Seven Dials - Anne Perry [141]
“I shall be at home.”
She inclined her head in the faintest acknowledgment.
He colored deeply, but he offered no further argument. She rose to her feet to permit him to take his leave without seeming rude.
Again, Vespasia used her telephone. It was an instrument she had been quick to adopt, and she was impatient with those who resisted its speed and convenience.
She was certain that Victor Narraway was again attending the trial of Ryerson and the Egyptian woman, and that court would adjourn for luncheon at one. That gave her an hour to be there, and convey to him that she wished to see him urgently.
As it was, they met on the steps as she was arriving. He came towards her with his customary elegance and an outward appearance of ease, but even before he spoke she saw in the shadows of his face, the tension within him, that he was profoundly worried, perhaps even afraid.
“Good afternoon, Lady Vespasia,” he said quietly.
“Good afternoon, Victor. I am sorry to call you away from the business of the court, but Ferdinand Garrick came to me in profound distress this morning.” She ignored his surprise. There was no time for the explanation of courtesy. “He is aware that Pitt has found Stephen Garrick in Bedlam, and removed him. I believe he would not have done that without your approval, and possibly your assistance.”
He offered her his arm and she took it. Obviously he wished to move away from the steps, where they might be overheard.
“Actually, it was Garvie we were more interested in—to begin with,” he told her.
“Yes, I am aware of Charlotte’s concern for him; you do not need to explain that to me.”
The shadow of a smile touched his lips and then disappeared. “It was Mrs. Pitt who learned where Garvie was,” he said wryly. “From a priest in Seven Dials.” They were walking along the footpath side by side, away from the Old Bailey down to Ludgate Hill, then east towards the vast shadow of St. Paul’s, its dome dark against a bright, windy sky.
“That sounds like Charlotte,” she responded.
He drew in breath as if to say something, then the thought vanished and another, far darker, took its place.
“There was an atrocity in Egypt,” he said so quietly she could barely hear him. “Twelve years ago. Lovat, Garrick, Sandeman, and a man named Yeats were involved. Ferdinand Garrick concealed it then. If it is exposed now, to anyone at all, it could set Egypt ablaze, and cost us Suez. There are men who will kill to keep it silent.”
“I see.” She drew in a long, shaky breath. The thought did not surprise her. Money, power and passionate loyalties were involved. “Do I assume that Lovat was murdered in revenge for this?”
“It looks like it. God help them . . . who wouldn’t? But I shall protect Stephen Garrick as long as it is necessary, and you may tell his father so. I have as much interest in keeping him safe from his enemies as he has. Please say no more. I don’t know yet who is playing in this, or on which side. I would save Ryerson if I could, but it is beyond my ability now.”
She hesitated only momentarily. “May I visit him, to offer the services of a friend?” she asked.
“I will arrange it this evening,” he promised. “You should say all you wish to him then. Once the jury is in, I . . . I believe you may have no further opportunity.”
She found without warning her voice was trembling. “I see. Thank you.”
“Lady Vespasia!” He did not risk the impertinence of using her name without her title.
“Yes?” She had her composure again.
“I am truly sorry.” The pain in his face was momentarily naked. She did not know why Ryerson’s conviction should hurt him so much, or even whether he believed him guilty of more than foolishness, but she was certain beyond any hesitation at all that the emotion was deep and private, part of the man, not the calling.
She stood still, facing him on the quiet footpath in the shadow of St. Paul’s. “There are some things we cannot do,” she said softly. “No matter how intensely we desire it.”
He was self-conscious, something she had never seen in him before.
“Come