Highgate Rise - Anne Perry [115]
“What can we do?” Emily looked at Vespasia, then at Carlisle.
Carlisle’s face was very grave and he drew his brows down in thought.
“I’m not sure. The forces against it are very large; they are vested interests, a great deal of money. Lots of powerful families may not be sure where all their income originates. Nor will they be in any haste to embarrass their friends.”
“We need a voice in Parliament,” Vespasia said with decision. “I know we have one.” She glanced at Carlisle. “We need more. We need someone new, who will address this matter in particular. Jack—you are doing nothing whatever but enjoying yourself. Your honeymoon is over. It is time you were useful.”
Jack stared at her as if she had risen out of the ground in front of him. Their eyes met, hers steady silver-gray and absolutely unflinching, his dark gray-blue, long-lashed and wide in total incredulity. Then gradually the amazement passed into the beginning of an idea. His hands tightened on the arm of his chair. Still his gaze never left hers, nor did hers waver for a second.
No one else moved or made the tiniest sound. Emily all but held her breath.
“Yes,” Jack said at last. “What an excellent idea. Where do I begin?”
9
CHARLOTTE HAD RECOUNTED to Pitt at least the salient points of her experiences searching for the ownership of the buildings in Lisbon Street, and when she made the shattering discovery not only that it was the Worlingham family themselves, but that Clemency had learned it several months before she died, she poured it all out to him the moment she arrived home. She saw his coat in the hall and without even taking off her hat she raced down the corridor to the kitchen.
“Thomas. Thomas—Lisbon Street was owned by Bishop Worlingham himself! Now the family takes all the rents. Clemency discovered it. She knew!”
“What?” He stared at her, half turned in his seat, his eyes wide.
“Bishop Worlingham owned Lisbon Street,” she said again. “All those slums and gin houses were his! Now they belong to the rest of the family—and Clemency discovered it. That’s why she felt so awful.” She sat down in a heap in the chair opposite him, skirts awry, and leaned across the table towards him. “That’s probably why she worked so hard at undoing it all. Just think how she must have felt.” She closed her eyes and put her head in her hands, elbows on the table. “Oh!”
“Poor Clemency,” Pitt said very quietly. “What a very remarkable woman. I wish I could have known her.”
“So do I,” Charlotte agreed through her fingers. “Why do we so often get to know about people only when it’s too late?”
It was a question to which she expected no answer. They both knew that they would have had no occasion to know of Clemency Shaw had she not been murdered, and it required no words to convey their understanding.
It was another half hour before she even remembered to tell him that Jack was seriously considering standing for Parliament.
“Really?” His voice rose in surprise and he looked at her carefully to make sure she was not making some obscure joke.
“Oh yes—I think it’s excellent. He ought to do something or they’ll both be bored to pieces.” She grinned. “We cannot meddle in all your cases.”
He let out a snort and refrained from comment. But there was a sense of deep comfort in him, experiences and emotions shared, horror, exultation, pity, anger, at times fear, all the multitude of feelings that are roused by terrible events, common purpose, and the unique bond that comes of sharing.
Consequently, when he joined Murdo at the Highgate