Traitors Gate - Anne Perry [60]
And he loved animals. At first tentatively, then as a matter of course, he had allowed young Thomas to help him. They had begun in suspicious silence, then as cooperation necessitated speed they had broken the ice between them. It had melted completely one early morning, about half past six when the light was spreading across the fields still heavy with dew. It had been spring and the wildflowers were thick in the hedges and under the trees, the new leaves opening on the chestnuts, and the later beeches and elms thick with bud. They had found a wounded owl, and Sturges had taken it home. Together they had cared for it until it mended and flew away. Several times all summer they had seen its silent form, broad winged and graceful, swooping in flight around the barn, diving on mice, crossing the lantern’s ray like a ghost, and then gone again. From that year on there had been an understanding between them, but never any blunting of criticism.
“Of course I came,” Pitt answered him, breathing in deeply. The apple room smelled sweet and dry, a little musty, full of memories. “I know I should have come earlier. I’ll say it before you do.”
“Aye, well, so long as you know,” Sturges said without taking his eyes off Pitt’s face. “Look well, you do. And very fancy in your city clothes. Superintendent now, eh? Arresting folk, no doubt.”
“Murder and treason,” Pitt replied. “You’d want them arrested, wouldn’t you?”
“Oh aye. No time for murdering people, at least not most people. Done well for yourself then?”
“Yes.”
Sturges pursed his lips.
“Got a wife? Or too busy bettering yourself to go a-courting?”
“Yes, I have a wife and two children: a son and a daughter.” He could not keep the lift of pride out of his voice.
“Have you indeed?” Sturges looked him straight in the eye. He tried to keep his dour manner, but the pleasure shone out of him in spite of it. “Where are they then? Up London way?”
“No, Charlotte is here with me. I’ll bring her to meet you.”
“You do that, if you want.” Sturges was damned if he was going to appear as if he cared. He turned away and began absentmindedly tidying some of the old straw.
“Before I do, can you tell me what happened about the dogs and Mr. Danforth?” Pitt asked.
“No I can’t, Tom, and that’s a fact. Never took to Danforth a lot, myself, but he was always fair, far as I knowed. And bright enough, considering.”
“He came over and chose two pups?”
“Aye, he did that.” He heaped the straw in a pile. “Then a couple o’ weeks later sent a note by one o’ his men to say he didn’t want ’em anymore. And a couple o’ weeks after that, came back to collect ’em and was as put out as all hell that we hadn’t still got them. Said a few unkind things about Sir Arthur. I’d have liked to ’ave given ’im a piece of my mind, but Sir Arthur wouldn’t ’ave wanted me to.”
“Did you see the note, or did Sir Arthur just tell you about it?”
He stared at Pitt, abandoning the straw.
“‘Course I saw the note! Were writ to me, me being the one as cares for the dogs, and Sir Arthur himself up in London at the time anyway.”
“Very strange,” Pitt agreed, thoughts racing in his head. “You are quite right. Someone is playing very odd games, and not in any good spirit, I think.”
“Games? You mean it weren’t Mr. Danforth going a bit gaga?”
“Not necessarily, although it does look like it. Do you still have the note?”
“Whatever for? Why should I keep a thing like that? No use to anyone.”
“Just to prove it was Mr. Danforth who was in the wrong, not Sir Arthur,” Pitt replied.
“And who needs proof o’ that?” Sturges pulled a face. “Nobody else as knows Sir Arthur thought it was ’im!”
Pitt felt a sudden lift of happiness, and found himself smiling in spite of the occasion. Sturges was a loyal man, but he moderated the truth for no one.
“Sturges, do you know anything about the accident Sir Arthur had when the runaway horse came down the street and the rider caught him with his whip?”
“Some.” Sturges looked unhappy, his face drawn into lines of doubt. He leaned