Treason at Lisson Grove - Anne Perry [96]
Austwick appeared to consider it for several moments. Finally he looked up, his lips pursed. “You’re right. There is certainly something happening, and there is a good chance it concerns violence that may affect us here in England, even if it begins in France. We have our allies to consider, and what our failure to warn them may do to our relationship. I would certainly feel a distinct sense of betrayal if they were to have wind of such a threat against us, and keep silent about it.”
“Yes, sir,” Pitt agreed, although the words all but stuck in his throat. He rose to his feet. “If you’ll excuse me, I have several matters to attend to.”
“Yes, of course,” Austwick agreed. He seemed calm, even assured. Pitt found himself shaking with anger as he left the room, making an effort to close the door softly.
THAT EVENING HE WENT to see the minister, Sir Gerald Croxdale. Croxdale himself had suggested that he come to the house. If the matter were as private and as urgent as Pitt had said, then it would be better if their meeting were not observed by others.
Croxdale’s home in Hampstead was old and very handsome, overlooking the heath. The garden trees were coming into leaf, and the air seemed to be full of birdsong.
Pitt was shown in by the butler. He found Croxdale standing in his library, which had long windows onto the lawn at the back of the house. At present the curtains were open; the evening sky beyond was pale with the last light. Croxdale turned from gazing at it as Pitt came in. He offered his hand.
“Miserable time,” he said sympathetically. “Pretty bad shock to all of us. I’ve known Narraway for years. Difficult man, not really a team player, but brilliant, and I’d always thought he was sound. But it seems as if a man can never entirely leave his past behind.” He gestured to one of the armchairs beside the fire. “Do sit down. Tell me what happened in St. Malo. By the way, have you had any dinner?”
Pitt realized with surprise that he had not. He had not even thought of eating, and his body was clenched with anxiety as different possibilities poured through his mind. Now he was fumbling for a gracious answer.
“Sandwich?” Croxdale offered. “Roast beef acceptable?”
Experience told Pitt it was better to eat than try to think rationally on an empty stomach. “Thank you, sir.”
Croxdale rang the bell, and when the butler appeared again he requested roast beef sandwiches and whiskey.
“Now.” He sat back as soon as the door was closed. “Tell me about St. Malo.”
Pitt offered him the same edited version he had given Austwick. He was not yet ready to tell anyone the whole truth. Croxdale had known Victor Narraway far longer than he had known Pitt. If he would believe that Narraway had stolen money, why should he think any better of Pitt, who was Narraway’s protégé and closest ally?
The butler brought the sandwiches, which were excellent. Pitt took an unaccustomed glass of whiskey with it, but declined a second. To have the fire inside him was good, his heart beating a little faster. However, to be fuzzy-headed could be disastrous.
Croxdale considered in silence for some time before he replied. Pitt waited him out.
“I am certain you have done the right thing,” Croxdale said at length. “The situation requires very careful watching, but at this point we cannot afford your absence from Lisson Grove. This fearful business with Narraway has changed all our priorities.”
Pitt was aware that Croxdale was watching him far more closely than at a glance it might seem. He tried to keep his expression respectful, concerned, but not as if he were already aware of the details.
Croxdale sighed. “I imagine it comes as a shock to you, as it does to me. Perhaps we should all have seen some warning, but I admit I did not. Of course we are aware of people’s financial interests