Long Spoon Lane - Anne Perry [59]
The maid came in with tea and the discussion became practical, naming other members of Parliament, editors of newspapers and political pamphlets, and how their assistance might be recruited, or if negative, how best countered.
Vespasia left as soon as it was courteous to do so. It was easy to plead other engagements. She excused herself and bade Cordelia and Denoon good-bye. Enid had left the room a few minutes earlier, without giving her reason. Vespasia asked to be remembered to her, and went out into the hall, accompanied by Landsborough.
The butler sent for her carriage, and while she was waiting she glanced towards the passage that led to a side door into the garden, and saw Enid talking closely with a footman. He did not wear the Landsborough livery, so presumably he was her own, and had come with her. He was a fine-looking young man, as was often required in his calling. However it was the expression on his face that caught Vespasia’s attention and held her momentarily transfixed. His eyes were direct, intensely earnest, and he was looking at Enid as if she were giving him instructions for some complicated and profoundly important task. He stood to attention, and she, with her back to Vespasia, was speaking softly, closer to him than was customary, and she seemed, at least for the moment, oblivious of anyone else.
Then Landsborough returned and his footsteps on the hall floor shattered the moment. Enid broke off what she was saying. The footman took a step back and his deferential manner was resumed. He accepted his instructions and turned away to fulfill them. Enid walked slowly back into the hall, moving naturally towards Landsborough.
Vespasia repeated her farewell. Enid acknowledged it and went back to the withdrawing room. Landsborough walked with Vespasia to her carriage.
“Do you really believe it will be a good thing if the police are given more arms?” he asked when they reached the pavement, his face puckered with concern.
She hesitated. He was looking at her with a puzzled honesty, expected candor in return. In the past they had said to each other many things that were perhaps kind more than they were true, but not in order to deceive. There was an understanding that it was a pleasant evasion, a blunting of the edges that would otherwise have cut. This was different; that part of their relationship was in the past, and events had long overtaken it. Grief and wisdom had replaced the old urgency, and loneliness was of a different nature, needing different healing.
What kind of truth could he bear now, amid such terrible pain?
A carriage clattered by on the street, the horse picking its feet up high, its harness gleaming in the sun.
“We need to deal with anarchists,” she replied. “I am not yet certain how.”
“An increase of police powers is not the right way,” he said gravely. “Magnus told me quite a lot about the misuse of it already. The law must protect the innocent as well as catch and punish the guilty, or it is a license to oppress.”
“I know.” She searched his face, waiting to understand the emotions behind his words. How much did he know of what Magnus had done? What could he bear to believe?
“Don’t trust Voisey!” he said with sudden profound emotion thickening his voice. “Please! Whatever course you follow, Vespasia, take the greatest care in whom you confide. There is far more here than you know.” Then as if he were aware of being watched from the curtained windows behind him, he bade her good-bye, and handed her up into the carriage, inclining his head politely as it pulled away.
6
TELLMAN INTENDED TO find Jones the Pocket as soon as possible, but he knew that he must do it extremely carefully, and in his own time rather than from Bow Street. If anyone were to see him doing it, then he would