Bluegate Fields - Anne Perry [26]
“Yes, sir,” he said quietly. “Perhaps you would tell me what it is?”
Waybourne found the words difficult; he searched for them awkwardly.
“My younger son, Godfrey, has come to me with a most distressing confession.” He clenched his knuckles. “I cannot blame the boy for not having told me before. He was ... confused. He is only thirteen. Quite naturally, he did not understand the meaning, the implication.” Finally he looked up, though only for a moment. He seemed to desire Pitt’s understanding, or at least his comprehension.
Pitt nodded but said nothing. He wanted to hear whatever it was in Waybourne’s own words, without prompting.
Waybourne went on slowly. “Godfrey has told me that Jerome has, on more than one occasion, been overly familiar with him.” He swallowed. “That he has abused the boy’s trust, quite natural trust, and—and fondled him in an unnatural fashion.” He shut his eyes and his face twisted with emotion. “God! It’s revolting! That man—” He breathed in and out, his chest heaving. “I’m sorry. I find this—extremely distasteful. Of course Godfrey did not understand the nature behind these acts at the time. He was disturbed by them, but it was only when I questioned him that he realized he must tell me. I did not let him know what had happened to his brother, only that he should not be afraid to tell me the truth, that I should not be angry with him. He has committed no sin whatsoever—poor child!”
Pitt waited, but apparently Waybourne had said all he wished to. He looked up at Pitt, his eyes challenging, waiting for his response.
“May I speak to him?” Pitt said at last.
Waybourne’s face darkened. “Is that absolutely necessary? Surely now that you know what Jerome’s nature is, you will be able to find all the other information you need without questioning the boy. It is all most unpleasant, and the less said about it to him, the sooner he may forget it and begin to recover from the tragedy of his brother’s death.”
“I’m sorry, sir, but a man’s life may depend on it.” There was no such easy escape for either of them. “I must see Godfrey myself. I shall be as gentle as I can with him, but I cannot accept a secondhand account—even from you.”
Waybourne glared at the floor, weighing in his mind one danger against another; Godfrey’s ordeal against the possibility of the case dragging on, further police investigations. Then he jerked his head up to face Pitt, trying to judge if he could prevail on him by force of character if necessary. He knew it must fail.
“Very well,” he said at last, his anger rasping through his voice. He reached for the bell and pulled it hard. “But I shall not permit you to harass the boy!”
Pitt did not bother to answer. Words were of no comfort now; Waybourne would not be able to believe him. They waited in silence until the footman came. Waybourne told him to fetch Master Godfrey. Some moments later, the door opened and a slender, fair-haired boy stood in the entrance. He was not unlike his brother, but his features were finer; when the softness of childhood was gone, Pitt judged they would be stronger. The bones in the nose were different. He would like to have seen Lady Waybourne, just from curiosity, to complete the family, but he had been told she was still indisposed.
“Close the door, Godfrey,” Waybourne ordered. “This is Inspector Pitt, from the police. I’m afraid he insists that you repeat to him what you have told me about Mr. Jerome.”
The boy obeyed, but his eyes were on Pitt, wary. He walked in and stood in front of his father. Waybourne put his hand on the boy’s arm.
“Tell Mr. Pitt what you told me yesterday evening, Godfrey, about Mr. Jerome touching you. There is no need to be afraid. You have done nothing wrong or shameful.”
“Yes, sir,” Godfrey replied.