Traitors Gate - Anne Perry [99]
And yet now he was faced with truth he could not deny, and both his innate sense of honor and his general decency were at war with his sworn allegiances and his lifetime habit.
Pitt waited for him to find his resolution.
Outside in the street a hansom drew up and a short man in military uniform stepped out, paid the driver, and came up the stairs to the club. A four-in-hand drove by at a brisk trot.
“What you say, sir, is probably true,” Anstruther conceded with great difficulty, the words forced out of him. “Perhaps it was not so much that poor Desmond was convinced of conspiracy that was ridiculous, as it was the men whom he charged. That, sir, was undoubtedly beyond the bounds of reason. Decent men, fine and honorable men I have known all my life.” His face was suffused with color, and his voice rang with the absolute conviction that he was right. “Men who have served their fellows, their country, their queen, without recognition or gain, sir.”
Only secret and unquestioned power, Pitt thought to himself, perhaps the headiest reward of all. But he did not say so.
“I can imagine that that was extremely offensive to you, General,” he said instead.
“Extremely, sir,” Anstruther agreed vehemently. “Most distressing. Liked Desmond for years. Most agreeable chap. Decent, what. Tragedy he should come to such an end. Damned tragedy.” He was at last satisfied with his own resolution to the dilemma, and he faced Pitt squarely, allowing his emotion to fire his words. That at least was unquestioned and presented no problems at all. “Very sorry,” he went on. “Sorry for the family, dammit. I hope you manage to keep this thing quiet, sir. Use your discretion. Nobody needs to know. Let it be buried. Best thing. Best thing altogether, for everyone. Nobody believed the nonsense he spoke in the end. No harm done, what!”
Pitt rose. “Thank you for your time, General Anstruther. You have been most frank, and I appreciate it, sir.”
“Least I can do. Painful matter.” Anstruther rose also and accompanied Pitt to the door and into the hallway. “Best set to rest. Good day to you, Superintendent.”
“Good day, General Anstruther.”
Outside in the street in the broad May sunshine Pitt had a strange feeling of light-headedness. He barely noticed the carriages and horses passing by, or the fashionable woman who brushed his elbow as he strode along the footpath. He was just off Piccadilly, and there was a faint sound of music coming from Green Park.
He walked rapidly without realizing it, a spring in his step. Anstruther had said what he had most hoped. Sir Arthur was not irrational; simply startling, disturbing and profoundly unwelcome. Anstruther was a decent man caught in a situation he could not handle. He was not used to complex loyalties which vied with each other. He was incapable of rethinking his values, his friendships and his trust without a wrench to his mind he would do everything in his power to avoid.
There was no proof in what he had learned, except in his own mind, and perhaps his emotions would be more at rest. Sir Arthur was vindicated … at least so far.
Next he found the Honorable William Osborne. He was an entirely different manner of man. It was late afternoon before he would receive Pitt, and then it was at his own house in Chelsea. It was opulent, close to the banks of the Thames and in a lushly shaded garden along a quiet tree-lined street. He greeted Pitt with impatience. Obviously he had an engagement for the evening and resented the interruption.
“I have no idea what I can do for you, Mr. Pitt.” He was standing in his oak-paneled library, into which Pitt had been shown, and he did not sit down himself nor offer a seat. There was no mistaking that he did not intend the