Long Spoon Lane - Anne Perry [42]
A faint flicker of amusement touched Voisey’s mouth, but his hands were clenched at his sides, their powerful knuckles white. “That sounds like defeat,” he remarked. The heavy symbolism of where they were was not lost on either of them. This too was what Voisey had intended.
“It should sound like caution,” Pitt replied. “I think we are also outnumbered and outgunned, at least at this point. It takes more than bravado to win, and unfortunately, more than a just cause.”
Voisey’s eyebrows rose fractionally. “We need a Nelson?” A tiny smile touched his mouth. “Do you think Narraway’s up to the task?”
“I’m not sure how much I intend to consult him,” Pitt answered.
“I rather thought you liked him! Am I mistaken?”
“It’s irrelevant,” Pitt said a little tartly. Voisey’s amusement stung him. “I can work with people whether I like them or not, if I believe their goal is the same as mine, and that they are competent at what they do. I had rather assumed you knew that!”
“Good,” Voisey approved very softly, almost under his breath. “If you had said you trusted me, I should have known you for a liar, and a poor one at that. But you appreciate that my goal is the same as yours. That’ll suffice.”
“One step at a time,” Pitt replied. He did not question whether Voisey trusted him. That was Voisey’s advantage and they both knew it. Pitt was bound by his own rules. Voisey was bound by nothing.
“What is this Tanqueray like?” Pitt asked.
“A jam tart of a man,” Voisey replied. “Attracts those with more appetite than sense, and you come away licking your fingers and looking for somewhere to wash yourself. Somehow a napkin never does it.”
Pitt smiled in spite of not wishing to. “Why did they choose him?”
Voisey’s eyebrows rose. “A guess? Because we have a lot of members who think there is nothing more innocent or innocuous than a jam tart! Offer them a rum baba or a brandy cream éclair, and they know you want something.”
Pitt saw his point. “And who else can they rely on?”
“Too many,” Voisey said ruefully. “Dyer is the most powerful. Unctuous beggar. Looks like a defrocked priest. I wouldn’t trust him with the party funds, or my god-daughter, if she was under twenty. Lord North used to say of Gladstone that he didn’t mind him having the ace of trumps up his sleeve, he just objected virulently to his claim that it was God who put it there. Dyer’s the same, holier than the pope!”
Pitt turned away to hide the amusement that betrayed him. He did not want to like anything about Voisey. He started to walk away from the tomb, back the way he had come in.
“Who killed Magnus Landsborough?” Voisey asked.
“Why do you care?” Pitt responded. “Isn’t police corruption your interest? That will be your chief card to play against them in Parliament.”
“Precisely. Are you certain they are not the same thing?”
“No, I’m not. I think they may be.”
“I will need better than that,” Voisey answered. “I want proof of corruption on a systematic basis, or at least enough that far more must be assumed.”
“Oh, I can see what you need, and why,” Pitt agreed. “I could get it and as easily give it to Jack Radley.” He turned to look at Voisey. He could not resist seeing if the mention of Jack’s name, with its memories of past defeat, galled him. The momentary hatred appeared in Voisey’s face, bitter as bile. Pitt had known it was there. Seeing it undisguised for an instant chilled him, but it should not have. It was a reminder. He should be grateful for it. It was too easy to forget. “What are you giving me that he could not?” he asked.
“Knowledge of the Inner Circle,” Voisey answered. “Names, details, who owes what and to whom.” It could be the ultimate betrayal of all his oaths, payment for those who had turned against him and chosen Wetron. He would be taking an irretrievable step, breaking bones for which the penalty was death. Pitt must never, for an instant, forget that he too had waited just as long for his revenge on Voisey.
“And how much of this information are you prepared to use?