Belgrave Square - Anne Perry [37]
Pitt went to his assistance and between them they overcame the man when he realized the futility of fighting against such odds. Quite suddenly they all stopped, the constable with his jacket pulled crooked, two buttons missing, and his helmet over one ear. Pitt had a pocket torn and dust over his trousers where the man had scraped his boots in his efforts to get free. He himself was in worse condition yet; his fine head of hair was on end, his jacket was hitched up under his armpits and wildly crooked, his shirt was torn, his collar had sprung loose from its studs and his tie looked in danger of strangling him. His trousers were twisted around his body and torn open at the top button at his waist.
“Are you all right, Constable?” Pitt asked as soberly as the ridiculousness of the situation allowed.
The constable pulled his uniform back to position with one hand, keeping the other firmly on his prisoner.
“Yes, thank you sir. I’m obliged to you.”
“How dare you,” the prisoner demanded furiously. “I don’t think you know who I am, sir. I am Horatio Osmar!” This last was addressed to Pitt, whom he had realized to be the senior officer and thus worthy of his attention.
It was a name Pitt recognized although it took him a moment to place it. Horatio Osmar had been a junior minister in the government until about two years before when he had retired.
“Indeed sir?” Pitt said with some surprise, looking over Osmar’s head at the discomfited constable.
“I am prepared to accept an apology and let the matter go,” Osmar said stiffly, adjusting his jacket to cover the disarray of clothes at his waist. His hands hesitated a moment as if to do up his trousers, then he changed his mind. His face was still very red from his exertion.
“I can’t do that, sir,” the constable said before Pitt had time to ask him. “I’ve got to charge you.”
“That’s preposterous,” Osmar exploded, yanking his arm away from the constable and glaring at Pitt. “You look like a reasonable fellow. For God’s sake explain to this—this overzealous young person who I am.”
Pitt looked at the constable, who was now pink faced and unhappy, but standing stiffly to attention, his eyes unwavering.
“What is the charge, Constable?”
“Behavior likely to cause an affront to public decency, sir.”
“Balderdash,” Osmar said loudly. “Complete balderdash. Nothing of the sort!”
“Are you quite sure, Constable?” Pitt said dubiously.
“Yes sir. Constable Crombie has the young lady.”
“What young lady?”
“The young lady with whom Mr. Osmar was—was sitting in the park, sir.” The constable looked straight ahead of him, his eyes unhappy, his face hot.
“That’s it,” Osmar shouted. “Sitting!” He was quivering with indignation. “It is not an offense, sir, for a gentleman and a young lady to sit together on a seat in the park and enjoy a summer day.” He yanked his jacket straighter. “It is an outrage when they are disturbed and insulted in their pleasure by two young jackanapes policemen.”
“Two?” Pitt raised his eyebrows.
“Indeed. Two sir! The other one arrested my friend, Miss Giles. What a fearful experience for a young lady of gentle birth.” The man’s face was highly expressive with round eyes and shapeless nose. “I am mortified it should happen to her in my company, where she must surely have considered herself safe from such assault. I shall not forgive it!”
“Where is Miss—Miss Giles, Constable?” Pitt said with some concern. This looked like being a serious mistake, and one which could become very ugly indeed if Horatio Osmar chose to press it.
“Right be’ind me, sir.” The constable kept