Betrayal at Lisson Grove - Anne Perry [154]
As soon as they answered he identified himself and said that there had been a practical joke suggested concerning Mr Austwick, and arresting him. It should be disregarded.
‘Are you sure, sir?’ the man at the other end said doubtfully. ‘We’ve ’ad nothing ’ere.’
‘Mr Austwick lives in your area?’ Pitt had a sudden sinking in the pit of his stomach.
‘Oh, yes, sir.’
‘Then we’d better make certain he’s safe. What is his address?’
The man hesitated a moment, then told him. ‘But we’ll send men there ourselves, sir, if you’ll pardon me, seein’ as ’ow I don’t really know ’oo you are.’
‘Good. Do that,’ Pitt agreed. ‘We’ll be there as soon as I can get a cab.’ He replaced the receiver and went to find Stoker. The other man was waiting by the front door, anxiously moving his weight from one foot to the other.
‘Right, find a hansom,’ Pitt told him.
‘We’ll have to walk as far as the main road,’ Stoker warned, opening the door and slipping out with immense relief. They started striding along at as rapid a pace as possible, without actually running.
It was still several minutes before they found a cab, and gave Austwick’s address, with orders to make the best speed possible.
‘What are we going to do with Austwick, sir?’ Stoker asked. He had to raise his voice above the clatter of the hoofs and the rattle and hiss of wheels over the cobbles.
‘Get him to help us,’ Pitt replied. ‘They’re his men down there. He’s the one person who might be able to call them off without an all-out shooting battle. We won’t have achieved much in capturing them if they kill the Queen in the process.’ He did not mention Narraway or Vespasia, or, above all, Charlotte.
‘Do you think he’ll do that?’ Stoker asked.
‘It’s up to us to persuade him,’ Pitt said grimly. ‘Croxdale’s dead, Narraway’s alive. I doubt the Queen will sign anything that reduces the power or dignity of the Crown, even in fear of her life.’
Stoker did not reply, but in the light of the next streetlamp they passed, Pitt saw that he was smiling.
When they reached Austwick’s house there were police outside it, discreetly, well in the shadows.
Pitt identified himself, showing them his new warrant card, and Stoker did the same.
‘Yes, sir,’ the police sergeant said smartly. ‘How can we help, sir?’
Pitt made an instant decision. ‘We are going to collect Mr Austwick and we are all going to travel to Portsmouth, as rapidly as possible.’
The sergeant looked bemused.
‘Use Austwick’s telephone. Hold the night train,’ Pitt told him. ‘It’s imperative we get to the Isle of Wight by morning.’
The sergeant came to attention. ‘Yes, sir. I’ll . . . I’ll call immediately.’
Pitt smiled at him. ‘Thank you.’ Then he nodded to Stoker. They went to the front door of Austwick’s house and knocked hard and continuously until a footman in his nightshirt opened it, blinking and drawing in breath to demand an explanation.
Pitt told him sharply to step back.
The man saw the police beyond Pitt, and Stoker at his elbow, and did as he was told. Ten minutes later Austwick was in the hall, hastily dressed, unshaven and very angry.
‘What the hell is going on?’ he said furiously. ‘Do you know what time it is, man?’
Pitt looked at the longcase clock at the far side of the hall. ‘Coming up to quarter to two,’ he answered. ‘And we must make Portsmouth by dawn.’
Austwick paled visibly, even in the dim light of the hall with its main chandelier unlit. If anything could tell Pitt that he knew of Croxdale’s plan, it was the fear in his face now.
‘Croxdale is dead,’ Pitt said simply. ‘He shot himself when we faced him with his plans. It’s all over. Narraway’s back. He’s at Osborne now, with the Queen. You’ve got two choices, Austwick. We can arrest you now, and you’ll be tried as a traitor. You’ll hang, and your family will never live it down. Your grandchildren, if you have any, will still carry the stigma of