Long Spoon Lane - Anne Perry [129]
She looked at Victor Narraway, and saw what she thought was a conflict in his face. A decisive, almost ruthless, part of his nature, used to the bitter choices of command, seemed to be warring with something softer, and immeasurably more vulnerable.
Pitt saw it too, she knew that. What she had not expected was the understanding in his eyes, a moment’s pity, as if they were equals in something.
Gracie sensed it in the air, the glances, the stiffness of bodies, and was afraid. Instinctively she swiveled to Tellman. “A’ yer gonner tell ’im, Samuel?” Her voice was a little shaky, caught in her throat.
He looked at her gently, but there was no wavering in him. “There’s no one else who can do it,” he told her. “He won’t hurt us. I didn’t do it, at least not that he knows,” he added ruefully.
“Don’ be so daft!” she snapped. “ ’E knows ’ose side yer on! ’E don’ care about provin’ it, ’e in’t gonna charge yer, ’e’ll jus’ feel like flattenin’ someone, an’ you’ll be ’andy.” She turned to Pitt. “Mr. Pitt, yer gotta stop ’im. It ain’t fair! Yer can’t…”
“It’s dangerous for everyone,” Narraway cut across her. “Sergeant Tellman is the only one Wetron will believe. The alternative is to let Voisey win. And remember, Miss Phipps, if he does, he has still not taken his vengeance on this family.” His gesture included her. “He will discover soon enough that Pitt is still alive, and there will be no one to stop him then.”
Gracie glared at him, her protest dying on her lips.
“It’ll be all right,” Tellman assured her. “And we’ve got no choice. We can’t leave Voisey with that kind of power. Mr. Narraway’s right, next he’ll come for us.”
She smiled at him bleakly, pride and fear in her eyes, her lips pressed so tight it was impossible to see if they trembled.
Narraway nodded at Tellman. “I can’t order you to, Sergeant, but, as you say, you are the only one of us who can do it.”
“Yes, sir,” Tellman acknowledged.
Vespasia stared at Narraway. “And when Wetron has disposed of Voisey, in whatever manner he decides—or he is inadequate to the task, and Voisey dispenses of him—what do you intend we shall do with the survivor?”
“That depends upon which one of them it is,” he replied.
“That is not an answer, Mr. Narraway.” Vespasia said it quite lightly, but her stare was inflexible.
He smiled. “I know.”
Pitt moved his position slightly.
Vespasia turned to look at him. “Thomas?”
“Wetron cannot afford to have Voisey tried,” he answered her, but he was speaking to all of them. “He’ll find a way to protect himself and get rid of Voisey at the same time. Don’t assume it won’t be violent.”
Vespasia looked at Charlotte, concerned for her, and saw the anxiety in her face. Then she looked at Narraway. He understood it. If he had deliberately avoided saying so, then it was for that softer part of him she had seen for an instant, and not recognized.
Narraway spoke to Tellman. “Report to Pitt immediately,” he said. “But don’t stay your hand because of it. Remember the dead in Scarborough Street, if you’re tempted towards mercy.”
Vespasia saw the distaste in Tellman. “Don’t think of Scarborough Street,” she amended. “They are already dead, or crippled. Think of the next street, and the one after.”
Tellman filled his mind with that, and they parted soon after. He went out into the street and walked briskly along a couple of blocks to Tottenham Court Road, where he took the first hansom to Bow Street. If he gave himself time to think about it, he might lose the spontaneity, the high pitch of emotion he felt after sitting in the kitchen at Keppel Street. And as they had said, there was no time to lose.
He went in through the doors, past the duty sergeant with no more than a word, and up the stairs