Treason at Lisson Grove - Anne Perry [130]
They rode in silence for the length of Woburn Place toward Euston Road, then turned right with the stream of traffic and continued north until it became the Pentonville Road.
“I fear I know what element you have missed,” Pitt said at last.
“Violence?” she asked. “I cannot think of any one man, or even group of men, who would pass some of the legislation they are proposing. It would be pointless anyway. It would be sent back by the House of Lords, and then they would have to begin again. By that time the opposition would have collected its wits, and its arguments. They must know that.”
“Of course they do,” he agreed. “But if there were no House of Lords …”
The street lamps outside seemed harsh, the rattle of the carriage wheels unnaturally loud. “Another gunpowder plot?” she asked. “The country would be outraged. We hung, drew, and quartered Guy Fawkes and his conspirators. We might not be quite so barbaric this time, but I wouldn’t risk all I valued on it.” Her face was momentarily in the shadows as a higher, longer carriage passed between them and the nearest street lamps.
Nearly an hour later they arrived at the hostelry Narraway had chosen, tired, chilly, and uncomfortable. They greeted one another briefly, with intense emotion, then allowed the landlord to show them to the rooms they would occupy for the night. Then they were offered a private lounge where they might have whatever refreshments they wished, and be otherwise uninterrupted.
Pitt was filled with emotion to see Charlotte; joy just at the sight of her face, anxiety that she looked so tired. He was relieved that she was safe when she so easily might not have been; frustrated that he had no opportunity to be alone with her, even for a moment; and angry that she had been in such danger. She had acted recklessly and with no reference to his opinion or feelings. He felt painfully excluded. Narraway had been there and he had not. His reaction was childish; he was ashamed of it, but that did nothing to lessen its sharpness.
Then he looked at Narraway, and despite himself his anger melted. The man was exhausted. The lines in his face seemed more deeply cut than they had been just a week or two before; his dark eyes were bruised around the sockets, and he brushed his hair back impatiently with his thin, strong hands as if it were in his way.
They glanced at each other, no one knowing who was in command. Narraway had led Special Branch for years, but it was Pitt’s job now. And yet neither of them would preempt Vespasia’s seniority.
Vespasia smiled. “For heaven’s sake, Thomas, don’t sit there like a schoolboy waiting for permission to speak. You are the commander of Special Branch. What is your judgment of the situation? We will add to it, should we have something to offer.”
Pitt cleared his throat. He felt as if he were usurping Narraway’s place. Yet he was also aware that Narraway was weary and beaten, betrayed in ways that he had not foreseen, and accused of crimes where he could not prove his innocence. The situation was harsh; a little gentleness was needed in the few places where it was possible.
Carefully he repeated for Narraway what had happened from the time he and Gower had seen West murdered until he and Stoker had put together as many of the pieces as they could. He was aware that he was speaking of professional secrets in front of both Vespasia and Charlotte. It was something he had not done before, but the gravity of the situation allowed no luxury of exclusion. If they failed to restore justice, it would all become desperately public in a very short time anyway. How short a time he could only guess.
When he had finished he looked at Narraway.
“The House of Lords would be the obvious and most relevant target,” Narraway said slowly. “It would be the beginning of a revolution in our lives, a very dramatic one. God only knows what might follow. The French throne is already gone. The Austro-Hungarian is shaking, especially after that wretched business at Mayerling.