Betrayal at Lisson Grove (Treason at Lisson Grove)

The butler brought the sandwiches, which were excellent. Pitt took an unaccustomed glass of whiskey with it, but declined a second. To have the fire inside him was good, his heart beating a little faster. However, to be fuzzy-headed could be disastrous.

Croxdale considered in silence for some time before he replied. Pitt waited him out.

“I am certain you have done the right thing,” Croxdale said at length. “The situation requires very careful watching, but at this point we cannot afford your absence from Lisson Grove. This fearful business with Narraway has changed all our priorities.”

Pitt was aware that Croxdale was watching him far more closely than at a glance it might seem. He tried to keep his expression respectful, concerned, but not as if he were already aware of the details.

Croxdale sighed. “I imagine it comes as a shock to you, as it does to me. Perhaps we should all have seen some warning, but I admit I did not. Of course we are aware of people’s financial interests—we would be remiss not to be. Narraway has no urgent need of money, as far as we know. This whole business with O’Neil is of long standing, some twenty years or more.” He looked closely at Pitt, his brows drawn together. “Did he tell you anything about it?”

“No, sir.”

“Old case. All very ugly, but I thought it was over at the time. We all did. Very briefly, Narraway was in charge of the Irish situation, and we knew there was serious trouble brewing. As indeed there was. He foiled it so successfully that there was never any major news about it. Only afterward did we learn what the price had been.”

Pitt did not need to pretend his ignorance, or the growing fear inside him, chilling his body.

Croxdale shook his head minutely, his face clouded with unhappiness. “Narraway used one of their own against them, a woman named Kate O’Neil. The details I don’t know, and I prefer to be able to claim ignorance. The end of it was that the woman’s husband killed her, rather messily, and was tried and hanged for it.”

Pitt was stunned. Was Narraway really as ruthless as that story implied? He pictured Narraway’s face in all the circumstances they had known each other through: success and failure; exhaustion, fear, disappointment; the conclusion of dozens of battles, won or lost. Reading Narraway defied reason: It was instinct, the trust that had grown up over time in all sorts of ways. It took him a painful and uncertain effort to conceal his feelings. He tried to look confused.

“If all this happened twenty years ago, what is it that has changed now?” he asked.

Croxdale was only momentarily taken aback. “We don’t know,” he replied. “Presumably something in O’Neil’s own situation.”

“I thought you said he was hanged?”

“Oh yes, the husband was; that was Sean O’Neil. But his brother Cormac is still very much alive. They were unusually close, even for an Irish family,” Croxdale explained.

“Then why did Cormac wait twenty years for his revenge? I assume you are saying that Narraway took the money in some way because of O’Neil?”

Croxdale hesitated, then looked at Pitt guardedly. “You know, I have no idea. Clearly we need to know a good deal more than we do at present. I assume it is to do with O’Neil because Narraway went almost immediately to Ireland.”

This question nagged at Pitt, but Croxdale cleared his throat and continued on, once again in his usual tones of assuredness.

“This regrettable defection of Narraway’s has astounded us all, but at the same time, we must keep sight of the greater threat: the ominous socialist activity cropping up. There seem to be plots on all sides. I’m sure what you and Gower were witness to is part of some larger and possibly very dangerous plan. The socialist tide has been rising for some time in Europe, as we are all aware. I can no longer have Narraway in charge, obviously. I need the very best I can find, a man I can trust morally and intellectually, whose loyalty is beyond question and who has no ghosts from the past to sabotage our present attempts to safeguard our country, and all it stands for.”

Pitt blinked. “Of course.” Did that mean that Croxdale knew Austwick was the traitor? Pitt had been avoiding the issue, waiting, judging pointlessly. It was a relief. Croxdale was clever, more reliable than he had thought. Then how could he think such things of Narraway?

But what was Pitt’s judgment to rely on? He had trusted Gower!

Croxdale was still looking at him intently.

Pitt could think of nothing to say.

“We need a man who knows what Narraway was doing and can pick up the reins he dropped,” Croxdale said. “You are the only man who fits that description, Pitt. It’s a great deal to ask of you, but there is no one else, and your skills and integrity are things about which I believe Narraway was both right and honest.”

“But … Austwick …,” Pitt stammered. “He …”