Southampton Row - Anne Perry [87]
“Oh.” It was the intensity in Wray’s face, the fixity of his eyes, that held Pitt. There was an almost uncontrollable emotion in the man. Pitt was compelled to ask him the next question. “And did he find him?”
“Oh yes, of course,” Wray replied. “But it was the beginning of that seed of defiance in his nature, the pride against God which in the end was rage and envy, and sin unto death.” His face was intensely earnest, a tiny muscle in his temple flickering uncontrollably. “Never underestimate the danger of seeking to know what should not be known, Mr. Pitt. It carries with it a monstrous evil. Shun it as you would a plague pit!”
“I have no desire whatever to enquire into such things,” Pitt said honestly, and then realized with a rush of gratitude and guilt how easy it was to say that when he had no insupportable grief, no loneliness that wrapped around him as this man had, no real temptation. He could not bear even to think of it, to believe that the threat in Voisey’s eyes was anything but emotion, the rage at his defeat in Whitechapel, blind, incapable of action.
“I hope that if I lost someone profoundly dear to me I would seek my comfort in the faith of a resurrection according to the promises of God,” he said to Wray, embarrassed to find his voice trembling. A sudden shivering cold seized hold of him as thoughts of Charlotte and his children forced themselves into his mind, without him, and in a place he had never even seen. Were they safe? He had not heard from them yet! Was he protecting them the best way, and was it good enough? What if it wasn’t? What if Voisey did take that way to exact his vengeance? It might be crass, obvious, unrefined and too quick in its execution, dangerous for him—but it would also be the most exquisitely painful for Pitt . . . and final. If they were dead, what would there be left of value in life?
He looked at the elderly, broken man in front of him, so filled with his loss it seemed to bleed out of him into the air of the room, and Pitt could feel the ache of it himself. In such a situation would he be different? Was it not foolish and unbelievably arrogant, the sign of complacent stupidity, to be so sure that he would never turn to mediums, tarot cards, tea leaves, anything at all that would fill the void in which he dwelt alone in a universe crowded with strangers he could touch in no way of the heart?
“At least I hope so,” he said again. “But of course I don’t know.”
Wray’s eyes filled with tears which spilled down his cheeks without his blinking. “Do you have family, Mr. Pitt?”
“Yes. I have a wife and two children.” Was it compounding the pain to tell him that?
“You are fortunate. Say to them all that you mean, while there is time for you. Never let a day go by without thanking God for what He has given you.”
Pitt struggled to bring his mind back to his reason for being here. He should satisfy himself once and for all that Wray could not have been the man represented by the cartouche in Maude Lamont’s diary.
“I will try,” he promised. “Unfortunately, I still need to do what I can to understand the death of Maude Lamont and prevent the wrong person from being blamed for having killed her.”
Wray looked at him with incomprehension. “If it was unlawful, surely that is a matter for the police, distressing as that is. I understand perfectly that you may not wish to have them involved, but I am afraid you have no moral choice.”
Pitt felt a stab of shame at willfully misleading this man. “They are already involved, Mr. Wray. But one of the people present on that last evening is the wife of a man standing for a seat in Parliament, and a third is someone who wishes to keep his identity a secret, and so far has succeeded.”
“And you wish to know who he is?” Wray said in a moment of startling clarity. “Even if I knew, Mr. Pitt, if it were told me as a matter of confidence, I could not pass on that secret to you. The best I could do would be to counsel him with all my strength to be honest with you. But then I would already have counseled