Resurrection Row - Anne Perry [11]
The footman came back for him unexpectedly soon and ushered him into the withdrawing room. Vespasia was sitting in the great chair, her hair piled meticulously on her head and a chin-high blouse of Guipure lace giving her a totally deceptive air of fragility. She was about as delicate as a steel sword, as Pitt knew.
The others in the room were Sir Desmond Cantlay, Lady St. Jermyn, and Somerset Carlisle. Closer to, Pitt observed their faces with interest. Hester St. Jermyn was a striking woman; the silver streak in her hair appeared quite natural and was startling against its black. Somerset Carlisle was not so thin or so angular as he had seemed in black by the graveside, yet there was still the same suggestion of humor about him, the slightly aquiline nose and the sharp brows.
“Good morning, Thomas,” Vespasia said drily. “I was expecting you to call, but not quite so soon, I admit. I imagine you have already made yourself acquainted with the rest of the company, if not they with you?” She glanced round them. “I have met Inspector Pitt before.” Her voice crackled with a world of unexplained meaning. Hester St. Jermyn and Sir Desmond both looked at him with amazement, but Carlisle kept his face impassive except for a small smile. He caught Pitt’s eye.
Vespasia apparently did not intend to explain. “We are discussing politics,” she offered to Pitt. “An extraordinary thing to do in the morning, is it not? Are you familiar with workhouses?”
Pitt’s mind flew to the dour, airless halls he had seen crammed with men, women, and children picking apart and re-sewing new shirts from old for the price of their keep. Their eyes ached and their limbs stiffened. In the summer they fainted from heat, and in the winter bronchitis racked them. But it was the only shelter for those with families, or women alone who were too old, too ugly, or too honest to go on the streets. He looked at Vespasia’s lace and Hester’s minuscule pin tucks.
“Yes,” he said harshly. “I am.”
Vespasia’s eyes gleamed in instant recognition of his thoughts. “And you do not approve,” she said slowly. “Abominable places, especially where the children are concerned.”
“Yes,” Pitt agreed.
“Nevertheless, necessary, and all the poor law allows,” she continued.
“Yes.” The word came hard.
“Politics have their uses.” She barely moved her head to indicate the others. “That is how things are changed.”
He reversed his opinion of her, mentally apologizing. “You are moving to change them?”
“It is worth trying. But no doubt you have come about that disgusting business yesterday in the church. A piece of the most appalling distaste.”
“If you please. I would appreciate speaking with you, if you will; certain investigations might be accomplished more—discreetly.”
She snorted. She knew perfectly well he meant that they might be accomplished with a good deal less trouble, and probably more accurately, but the presence of the others prevented her from saying so. He saw it in her face and smiled.
She understood precisely, and her eyes lit up, but she refused to smile back.
Carlisle stood up slowly. He was more solid and probably stronger than he had appeared at the internment.
“Perhaps there is little more that we can do at the moment,” he said to Vespasia. “I will have our notes written up, and we can consider them again. I fancy we have not yet all the information. We must supply St. Jermyn with everything there is; otherwise he will not be able to argue our case against those who have a few contradictions to it, however ill conceived.”
Hester rose also, and Desmond followed her.
“Yes,” he agreed. “I’m sure you are correct. Good morning, Lady Cumming-Gould—” He regarded Pitt indecisively, not able to address a policeman as a social equal, and yet confounded because he was apparently a fellow guest in the withdrawing room of his hostess.
Carlisle rescued him. “Good morning, Inspector. I wish you a rapid success in your business.”
“Good morning, sir.” Pitt bowed his head very