Long Spoon Lane - Anne Perry [16]
But these madmen who would destroy our lives are powerful, and all too obviously they are well-armed. Our police, who are the soldiers of this civil army, to defend us, must be well-armed also. It is they who risk their lives, and sometimes lose them, to form the shield between us and the chaos of violence and anarchy. We cannot afford to send them into battle without weapons, and it would be morally indefensible for us to try.
Not only must we provide them with adequate guns in their hands, but also we must legislate to give them the weapons of law they need in order to find among us the wicked and the mad who wish our destruction. The law requires proof of crime, as it should. That is the defense of the innocent. But a policeman who is prevented from searching the person or the property of someone he suspects of criminal intent can only wait helplessly until the act is committed, and then avenge the victim. We need more than that. We deserve, we must have, a prevention of the crime before it occurs.
She put the paper down and stared across the kitchen in disquiet.
Gracie came in from the back step and looked at her. “Wot’s ’appened?” she said anxiously. “Summink bad?” When she had first come to Charlotte, she could neither read nor write. Now, with Charlotte’s help, she was quite good at both. She made it a habit to read at least two articles in the newspaper every day. Now she looked at Denoon’s paper skeptically, and at the cold tea in Charlotte’s cup. “There’s never bin another bombing?” she said with disbelief.
“No,” Charlotte answered quickly. “It’s the editor calling for more guns for the police, and more rights to search people’s houses.”
Gracie set down the vegetables on the draining board of the sink. “Well, if people ’ave got bombs an’ guns, police can’t fight ’em wi’ sticks,” she said reasonably. Then she frowned. “Mind, I wouldn’t like ter think o’ Mr. Pitt wi’ a gun. Can’t ’ave it in the ’ouse—they in’t safe!” The downward tone of her voice reflected her distaste for the entire idea. “Why ’ave some people always got ter be making trouble?”
“It’s usually only trouble that makes us change things,” Charlotte replied. That was true, but it did not answer what Gracie was asking. “If somebody tips rubbish out in your street,” she went on, “or makes a noise late at night, if you don’t complain, they’ll go on doing it.” She smiled as she saw the temper flare in Gracie’s eyes. She had chosen the subject of rubbish deliberately.
Gracie realized it and grinned; then the laughter vanished and profound gravity took its place. “But if I went an’ shot the stupid little article wot’s leaving it out there, I’d be put in jail, an’ right thing too. I give ’er a piece o’ me mind, but I never touched ’er.” The grin of triumph returned. “She won’t go do it again, mind!”
“Of course,” Charlotte conceded. “Anarchy is wrong, and it’s ridiculous. But I’m not at all sure that giving the police guns is the solution. And I’m quite sure that giving them more power to go into people’s houses looking for evidence, unless they have a good reason to believe it’s there, is only going to make everyone angry, and even less likely to help.”
“Is that what Mr. Pitt says?” Gracie asked, doubt flickering in her eyes.
“Actually he was too tired to say anything,” Charlotte admitted. “And he hasn’t seen this yet. But I think it’s what he will say.”
Lady Vespasia Cumming-Gould sat at her breakfast table looking at the same newspaper, also with feelings of distress, but hers were caused by different aspects of the tragedy. The name of Lord Landsborough had caught her eye immediately, and sharp, sweet memory flooded in from the past. They had first met over forty years ago, at a reception at Buckingham Palace. Both had been married ten or twelve years and were restless and a trifle bored with the same social round, the same gossip, and the same opinions.
Landsborough then had been an idealist, a believer in the innate decency of people, and filled with optimism