Long Spoon Lane - Anne Perry [81]
It was just after noon when Pitt began his round of the public houses, replacing Jones the Pocket. He had seldom performed any task he loathed more. Perhaps because he knew how much he would hate it, he dressed in old clothes as unlike his usual ones as possible, as if he were trying to divorce himself from the act. He had brought a tweed jacket that was patched in places, something he would never have chosen otherwise. It was prickly to touch, and too warm in the evening sun.
In every place he went to, he had to explain that Jones was temporarily indisposed, and until he returned, Pitt was taking his place.
“Sick, is ’e?” one landlord said hopefully. “Real sick?”
“Probably,” Pitt replied. “And if he spends any time in the Coldbath Fields, he’ll get sicker.” He was referring to the London prison whose reputation was the worst.
“Wot a cryin’ shame,” the landlord said, smiling broadly. Then the smile vanished and he glared at Pitt. “I ’ope it’s catchin’!”
“Maybe,” Pitt had already made up his mind what he intended to do. “But I won’t get it so badly.”
“Why’s that then? You look jus’ the same ter me!”
“I’m not as susceptible,” Pitt answered. “Jones was hard. I want you to stay in business. I’ll take half what he did. That’ll be enough. Just keep it regular.”
The man looked startled, then suspicious. “I don’t want that bleedin’ Grover comin’ ’ere an smashin’ up the place,” he said warily.
“You don’t think Jones kept anything for himself?” Pitt raised his eyebrows.
“Oh yeah? An’ you’re doin’ it fer nothin’? Do I look like I came down wi’ the last rain?”
“I have my reasons,” Pitt answered. “Give me half, and get on to serving your customers. The longer you stand there arguing with me, the more you neglect them.”
In the next place it was essentially the same, and so on around them all. He collected nearly sixteen pounds. That was as much as an ordinary constable on the beat would earn in three months.
He could neither keep the money nor risk losing it. There was only one place where it would be safe, and also keep him from the possible charge of having extorted it for himself. Wetron would be delighted to try that! It would be an exquisite irony.
“Sixteen pounds!” Narraway said, flinging it down on his desk as if its source tainted him even to touch it. “That’s nearly fifty pounds a month, just from those few poor devils.”
“I know,” Pitt agreed. “And I only took half what Jones did.”
“Jones took twice that? Why didn’t you go to all of them?”
“I did. I just took half the money.”
Narraway rolled his eyes, but allowed his expression to make his comment.
“Look after it,” Pitt requested.
“Now what?” Narraway asked, his face creased, suddenly serious. “Someone will be expecting to receive this. You’re playing a damn dangerous game, Pitt. What’s to stop them cutting your throat, to make an example of you? Especially when you haven’t got the money.”
“Greed,” Pitt answered. “Whoever comes after me will be getting a cut. They’ll want it, and I’ll offer them more. I’m no use dead.”
“You haven’t got more. You’ve got less!” Narraway pointed out.
“Since I haven’t got it with me, they won’t know that.”
“They may not believe you’ve got it at all, you fool!” Narraway said, suddenly furious. “Do you think I’ve got men to spare tracking you around London until someone comes after you for this?”
“It won’t be long,” Pitt told him frankly. He was taking a risk, and he knew it. Please heaven he had judged Narraway accurately enough that he would back him now. “I went a little earlier than Jones would have, and I left two altogether. If I go back for them in an hour or two, someone’ll be waiting for me. I’ll need men just long enough for that. Please…please give me someone who won’t hesitate to step in, if he’s needed.”
Narraway swore elegantly and viciously. “You try