Traitors Gate - Anne Perry [102]
“I am the police! And if you touch me with that thing, I’ll arrest you and charge you with assault. As it is, keep a civil tongue in your head or I’ll charge you with being a public nuisance.”
The man was too startled to retaliate, but he kept his hand hard on his stick.
Had Pitt gone too far with Osborne? Perhaps Osborne was high enough in the Inner Circle to know perfectly well who were members and who were not. Pitt had damaged the Inner Circle before. It was naive to imagine they would not know him. They had killed Arthur Desmond—why not Pitt? An attack in the street, a quick push under the wheels of a vehicle. A most regrettable street accident. It had already happened once, with Matthew—hadn’t it?
He turned on his heel and strode away, leaving the man gibbering with outrage.
This was absurd. He must control his imagination. He was seeing enemies everywhere, and there were above three million people in London. There were probably no more than three thousand of them members of the Inner Circle. But he could never know which three thousand.
Around the corner he took a cab, giving Micah Drummond’s address, and sat back, trying to compose himself and master his flying thoughts. He would ask him if he had any idea how large the Circle was. He was frightened of the answer, yet it could be helpful to know. On thinking of it now, he was foolish not to have gone to him for help as soon as he knew of Sir Arthur’s death. Drummond had been naive to begin with, and perhaps he still only half understood the evil even now, but he had been a member for many years. He might recall incidents, rituals, and see them in a different light with the wisdom of hindsight.
Even if he had no new insights, no concrete suggestions, Pitt would feel less alone simply to talk to him.
The cab pulled up and he alighted and paid the driver with something close to a sense of elation.
Then he saw that there were no lights in the house, at least not at the front. Drummond and Eleanor might be out for the evening, but the servants would have left on the outside lamps if that were so. They could not have retired this early. The only answer was that they must be away. Disappointment overwhelmed him, engulfing him like a cold tide.
“Was they expectin’ you, sir?” the cabby said from behind him. He must have seen the darkness and reached his own conclusion. Possibly it was compassion which kept him, equally possibly the hope of another immediate fare. “Shall I take you somewhere else, then?”
Pitt gave him his home address, then climbed in and shut the door.
“Thomas, you look terrible,” Charlotte said as soon as she saw him. She had heard his key in the lock and came into the hall to meet him. She was dressed in deep pink, and looked warm, almost glowing, and when he took her in his arms there was an air of may blossom about her. He could hear one of the children upstairs calling out to Gracie, and a moment later Jemima appeared on the landing in her nightgown.
“Papa!”
“What are you doing out of bed?” he called up.
“I want a drink of water,” she answered with assurance.
“No you don’t.” Charlotte disengaged herself and turned around. “You had a drink before you went to bed. Go back to sleep.”
Jemima tried another avenue. “My bed’s all untidy. Will you come and make it straight for me, please, Mama?”
“You’re big enough to make it straight for yourself,” Charlotte said firmly. “I’m going to get some supper for Papa. Good night.”
“But Mama …”
“Good night, Jemima!”
“Can I say good night to Papa?”
Pitt did not wait for Charlotte’s answer to this, but strode up the stairs two at a time and picked up his daughter in his arms. She was so slight, so delicately boned she felt fragile as he held her, even though she clung to him with surprising strength. She smelled of clean cotton and soap, and the hair around her brow was still damp. Why on earth did he challenge the Inner Circle? Life was