Treason at Lisson Grove - Anne Perry [145]
“What could we have done with him, sir?” Stoker said pragmatically. “Tie him up here, for his servants to find and let go? Take him with us, in a hansom cab or one of us stay and sit—”
“All right!” Pitt cut in. “Now we have to get to the Isle of Wight and rescue the queen—and Narraway and Lady Vespasia, and my wife.” His mind raced, picturing the men he knew were going to be there: violent, fanatical men like Portman, Gallagher, Haddon, Fenner, and others with the same distorted idealism, willing to kill and to die for the changes they believed would bring a new era of social justice.
Then another idea came to him. “If he had Austwick arrested, where would he be taken to? Quickly?”
“Austwick?” Stoker sounded confused.
“Yes. Where would he be now? Where does he live, do you know? How can we find out?”
“Kensington, sir, not far from here,” Stoker replied. “It’d be the Kensington police—if Croxdale really called anyone.”
“If he didn’t, we will,” Pitt said, now knowing exactly what he was going to do. “Come on, we’ve got to hurry. We don’t know who Croxdale actually spoke to. It won’t have been the prime minister.” He started toward Croxdale’s study.
“Sir!” Stoker said, bewildered.
Pitt turned. “If one of the servants comes down, tell him Sir Gerald shot himself. Do what you can to make it look right. I’m going to call the Kensington police.” In Croxdale’s study there was no time to search. He picked up the receiver and asked the operator to connect him, as an emergency. Perhaps Croxdale had done the same.
As soon as they answered he identified himself and said that there had been a practical joke suggested concerning the arrest of Mr. Austwick. It should be disregarded.
“Are you sure, sir?” the man at the other end said doubtfully. “We’ve ’ad nothing ’ere.”
“Mr. Austwick lives in your area?” Pitt had a sudden sinking in the pit of his stomach.
“Oh yes, sir.”
“Then we’d better make certain he’s safe. What is his address?”
The man hesitated a moment, then told him. “But we’ll send men there ourselves, sir, if you’ll pardon me, seein’ as ’ow I don’t really know ’oo you are.”
“Good. Do that,” Pitt agreed. “We’ll be there as soon as I can get a cab.” He replaced the receiver and went to find Stoker. The other man was waiting by the front door, anxiously moving his weight from one foot to the other.
“Right, find a hansom,” Pitt told him.
“We’ll have to walk as far as the main road,” Stoker warned, opening the door and slipping out with immense relief. They strode along at as rapid a pace as possible, short of breaking into a run.
It was still several minutes before they found a cab. They gave Austwick’s address, with orders to make the best speed possible.
“What are we going to do with Austwick, sir?” Stoker asked. He had to raise his voice above the clatter of the hooves and the rattle and hiss of wheels over the cobbles.
“Get him to help us,” Pitt replied. “They’re his men down there. He’s the one person who might be able to call them off without an all-out shooting battle. We won’t have achieved much in capturing them if they kill the queen in the process.” He did not mention Narraway or Vespasia, or Charlotte.
“Do you think he’ll do that?” Stoker asked.
“It’s up to us to persuade him,” Pitt said grimly. “Croxdale’s dead, Narraway’s alive. I doubt the queen will sign anything that reduces the power or dignity of the Crown, even in fear of her life.”
Stoker did not reply, but in the light of the next street lamp they passed, Pitt saw that he was smiling.
When they reached Austwick’s house there were police outside it, discreetly, well in the shadows.
Pitt identified himself, showing them his new warrant card, and Stoker did the same.
“Yes, sir,” the sergeant said smartly. “How can we help, sir?”
Pitt made an instant decision. “We are going to collect Mr. Austwick, and we are all going to travel to Portsmouth, as rapidly as possible.”
The sergeant looked bemused.
“Use Austwick