Betrayal at Lisson Grove - Anne Perry [139]
Then he looked at Narraway, and in spite of himself his anger melted. The man was exhausted. The lines in his face seemed more deeply cut, as if made with some instrument that dragged the skin down as it scored them into his cheeks. His dark eyes were bruised around the sockets and he brushed his hair back impatiently with his thin, strong hands as if it were in his way.
They glanced at each other, no one knowing who was in command. Narraway had led Special Branch for years, but it was Pitt’s job now. And yet neither of them would disregard Vespasia’s seniority.
Vespasia smiled. ‘For heaven’s sake, Thomas, don’t sit there like a schoolboy waiting for permission to speak. You are the Commander of Special Branch. What is your judgement of the situation? We will add to it, should we have something to offer.’
Pitt cleared his throat. He felt as if he were usurping Narraway’s place. Yet he was also aware that Narraway was weary and beaten, betrayed on either hand in ways that he had not foreseen, and accused of crimes where he could not prove his innocence. The situation was harsh; a little gentleness was needed in the few places where it was possible.
Carefully he repeated for Narraway what had happened from the time he and Gower had seen West murdered until he and Stoker had put together as many of the pieces as they could. He was aware that he was speaking of professional secrets in front of both Vespasia and Charlotte. It was something he had not done before, but the gravity of the situation did not allow him to exclude them. If they failed, the nature of the plot would all become desperately public in a very short time anyway. How short a time he could only guess.
When he had finished he looked at Narraway.
‘The House of Lords would be the obvious and most relevant target,’ Narraway said slowly. ‘It would be the beginning of a revolution in our lives, a very dramatic one. God only knows what might follow. The French throne is already gone. The Austro-Hungarian Empire is shaking, especially after that wretched business at Mayerling.’ He glanced at Charlotte and saw the puzzlement in her face. ‘Six years ago, in ’eighty-nine,’ he explained, ‘Crown Prince Rudolf and his mistress shot themselves in a hunting lodge. All very messy and never really understood.’ He leaned forward a little, his face resuming its gravity. ‘The other thrones of Europe are less secure than they used to be, and Russia is careering towards chaos if they don’t institute some sweeping reforms very soon. Which is almost as likely as daffodils in November. They’re all hanging on with their fingers.’
‘Not us,’ Pitt argued. ‘The Queen went through a shaky spell a few years ago, but her popularity’s returning.’
‘Which is why, if they struck here, at our hereditary privilege, the rest of Europe would have nothing with which to fight back,’ Narraway responded. ‘Think about it, Pitt. If you were a passionate socialist and you wanted to sweep away the rights of a privileged class to rule over the rest of us, where would you strike? France has no ruling nobility. Spain isn’t going to affect the rest of us any more. They used to be related to half Europe in Habsburg times, but not now. Austria? They’re crumbling anyway. Germany? Bismarck is the real power. All the great royal houses of Europe are related to Victoria, one way or another. If Victoria gets rid of her House of Lords, then it will be the beginning of the end for privilege by birth.’
‘One cannot inherit honour or morality, Victor,’ Vespasia said softly. ‘But one can learn from the cradle a sense of the past, and gratitude for its gifts. One can learn a responsibility towards the future, to guard and perhaps improve on what one has been given, and leave it whole for those who follow.