Seven Dials - Anne Perry [140]
“The man’s a fool!” Garrick’s voice rose, quivering near to breaking. “He’s gone blundering in where he doesn’t understand a damn thing, and he could set a whole continent ablaze!”
Vespasia was startled. Garrick’s words were wild, but in spite of her dislike of his self-righteous, rigid beliefs, he had been an excellent soldier. He had not the imagination to be hysterical.
“Ferdinand, please calm yourself sufficiently to inform me what I must say to him,” she said firmly. “I cannot give him orders, I must persuade him. Where was Stephen, and when did you learn that he had been taken, and by Pitt?”
Garrick made a tremendous effort to master the panic inside himself, but still his voice cracked with emotion.
“The people who killed Lovat will stop at nothing whatever to kill Stephen also, and Sandeman if they can find him. Stephen knew it!” His face was pink, the embarrassment painful to see, nevertheless he continued with some semblance of control. “He was . . . not well . . .”
She allowed the euphemism to pass. She knew what outward form his son’s illness had taken, but it was the cause of it that mattered now, so she did not interrupt.
“He had episodes of delirium,” he continued more steadily. “I had him put in a hospital . . .” He took a deep, shuddering breath. “The Bethlehem Lunatic Hospital.”
Vespasia was well aware of the reputation of Bedlam; it needed no words of his to expand the horror of it. That he would place his son in such a man-made hell said more than anything else could have to show her his fear.
“And Pitt found him there and removed him?” she said with only the very slightest lift of question. “Do you not think that perhaps it was Martin Garvie he went seeking? You did send the valet as well, did you not?”
His face was slack for a moment with surprise, then the look vanished. “It seems you know even more about it than I had supposed. Yes, I imagine Garvie might be more within his circle of—” He stopped, aware suddenly that he was running a great risk of antagonizing her, and he could not afford it. “Find him!” he said desperately. “Please?”
She looked at his anguished face. “And what is it I should tell Pitt, or whoever is concerned?” she asked. “What is the danger that you fear, Ferdinand?” She moved across to the sofa as she spoke, and gestured for him to be seated, but he remained unyielding on his feet.
“Give him back to me, and I’ll take care of it,” he said between his teeth.
She sat down. “I think if they wanted him so little that they would be prepared to give him back simply because I asked it, then they would not have gone to the trouble of taking him in the first place,” she said reasonably. “Is it not time to deal with rather more reality?”
He started to speak, and then stopped.
She waited. She would not ask again. He knew the facts. Stephen was his son.
He lowered his eyes. “He has knowledge which I believe certain people will kill him to obtain,” he said.
It was an oblique answer, less than the truth. However, it served the purpose, and she knew he would not give her more unless forced to. She would leave that to Victor Narraway, and she had already made up her mind that it was he to whom she would go.
“I shall inform them of that,” she promised.
Something in him eased a fraction, but now that victory was achieved, he moved from foot to foot in impatience for her to proceed.
She regarded him coldly. “I have no intention of permitting you to accompany me, Ferdinand. You have told me all I require. As you have made clear, time is of importance. Good morning.”
“Thank you,” he said stiffly. His expression was one of relief, gratitude, and almost disappointment, now that there was nothing more for him to do in his own cause. He hated dependence of any sort whatever, and upon a woman most of all. “Yes . . . I am obliged. Good day to you. I . . .”
“I shall inform you of the outcome,” she replied coldly. “Should you not be at home, I