to my flat first. Clean you up a bit. You look as if you’ve spent the night in jail!”

TWO HOURS LATER, HE was washed, shaved, and dressed in a clean shirt, provided by Carlisle, as well as clean socks and underwear. Pitt alighted from the hansom cab outside Vespasia’s house and walked up to the front door. She was expecting him, and he was taken straight to her favorite sitting room, which looked onto the garden. There was a bowl of fresh narcissi on the table, their scent filling the air. Outside the breeze very gently stirred the new leaves on the trees.

Vespasia was dressed in silver-gray, with the long ropes of pearls he was so accustomed to seeing her wear. She looked calm, as she always did, and her beauty still moved him with a certain awe. However, he knew her well enough to see the profound anxiety in her eyes. It alarmed him, and he was too tired to hide it.

She looked him up and down. “I see Somerset lent you a shirt and cravat,” she observed with a faint smile.

“Is it so obvious?” he asked, standing in front of her.