Southampton Row - Anne Perry [9]
Jack leaned forward across his desk. “Thomas, Serracold is a friend of mine. If he is in some kind of danger, any kind, let me know!” He made no threats and produced no arguments, which was oddly more persuasive than if he had. “I would protect my friends, just as you would yours. Personal loyalty means something, and the day it doesn’t I want no part of politics anymore.”
Even when Pitt had feared Jack courted Emily for her money—and he had feared it—he had still found him impossible to dislike. There was a warmth in him, an ability to mock himself and yet keep the directness which was the essence of his charm. Pitt had no chance of success without taking risks, because there was no safe way even to begin, let alone to conclude, a fight against Voisey.
“Not physical danger, so far as I know,” he replied, hoping he was right in his decision to defy Narraway and confide at least some portion of the truth in Jack. Please heaven it did not come back and betray them both! “Danger of being cheated out of his seat.”
Jack waited as if he knew that was not all.
“And perhaps of being ruined in reputation,” Pitt added.
“By whom?”
“If I knew that I would be in a far better position to guard against it.”
“You mean you can’t tell me?”
“I mean I don’t know.”
“Then why? You know something, or you wouldn’t be here.”
“For political gain, of course.”
“Then it is his opponent. Who else?”
“Those behind him.”
Jack started to argue, then stopped. “I suppose everybody has someone behind him. The ones you can see are the least worry.” He stood up slowly. He was almost the same height as Pitt, but as elegant as Pitt was untidy. He had natural grace, and was still as meticulously dressed and groomed as in the days when he made his way on his charm. “I’ll be happy to continue this conversation, but I have a meeting in an hour, and I haven’t had a decent meal today. Will you join me?”
“I’ll be happy to,” Pitt accepted immediately, rising also.
“Be my guest in the members’ dining room,” Jack suggested, opening the door for Pitt. He hesitated a moment, as if worrying over Pitt’s clean collar but crooked tie and slightly bulging pockets. He sighed and gave up.
Pitt followed him and took his place at one of the tables. He was fascinated. He hardly tasted his food he was so busy trying to watch the other diners without appearing to do so. He saw face after face he had seen in the newspapers, many whose names he knew, others familiar but he could not place them. He kept hoping he might see Gladstone himself.
Jack sat smiling, considerably entertained.
They were halfway through a dessert of hot treacle pudding and custard when a large man with thinning fair hair stopped by. Jack introduced him as Finch, the Honorable Member for one of the Birmingham constituencies, and Pitt as his brother-in-law, without stating any occupation.
“How do you do,” Finch said civilly, then looked at Jack. “Hey, Radley, have you heard that this fellow Hardie is actually going to stand? And in West Ham South, not even in Scotland!”
“Hardie?” Jack frowned.
“Keir Hardie!” Finch said impatiently, ignoring Pitt. “Fellow’s been down the mines since he was ten years old. God knows if he even can read or write, and he’s standing for Parliament! Labor Party, he says . . . whatever that is.” He spread his hands in a sharp gesture. “It’s no good, Radley! That’s our territory . . . trades unions, and all that. He won’t get in, of course—not a cat’s chance. But we can’t afford to lose any support this time.” He lowered his voice. “It’s going to be