Long Spoon Lane - Anne Perry [74]
“Do you think Wetron is planning to scorch the earth if he’s forced to retreat?” Pitt asked aloud.
“I think he’ll burn it to a cinder,” Voisey replied. “Don’t you?”
“Only if he is sure he’s lost. He is a long way from losing now.”
Voisey was still watching him intently. If anyone else passed by the tombs of the famous, neither of them saw or heard. “I think he’ll be happy to cast Sergeant Tellman into the flames,” Voisey said softly. “And he could most certainly do it.”
“Of course,” Pitt agreed. “But he won’t destroy a tool he believes he can use.”
“Against whom?” Voisey raised his eyebrows. “He would hurt you far more by destroying Tellman than anything else he could do.” There was a sharp, satisfied glitter in his eye. “You would miss him, but the guilt for using him, and putting him in the path of such danger, would corrode inside you forever.” He stared at Pitt, trying to read his mind and touch the soft, vulnerable passions inside, to see where the center of pain lay. Was he speaking of Wetron? Or reminding Pitt that he too could do that if he chose?
Pitt looked away from Voisey and regarded the monument to Wellington. “He was a great soldier,” he remarked almost casually. “I suppose victors have certain things in common. One is that they don’t go chasing personal vanities, petty issues of vengeance or justification, instead of the main cause.” His eyes followed the name on the marble facade. “He would never have left the field of Waterloo to fight a duel with one man, whoever he was. He would have chosen his lieutenants for their ability, not because he liked or disliked them, or for favors owed or expected. He never lost sight of the real goal.” He looked back at Voisey. “That’s a rare quality, the ability to concentrate. I think Wetron has that, don’t you?”
A flush of fury washed up Voisey’s cheeks. They both knew Wetron had beaten Voisey to take over the leadership of the Inner Circle. It was the last thing he wanted to be reminded of.
“It isn’t over yet,” he said in a thin, hard voice. “Don’t they say ‘he laughs best who laughs last’? Don’t be arrogant, Pitt.” There was an edge of spite to that, a warning of how thin the veneer of wit or alliance was. “If you imagine because you beat him once that you can do it every time, you’re more of a fool than I took you to be, and you’re no use to me as an ally, except as cannon fodder!” He said the last words with immeasurable contempt.
“A soldier who won’t face the cannons is not much use to anyone,” Pitt pointed out. “So far the best attack from our side has come through Tellman. It is in both our interests to do what we can to keep him alive. If that means letting Wetron imagine he can feed information both ways, I’ll do that. However, it seems that Piers Denoon is definitely linked to the anarchists, by providing money to them. When he felt threatened, he went straight to Simbister, at one o’clock in the morning. And he was admitted.”
“The question,” Voisey said slowly, “is how much is Edward Denoon behind the anarchists? And can we prove it? Or for that matter, how much did Sheridan Landsborough know about his son’s activities?”
“It could be anything, or nothing,” Pitt answered. “And while it is interesting, it doesn’t help us fight against the bill. All it will tell us, at best, is which side they ally with. So far we know from his newspaper that Denoon is for the bill, and Landsborough has said nothing at all.”
“What will he say?” Voisey asked softly.
“I don’t know. He’s lost his only son. I daresay he doesn’t know either. But this new side of the bill may be a step too far. It could be a blackmailer’s charter.”
“The right to