Silence in Hanover Close - Anne Perry [25]
From Charlotte’s mother they each had books: Lewis Carroll’s Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland for Jemima; Charles Kingsley’s The Water Babies for Daniel; and Robert Louis Stevenson’s Treasure Island for Edward.
Charlotte was thrilled with her pink alabaster vase, and the garnet brooch Emily gave her; and Emily was equally delighted with the lace collar from Pitt and Charlotte. Pitt was totally happy with the shirts Charlotte had sewn for him, and the gleaming leather Wellington boots Emily had brought. He thanked her for them sincerely, not only for the gift, but for the tact she had shown in not giving too much. She knew quite well that as a constable, Pitt had earned about the same as a chimney sweep, and even now as an inspector his entire month’s salary was less than her month’s dress allowance.
Emily in turn was grateful for the emotional warmth and the sense of belonging, and she let them see her pleasure as the most delicate way of thanking them. When the flurry of gifts and thank-yous subsided at last, they sat in front of the fire, sparing no expense in letting it roar red and yellow up the chimney. Emily and Charlotte talked and Pitt dozed with his feet on the fender.
In the evening, when the children had gone up to bed, exhausted, clutching their presents, Charlotte, Pitt, and Emily took out a giant jigsaw puzzle of the coronation of Queen Victoria. They sat up till midnight, when Emily finally put in the last piece with a crow of triumph.
Two days later, in a crisp north wind that froze the slush on the pavements into slippery, crackling ridges and scattered ice from the gutter like broken glass, Pitt went back to work. After leaving various instructions regarding the other burglaries in his charge, he left Bow Street for Hanover Close. He was increasingly curious to meet the Yorks, and he had an idea.
A somewhat surprised cabbie set him down in the calm, elegant Close with its Georgian façades and the complicated filigree of bare, black trees against a heavy white sky. He opened his mouth to ask Pitt if he was sure this was where he meant to be, then saw the look on his face and changed his mind. The cabbie took the money and slapped the reins on the horse’s faintly steaming rump.
Pitt walked up to the front door, prepared for the scorn of the footman, who would tell him a policeman’s place—if he must come at all—was at the tradesmen’s entrance in back. He was used to this sort of treatment, but he still felt his shoulders tighten.
The door opened almost immediately and a footman in his late twenties failed to keep the slight surprise out of his face.
“My name is Thomas Pitt.” Pitt did not mention rank yet. “It is possible I may have some information about a matter of interest to Mr. York. I would be obliged if you would ask if I may see him.”
The footman did not dare turn down such a request without reference to his master, a fact which Pitt had counted on.
“If you will wait in the morning room, sir, I will inquire.” The footman stepped back and opened the door invitingly. He had a tray in his hand, but Pitt did not have a card to place on it. Perhaps that was something he should consider: just a plain one, with his name and nothing else.
The morning room was spacious and comfortable, a man’s room, with cool green furnishings and sporting prints on the walls. There were leather-bound books in two glass-fronted cases and a rather fine sphere on a table by the window, with all the nations of the empire marked in red, and encircled by vast reaches of Canada, Australasia, India, most of Africa all the way up to Egypt, and islands in every ocean. An engraved brass meridian encircled it.
The footman hovered. “May I tell Mr. York what the matter is in connection with?” he said earnestly.
“With the death of Mr. Robert York,” Pitt answered, stretching the truth only slightly.
The footman found no reply to that, bowed very minutely, and left, closing the door behind him.
Pitt