Ashworth Hall - Anne Perry [58]
He walked barefoot into the dressing room, which was also bitter, and started to put on his clothes. He could shave later. Now he needed to think. A hot cup of tea would help wake him up and clear his head. He knew where the upstairs pantry was, and the kettle.
He was halfway through boiling it, and the sky was graying outside, when Wheeler came in.
“Good morning, sir,” he said quietly. He never spoke in a normal voice until the guests were up. “May I prepare that for you?”
“Thank you.” Pitt stepped back. He was perfectly competent to do it himself, but he sensed that Wheeler wanted to. He felt more at ease doing his job than permitting someone else to.
Wheeler began with deft hands to lay a tray, which Pitt had not been going to bother with. The valet moved with a kind of grace. Pitt wondered what kind of a man he was when the mask of service was removed. What emotions had he, what interests?
“Would Mrs. Pitt like a tray also, sir?” Wheeler asked.
“No, thank you, I think she’s still asleep.” Pitt leaned against the door lintel.
“I’m glad I have the chance to talk to you, sir,” Wheeler said, watching very carefully as the kettle came to the boil. “You know there was another attempt on Mr. Greville’s life, some four or five weeks ago?”
“Yes, he told me. He was run off the road, but he never found out who was responsible.”
“That’s right, sir. And the outside staff tried everything they could think of. But there were also threatening letters.” He poured the water over the tea, then looked at Pitt very directly. “The letters are still at Oakfield House, sir. They are in Mr. Greville’s study, in the desk drawer. That’s somewhere Mrs. Greville would never go, nor the maids touch.”
“Thank you. Perhaps I’ll ride over today and have a look. There may be something in them to indicate who is behind this. It is obviously more than one person, because Mr. Greville would have recognized the driver who ran him off the road. He said he had remarkable eyes, wide set, and very pale blue. That man is not here now.”
“No sir. I’d put it on the Fenians, myself, but that’d make it Mr. McGinley, and from what Hennessey says, it couldn’t have been him. I’d be disinclined to believe Hennessey, except that Mr. O’Day says so too, and knowing how the Protestants like Mr. O’Day feel about Catholics like Mr. McGinley, he’d not say that if he didn’t have to.”
Pitt nodded rueful agreement and accepted the tea with appreciation.
After having returned to the bedroom and finding Charlotte still asleep, he had an early breakfast. To begin with there was no one else at the table except Jack, and they were able to talk frankly.
“Do you expect to find anything useful?” Jack said with some skepticism. “Surely if the threatening letters implicated anyone, he would have brought them to you already?”
“Possibly nothing,” Pitt conceded. “But there is plenty of evidence which is meaningless by itself but makes sense joined with something else. I have to look. I might get a better description of the coachman. There may be something else in the house, letters, papers. One of the servants might know or remember something.”
He looked across the wide table at Jack. At a glance he appeared very composed. He was as well-groomed as usual. He was a very handsome man in a casual, dashing way. His gray eyes were long lashed, his smile full of laughter and light. One would have to observe carefully to see the stiffness in his body, the occasion when he hesitated, took a deep breath, and then hurried on with what he was saying, the angle of his head as if he were half listening to hear something beyond the room. Pitt did not blame him for being afraid, both of the physical danger which had already struck Greville, but from which perhaps Pitt and Tellman could save him, and of the danger of failure in a responsibility which was far beyond anything he had approached so far in his very new career.
Doyle came in and greeted them