Highgate Rise - Anne Perry [30]
He escorted Pitt into his small, untidy office, which smelled faintly of soap and paper. The window was very small, and both gas lamps were lit and made a slight hissing sound. He invited Pitt to sit down.
“Nothing,” he said regretfully. “Shaw is a damn good doctor, sometimes gifted. Seen him sit up all day and all night and all the next day with a sick man, and weep when he loses a mother and child.” A smile spread across his lantern face. “And seen him bawl out a pompous old fool for wasting his time.” He sighed. “And worse than that to a man who could have fed his children on milk and fruit, and didn’t. Poor little beggars were twisted up with rickets. Never seen a man so furious as Shaw that day. He was shaking with passion and white to the lips.” He took a deep breath and tilted back in his chair and looked at Pitt with surprisingly sharp eyes. “I like the man. I’m damned sorry about his wife. Is that why you’re here—because you think the fire was meant for him?”
“It seems possible,” Pitt replied. “Did he have any deep differences of opinion with his colleagues, that you know of?”
“Ha!” The superintendent barked out his laughter. “Ha! If you can ask that you don’t know Shaw. Of course he did—with everyone: colleagues, nurses, administrative staff—me.” His eyes were alive with a dark amusement. “And I knew of them all—I should imagine everyone within earshot did. He doesn’t know the meaning of discretion—at least where his temper is concerned.” He slid down off the tilt of his chair and sat up straight, looking at Pitt more intently. “I don’t mean on medical matters, of course. He’s closer than an oyster with a confidence. Never betrayed a secret even in consultation for another opinion. I doubt he’s ever spoken a word of gossip in his life. But got a temper like an Indian curry when he sees injustice or humbug.” He shrugged his bony shoulders. “He’s not always right—but when he’s proved wrong he’ll usually come ’round, albeit not immediately.”
“Is he well liked?”
The superintendent smiled at Pitt. “I’ll not insult you with a generous fiction. Those who like him, like him very much. I am one of them. But there are a good few he’s offended with what they consider uncalled-for brusqueness or frankness when it amounts to rudeness, interference or undermining their position.” His gaunt, good-humored face showed the tolerance of years of battles and defeats. “There are many men who don’t care to be proved wrong and shown a better way, especially in front of others. And the harder and longer they stick to their first position, the bigger fools they look when they finally have to back away from it and turn around.” His smile grew broader. “And Shaw is frequently less than tactful in the way he goes about it. His wit is often quicker than his perception of people’s feelings. More than once I’ve seen him set the room laughing at someone’s expense, and known from the look on a man’s face that he’d pay for it dearly one day. Few men care to be the butt of a joke; they’d rather be struck in the face than laughed at.”
Pitt tried to make his voice casual, and knew immediately that it was a wasted effort. “Anyone in particular?”
“Not enough to set fire to the man’s house,” the superintendent replied, looking at Pitt wide-eyed and candid.
There was no point in fencing with the man and Pitt did not insult him by trying. “The names of those most offended?” he asked. “It will be something at least to eliminate them now. The house is gutted and Mrs. Shaw is dead. Someone set the fires.”
The superintendent’s face lost its humor as if it had been wiped away with a sponge, and somberness replaced it. He made no struggle.
“Fennady couldn’t abide him,” he replied, leaning back and beginning what was obviously a catalogue, but there