Long Spoon Lane - Anne Perry [141]
“Well done, Pitt,” he said without pleasure. “You’ll have to get another cab. Sorry.”
“Yes, sir,” Pitt replied. “But after I’ve been to see Lady Vespasia. I think Mrs. Denoon needs all the comfort she can be given.”
“It’s not yet seven in the morning!” Narraway protested.
Pitt was determined. His own distress demanded an earlier balm for Enid than at eight, or nine. “I know. If I have to wait, then I will do.” He did not wait to hear what Narraway would say, but turned and strode towards the nearest cross street where he might find a hansom. If there were none, then he would walk. It was not above a mile and a half.
In the event, when he saw a cab he was within ten minutes of his destination, and he ignored it.
Naturally Vespasia was not up, but her maid answered the door and invited Pitt to wait in the drawing room while she woke Vespasia.
“Please tell her that Mrs. Denoon will need her comfort as soon as possible,” Pitt added.
“Yes, sir. And I’ll have the scullery maid bring you tea and toast, shall I?”
“Oh, yes, please,” Pitt suddenly realized how empty he was, how clenched with unhappiness. He had found the truth, but Piers Denoon was only a pawn. Wetron was still free, still winning. That Edward Denoon would somehow stop him was a gamble, and a very long one. It was far more likely that Wetron would buy him off by using his power of corruption to obtain some kind of pardon or escape for Piers. Maybe he would even find a way to blame someone innocent, at least of that particular crime, like Simbister!
The tea and toast came, and he welcomed it. He had just finished when Vespasia appeared. It had been barely twenty minutes but she was fully dressed in outdoor clothes and obviously ready to leave.
“What has happened, Thomas?” she asked, dread in her voice as if she already knew, although she could not have.
He rose to his feet immediately.
“I just arrested Piers Denoon for the murder of Magnus Landsborough,” he answered. “Wetron blackmailed him into it, but that doesn’t alter the facts. And no. I can’t prove it was Wetron. It was Simbister who began it, and it is his name on the papers.”
Vespasia lost the last trace of color in her face. “And Enid knows?”
A tightness inside him clenched like a locked fist. “I meant it to reach Denoon first. I sent the servant for him, and she woke Enid instead.”
“I daresay she is frightened of Denoon,” Vespasia said, walking to the door. “My carriage is waiting.” Her voice was hoarse with emotion. “Piers is her only child. Hurry, Thomas. We may already be too late.”
He did not ask for what, but did as she requested, dreading that Enid Denoon might have taken her own life, unable to bear the shame and the grief. He should have made sure her husband was there to care for her, or at the very least a strong, capable servant—the butler, or a long-serving ladies’ maid. He had been stupid. Now he cursed himself for it. He had been so occupied with his loathing of Wetron he had not thought to see that she was coping with the initial shock.
But it was not Enid’s address Vespasia gave her coachman, it was Wetron’s, and she climbed in without waiting for Pitt to give her his hand.
“Wetron?” he exclaimed.
“Hurry!” was all she said.
The coachman obeyed, urging the horses forward. In the almost deserted morning streets, where there was no trade but domestic deliveries, they careered through the silent avenues and squares as if there were almost no one else alive.
There was no opportunity for speech and Pitt was glad of it. Thoughts raced through his mind, but they were too hectic to make sense. They pulled up and he threw the door open, swiveling to hand Vespasia out, almost catching her in her urgency to follow him. Enid’s carriage stood silently on the far side.
Together they sped across the pavement and up the steps. It was the second time this morning he had banged on a front door and had a startled