Long Spoon Lane - Anne Perry [57]
Cordelia’s temper flared, perhaps because she wanted Vespasia’s help and he had been undisguisedly rude to her. “If you were aware of Sir Charles Voisey’s secret associations, it would have been more fortunate if you had thought to inform me,” she said icily.
Denoon stiffened. “Voisey?”
Vespasia looked at him, watching the muscles in his neck, the slight alteration in the way he stood. In that instant she felt certain that not only was he allied with Wetron with full intent, but that he was also a member of the Inner Circle, and acutely aware of all that Voisey had been, before it had been torn apart. It was what she had come to learn.
“Yes,” she said smoothly, her face almost expressionless. “Apparently he does not support the bill, and will make his feelings known with some force.”
“How do you know this?” he challenged her.
She raised her eyebrows delicately. “I beg your pardon?”
“How do you…” he stopped.
It was Enid who spoke. “Is he an apologist for anarchy?” she inquired, then sneezed fiercely. “I’m sorry.” She fished in her reticule for a handkerchief. Her clear, pale eyes were beginning to water.
As a matter of courtesy Vespasia affected not to notice. “I don’t think so,” she answered the question. “It would be an impossible position to maintain. I imagine he will say that the police already have all the weapons they need, and that information about subversive groups would be of far more value than the power to search people at random. The police are unlikely to obtain assistance from ordinary people if they are seen as oppressive, and prone to abuse their power.”
Enid sneezed again. She seemed to be rapidly developing a cold in the head. Her eyelids were pink.
“A futile argument,” Denoon dismissed it irritably. “If they had the powers necessary to obtain such information, as you suggest, they would have prevented the bomb in Myrdle Street. That seems to be self-evident.”
Vespasia hesitated. If she pointed out that guns and searches would not have discovered Magnus Landsborough’s part in it, it would be needlessly cruel, and could make her seem to be defending Voisey. It was an emotional game she was playing, as well as one of facts.
“I am not defending Sir Charles, or his point of view, Mr. Denoon,” she said gently, with the tiniest touch of condescension. “I am concerned that we do not allow him to seem reasonable in Parliament, or in whatever newspapers that may choose to publish his opinions. I came merely to make you aware that he is likely to be a vigorous opponent of Mr. Tanqueray’s bill.”
Denoon let out his breath silently. “Yes, of course,” he said more calmly. “Are you aware of the nature of his interest in the subject? Is it personal, or political?” He was watching her more closely than he pretended to be.
Enid sneezed again, and stood up from where she had been sitting on the large sofa. Her eyelids looked puffy.
Vespasia lifted her shoulders. The gesture was elegant, perfectly casual. “I have no idea,” she lied.
Cordelia was impatient. “The two are probably the same,” she said briskly. “He is an ambitious man. That much is obvious.” She looked at Enid. “You had better sit in the other chair,” she said without sympathy. “Edward, would you be so good as to open the window.” It was an order, as to a servant, given without thought that he might not obey.
He frowned at her, not moving from where he stood.
“Enid is choking on the cat hair!” Cordelia snapped. “You know she is allergic to cats! For heaven’s sake, Sheridan is just as bad. The wretched creature is supposed to remain in the servants’ quarters, but obviously it got in here somehow. I shooed it out this morning, but it has left hair behind.”
Denoon went reluctantly to the window and opened it unnecessarily wide, letting in the cool air and the smell of damp, mown grass.
“Thank you,” Enid said, and sneezed again. “I apologize,” she turned to Vespasia. “I like cats—they are very useful creatures—but we can’t keep one. Both Piers and I are sensitive to them. All our family is, Sheridan as well.” This last remark