Seven Dials - Anne Perry [102]
“Edwin Lovat,” Pitt replied, sitting down carefully on one of the chairs, as if he intended to remain as long as was necessary to get all he wanted, to the last word. Actually, the seat was hard and not particularly comfortable. It caught him in exactly the same places as the ground had yesterday evening, not to mention where he had slept on a straw palliasse through the night.
“Lovat,” Margason repeated thoughtfully, and still standing. “Before my time in command, but I’ll see what I can do. General Garrick was in charge then. Gone home. Find him in London, I imagine.” He smiled sarcastically. “Could have saved yourself a journey. Or didn’t you think of looking at any records? Heaven help Special Branch if you’re typical.”
“We do not take one man’s opinion, unsubstantiated, Colonel Margason,” Pitt said as levelly as he could. “Nor are we relying on military information alone. The man was murdered in extraordinary circumstances, and a senior minister in the government is implicated. We cannot afford to leave any possibility unexamined.”
Margason grunted again, and kept his eyes on the bare, foot-pounded yard with its surrounding sand and earth-colored buildings. “Don’t read that type of thing in the newspapers. Haven’t got time. More to do out here.” He grunted a little at the blazing sun outside. “Lot of unrest. More than they think in London, sitting in their offices. One really bad incident and it could all blow.”
“I’ve seen it,” Pitt agreed. “Nasty incident in the carpet bazaar yesterday. English officer fortunate not to be killed.”
Margason’s mouth pulled tight. “There’s bound to be. Gordon was murdered in Khartoum, and we still haven’t settled that. Damned Mahdi is dead, but that means little. Dervishes all over the place. Bloody madmen!” His voice trembled very slightly. “Kill the whole lot of us if we gave them the chance. And you come here asking about the reputation of one soldier who served in Alexandria twelve years ago and got himself killed in London. Good God, man, aren’t you competent to keep a damned cabinet minister out of it without coming traipsing out here to waste my time with questions?”
“I would waste less of it if you would tell me about Lovat,” Pitt replied. “Haven’t you got an officer who remembers him with more detail, and more honesty, than the written records of his service? The woman accused is someone he knew when he was here.”
“Really? He jilted her and she kept a grudge all those years? Remarkable. Did he rape her?” Margason sounded contemptuous, but not personally offended. Pitt was not even sure whether the man’s disgust was for Lovat or his victim.
“Did your soldiers often rape the local women?” Pitt said with something close to innocence. “Perhaps you would have less difficulty keeping the ill feeling from erupting if you stopped that.”
“Look, you impudent . . .” Margason snarled, whirling around with the tension and agility of an animal about to spring.
Pitt did not move. “Yes?” He raised his eyebrows.
Margason straightened up. “I was here then, but I was only a major. I don’t know anything about Lovat except that he was a good soldier, not remarkable. He courted a local woman, but according to all I’ve heard, it was perfectly in order. Just a young man’s romantic fantasy about the exotic. She certainly never had any complaint. He was invalided out.”
“What with?”
“No idea,” Margason replied. “Some kind of fever. No one was paying a great deal of attention then. We were all expecting trouble. It was shortly after the incident at the shrine. Over thirty people were killed in a fire. All Muslims, but the shrine was Christian as well, and feelings ran very high. We were afraid of religious battles breaking out. Colonel Garrick was very decisive. Stamped it out immediately. Arranged for burial, memorial, everything. Posted a guard on the place. Any man after that caught treating the Muslims with disrespect was confined to barracks.”
“And were there further incidents?” Pitt asked, remembering what Ishaq had