Bluegate Fields - Anne Perry [120]
“Well!” Athelstan sniffed irritably. “Well—I’m not a vindictive man—I’m prepared to overlook this breach if you’ll behave yourself more circumspectly in the future. You may consider yourself still employed in the police force.” He glanced at Pitt’s face, then held up his hand. “No! I insist, don’t argue with me! I am aware that you are overimpulsive, but I am prepared to allow you a certain latitude. You have put in some excellent work in the past, and you have earned a little leniency for the occasional mistake. Now get out of my sight before I change my mind. And do not mention Arthur Waybourne or anything whatsoever connected with that case—however tenuously!” He waved his hand again. “Do you hear me?”
Pitt blinked. He had an odd feeling that Athelstan was as relieved as he was. His face was still scarlet and his eyes peered back anxiously.
“Do you hear me?” he repeated, his voice louder.
“Yes, sir,” Pitt answered, straightening up again to some semblance of attention. “Yes, sir.”
“Good! Now go away and get on with whatever you are doing! Get out!”
Pitt obeyed, then stood outside on the matting on the landing feeling suddenly sick.
Meanwhile, Charlotte and Emily were pursuing their crusade with enthusiasm. The more they learned, from Carlisle and other sources, the more serious their cause became—and the deeper and more troubled their anger. They developed a certain sense of responsibility because fate—or God—had spared them from such suffering themselves.
In the course of their work, Charlotte and Emily visited Callantha Swynford a third time, and it was then that Charlotte at last found herself alone with Titus. Emily was in the withdrawing room discussing some new area of knowledge with Callantha, while Charlotte had retired to the morning room to make copies of a list to be conveyed to other ladies who had become involved in their cause. She was sitting at the small rolltop desk, writing as neatly as she could, when she looked up and saw a rather pleasant-faced youth with golden freckles like Callantha’s.
“Good afternoon,” she said conversationally. “You must be Titus.” For a moment she had not recognized him; he looked more composed here in his own house than he had in the witness box. His body had lost the graveness and reluctance it had expressed then.
“Yes, ma’am,” he replied formally. “Are you one of Mama’s friends?”
“Yes, I am. My name is Charlotte Pitt. We are working together to try to stop some very evil things that are going on. I expect you know about it.” It was partly intended to compliment him, make him feel adult and not excluded from knowledge, but also she recalled how she and Emily had frequently listened at the door to their mother’s tea parties and afternoon callers. Sarah had considered herself too dignified for such a pursuit. Not that they had often heard anything nearly as startling or titillating to the adolescent imagination as the fight against child prostitution.
Titus was looking at her with frankness tinged with a degree of uncertainty. He did not want to admit ignorance; after all, she was a woman, and he was quite old enough to begin feeling like a man. Childhood with its nursery humiliations was rapidly being discarded.
“Oh, yes,” he said with a lift of his chin. Then curiosity gained the upper hand. This was a chance too good to waste. “At least I know part of it. Of course, I have had my own studies to attend to as well, you know.”
“Of course,” she agreed, laying down her pen. Hope surged up inside her.