Ashworth Hall - Anne Perry [62]
“I imagine your father’s death will change your plans?” They were moving more slowly now along a winding path, Piers a little ahead as they crossed a stream and the horses scrambled up the farther bank, sending a scatter of stones back into the water. The wind caught a flurry of fallen leaves with a rustling sound, and far away to the left a dog barked.
“I hadn’t thought of it,” Piers said frankly. “Mama will stay on in Oakfield House, of course. It hasn’t anything like the lands of Ashworth. There are no farms to manage. She won’t need me. Justine and I will find somewhere, perhaps near Cambridge. Of course, financially I will be more fortunately placed, I suppose.”
“You probably will not need to practice medicine,” Pitt pointed out.
Piers swiveled quickly to stare at him. “But I want to! I know my father would have liked me to stand for Parliament, but I have no interest in it whatever. I am interested in public health.” There was a sudden enthusiasm in his face, a light in his eyes which made him quite different from the rather bland young man he had been even moments before. “I care about diseases of nutrition especially. Have you any idea how many English children suffer from rickets? The medical textbook even calls it the English disease! And scurvy. It isn’t only seamen who get scurvy. And night blindness. There are too many things we are on the brink of being able to treat, but we don’t quite manage it.”
“Are you sure you don’t want to be in Parliament?” Pitt said wryly, catching up to ride beside him as they emerged into an open field.
Piers was perfectly serious. “You can’t make laws until you have proved your case. First you must make them believe, then understand, then care. After that it is time for legislation. I want to work with people who need help, not argue with politicians and make compromises.”
Pitt dismounted and opened the gate at the side of the field and held it while Piers took both horses through, then closed it behind them. He remounted a trifle more elegantly than he had mounted the first time.
“That makes me sound very arrogant, doesn’t it?” Piers said more moderately. “I know compromise is necessary in a lot of things. I just have no skills at it. My father was brilliant. He could charm and persuade people into all sorts of things. If anyone could have succeeded with the Irish Problem, it would have been he. He had a sort of power, almost an invulnerability. He wasn’t afraid of people the way most of us are. He always knew what he wanted out of any situation and how much he was prepared to yield or to pay for it. He never changed his mind.”
Pitt thought about it as they moved forward into a canter again over a long stretch of pasture land. He had seen that assurance in Greville, the quiet ruthlessness of a man who can keep his purpose in mind and never waver from it. It was a very necessary quality in his chosen profession, but it was not entirely attractive. Piers had not said that directly, but he had allowed it to be inferred. There was no warmth when he spoke of his father, and very little regret.
Oakfield House was, as he had said, considerably smaller than Ashworth, but it was still a very handsome residence. Approaching it from the west, it looked to be of a size to have ten or twelve bedrooms, and numerous stables and other outbuildings. It was the country home of a man of both taste and position, discreet but of considerable wealth.
They left the horses with the groom and went in through the side door. Pitt was already feeling his leg muscles pull a little. By the next day he would be regretting this.
The butler came across the hall looking disconcerted, his white hair ruffled.
“Master Piers! We weren’t expecting you. I’m afraid Mr. and Mrs. Greville are away at the moment. But of course …” He saw Pitt and his expression became colder and more formal. “Good morning, sir. May I be of any assistance?”
“Thurgood,” Piers said quietly. He walked towards him and took him by one elbow. “I’m sorry, but there