Pentecost Alley - Anne Perry [142]
“I …” She held a quick debate with herself. Justice and help for Tallulah were extremely important. It was a question of right and wrong. Her honesty with Jack, the trust between them, was also important, more important than she had thought even five minutes ago. “I know his sister,” she added.
“And she has told you something which makes you believe his innocence,” he observed.
She had not expected him to be so perceptive.
“Yes,” she agreed with considerably less confidence.
“What?”
“Pardon?”
“What did she tell you, Emily?”
“Oh! Just that she saw him somewhere else at the time. Thomas knows about it. It isn’t exactly proof.”
“Obviously,” he said with a tight smile. He took a mouthful of egg and bacon.
She relaxed a little and ate some of her own scrambled eggs, and buttered her toast. There was no sound but the faint, crisp sound of the knife.
“Where did she see him?” he asked.
Her heart sank.
“At a party.”
“That’s hardly an explanation. Don’t make me pull teeth, Emily. What sort of a party? A drunken one, I presume, and no one else remembers whether they were there themselves, let alone who else was?”
“Yes.” She kept the answer simple. Everything new she added only got her into further trouble. She was realizing with surprise how much it would hurt if Jack were to lose his trust for her, or his respect. Perhaps she should confess to going to Beaufort Street before he found out?
“Did she tell Thomas this?” he asked.
“She didn’t think anyone would believe her. She’d already lied about being somewhere else.”
“But you believe her?”
“Yes.”
“Would there be any point in asking why?”
“Not really.”
He returned to the bacon and eggs. She was not sure whether he believed her or not.
“Do you know Augustus FitzJames?” she asked hopefully.
He did not look up, but his lips curved in amusement, almost as if he were about to laugh.
“Fishing?” he enquired.
“Yes, fishing,” she admitted. “Do you?”
“Slightly. And no, I don’t know who it is who hates him so passionately he is prepared to sink to this level to revenge himself on him. But I shan’t stop looking, for Thomas’s sake.”
“Thank you.” She took a deep breath. “Is he really so awful?”
“Augustus? Yes, I think so. From everything I can learn, he’s not gratuitously cruel, he simply doesn’t care. He has a great sense of family—of dynasty, if you like. Which is odd for one who comes from such a relatively ordinary background. Perhaps that’s why. Money has bought him all he has, and he thinks it can buy everything. He’s right more often than I would wish.”
“But you are finding out who his greatest enemies are?”
“Of course. Do you think I don’t care about Thomas as much as you do? But there is also a pretty grave job of defense to be made in the House. The attacks are mounting.” His eyes were troubled, dark shadows behind the honesty.
“He’s going to be all right, isn’t he?” Now she was really afraid, not for Tallulah or Finlay FitzJames, but for Charlotte, perhaps even for Jack too, if he made his connection obvious. She could not ask him how far he was prepared to go. Anyway, looking at his face she knew the answer. There would be no limit. If necessary, Jack would jeopardize his own career, even lose it, before he would deny Pitt.
Before he replied, she smiled at him, radiantly, absolutely, the tears spilling over and running down her cheeks.
He reached across and took her hand, turning it over and kissing the palm very gently.
“I don’t know,” he confessed, then held her fingers very tightly.
Cornwallis looked harassed. He invited Pitt to sit down but was too tense to do so himself. He paced back and forth across the carpet in his office, stopping every now and then, forcing himself to stand still. He did not mention that the campaign to pardon Costigan was gaining momentum, but they both knew it. Nor did he say that several questions had been asked in the House of Commons, and not only was Pitt held to blame for an exceedingly ugly stain on British justice, but he himself was also.
“Have you learned