Bedford Square - Anne Perry [117]
Pitt was listening to her, his face grave. The sunlight through the French windows lengthened across the carpet, apricot gold. The black-and-white dog had gone back to sleep as it lay in the warmth.
“I do not believe Leo has the cruelty, or the ingenuity, to have conceived a scheme like this,” she said with conviction. “But that he should use Theodosia’s beauty to win advancement is not impossible. He would deny doing it, even to himself.” She hated what she was saying; it was repugnant in every way. It felt like a betrayal to admit such a thing, even to Pitt, but it was true. It had crossed even her mind to wonder if the accusation could hold some truth. That in itself was the most powerful illustration of the blackmailer’s brilliance. Even she had entertained the idea … how much more easily would others believe it? She was ashamed of herself for her disloyalty, not only to Leo, but even more to Theodosia. And yet the thought had come, and the doubt.
Pitt was still talking.
“I called on him,” he said gravely, watching her face. “He seems to consider he may be asked for money. Mrs. Tannifer overheard a conversation about raising a large, unspecified amount.”
“But the blackmailer has not asked for money,” she responded. “That makes no sense.” But even as she said it the thought darkened in her mind. She refused to accept it. It was disloyal … untrue. She was doing exactly what the blackmailer wanted … she had yielded her independence, her belief. “It’s rubbish!” she said too loudly.
He did not argue. They discussed it a little longer and then he took his leave. But even when he had gone, she could not rid her mind of the thought and the unhappiness which oppressed her, and she spent a long and surprisingly lonely evening.
While Pitt was talking to Vespasia, Charlotte was sitting in her kitchen pouring tea for Tellman, who had called expecting to find Pitt at home. To judge from the expression on his face, he was both disconcerted and pleased to find that Pitt was unexpectedly late and the only people home to hear his report were Charlotte and Gracie.
He sipped the tea appreciatively and rested his feet. He would probably have liked to take his boots off, as Pitt himself would have done, but that was far too much of a liberty.
“Well?” Gracie said, watching him from where she stood at the sink. “Yer must ’ave come fer summink, ’ceptin’ ter sit down.”
“I came to see Mr. Pitt,” he replied, avoiding meeting her eyes.
Gracie kept her patience with difficulty. Charlotte could see the temper in her face and watched her thin chest rise and fall as she took a deep breath.
Archie, the marmalade-and-white cat, stalked across the floor, found just the right place in front of the stove and sat down.
“That means yer don’t trust us ter pass it on ter ’im?” Gracie said quietly.
Tellman seemed almost to have forgotten Charlotte. The idea that Gracie thought he did not trust her was obviously acutely uncomfortable to him. His struggle within himself was palpable.
Gracie did not help him at all. She waited, her arms folded, regarding him, her small face full of impatience.
“It’s nothing to do with trust,” he said at last. “It’s police business, that’s all.”
Gracie thought about that for a moment or two.
“I s’pose you’re ’ungry too?” she said.
That took him by surprise. He looked up quickly. He had been expecting an argument or a flash of temper.
“Well, are yer?” she demanded. “Cat got yer tongue?” Her tone became sarcastic. “That in’t a p’lice secret, is it?”
“Of course I’m hungry!” he said, coloring dull pink. “I’ve been walking around the streets all day.”
“Follerin’ poor General Balantyne, ’ave yer?” she said, also ignoring Charlotte. “Well, that must