Southampton Row - Anne Perry [8]
Jack drew in his breath.
“Special Branch reasons.” Pitt smiled at him. “Not personal.”
Jack colored slightly. He was not often wrong-footed by anyone, least of all Pitt, who was unused to political debate and the thrust and cut of opposition. Perhaps Jack had forgotten that the questioning of suspects held many of the same elements, the obliqueness, the study of face and gesture, the anticipation and the ambush.
“What issues?” Jack asked. “There’s Home Rule for Ireland, but then there has been for generations. It’s no better than it ever was, although Gladstone’s sticking to it. It’s brought him down once already, and I think it will certainly cost him votes again, but no one can pry him loose from it, though God knows enough have tried.” He pulled a slightly rueful face. “But rather less often argued about is Home Rule for Scotland—or Wales.”
Pitt was startled. “Home Rule for Wales?” he said incredulously. “What backing is there for that?”
“Not a great deal,” Jack admitted. “Or Scotland, either, but it is an issue.”
“Surely it won’t affect the London seats?”
“It might, if you were arguing for it.” Jack shrugged. “Actually, on the whole, the people most against such things are those geographically the farthest from them. Londoners tend to think Westminster should rule everything. The more power you have, the more you want.”
“Home Rule, at least for Ireland, has been on the agenda for decades.” Pitt set it aside temporarily. “What else?”
“The eight-hour day,” Jack replied grimly. “That’s the biggest, at least so far, and I don’t see anything else equaling it.” He looked at Pitt with a slight frown. “What is it, Thomas? A plot to overthrow the Old Man?” He was referring to Gladstone. There had already been attempts on his life.
“No,” Pitt said quickly. “Nothing so overt.” He wished he could tell Jack the whole truth, but for Jack’s sake as much as his own, he could not. Any betrayal must not be blamed on him. “Corrupt constituences, some dirty fighting.”
“Since when did Special Branch care about that?” Jack said skeptically, leaning back a little in his chair, his elbow inadvertently knocking over a pile of books and papers. “They are supposed to be stopping anarchists and dynamiters, especially Fenians.” He frowned. “Don’t lie to me, Thomas. I’d rather you told me to mind my own business than fob me off with an evasion.”
“It’s not an evasion,” Pitt replied. “It’s a particular seat, and so far as I know, it has no Irish dimension, nor any dynamiters.”
“Why you?” Jack said levelly. “Is it anything to do with the Adinett case?” He was referring to the murder which had so infuriated Voisey and the Inner Circle they had taken their revenge on Pitt by having him dismissed from Bow Street.
“Indirectly,” Pitt admitted. “You are almost at the point where you would rather be told to mind your own business.”
“Which seat?” Jack said, perfectly calmly. “I can’t help you if I don’t know.”
“You can’t help me anyway,” Pitt countered dryly. “Except with information about the issues, and the odd warning about tactics. I wish I had paid more attention to politics in the past.”
Jack grinned suddenly, but it was not without self-mockery. “When I think how narrow our majority is going to be, so do I!”
Pitt wanted to ask about the safety of Jack’s own seat, but it would be better to find out from someone else. “Do you know Aubrey Serracold?” he asked instead.
Jack looked surprised. “Yes, actually I know him moderately well. His wife is a friend of Emily’s.” He frowned. “Why, Thomas? I’d stake a great deal he’s a decent man—honest, intelligent and going into politics to serve his country. He has no need of money and no desire to wield power for itself.”
Pitt should have been comforted, but instead he saw a man in danger from something he would never see until it was too late; he might well not recognize an enemy even then, because his nature was outside Serracold’s understanding.
Was Jack right, and in not telling him the truth was Pitt throwing away perhaps the only