Long Spoon Lane (18 page)

Cordelia lost no time in explaining Vespasia’s presence. She did not prevaricate or concede to niceties once the customary greetings had been exchanged. “Lady Vespasia has our concerns very much at heart,” she said bluntly. “She has just warned me of the importance of guarding not only ourselves from political attack, but our allies as well.”

“Considerate of you, Lady Vespasia,” Denoon said coldly, condescension clear in his face. “But quite unnecessary. I am more than aware of such currents. One can hardly run a newspaper if one is utterly naive.”

Cordelia’s temper flared, perhaps because she wanted Vespasia’s help and he had been undisguisedly rude to her. “If you were aware of Sir Charles Voisey’s secret associations, it would have been more fortunate if you had thought to inform me,” she said icily.

Denoon stiffened. “Voisey?”

Vespasia looked at him, watching the muscles in his neck, the slight alteration in the way he stood. In that instant she felt certain that not only was he allied with Wetron with full intent, but that he was also a member of the Inner Circle, and acutely aware of all that Voisey had been, before it had been torn apart. It was what she had come to learn.

“Yes,” she said smoothly, her face almost expressionless. “Apparently he does not support the bill, and will make his feelings known with some force.”

“How do you know this?” he challenged her.

She raised her eyebrows delicately. “I beg your pardon?”

“How do you…” he stopped.

It was Enid who spoke. “Is he an apologist for anarchy?” she inquired, then sneezed fiercely. “I’m sorry.” She fished in her reticule for a handkerchief. Her clear, pale eyes were beginning to water.

As a matter of courtesy Vespasia affected not to notice. “I don’t think so,” she answered the question. “It would be an impossible position to maintain. I imagine he will say that the police already have all the weapons they need, and that information about subversive groups would be of far more value than the power to search people at random. The police are unlikely to obtain assistance from ordinary people if they are seen as oppressive, and prone to abuse their power.”

Enid sneezed again. She seemed to be rapidly developing a cold in the head. Her eyelids were pink.

“A futile argument,” Denoon dismissed it irritably. “If they had the powers necessary to obtain such information, as you suggest, they would have prevented the bomb in Myrdle Street. That seems to be self-evident.”

Vespasia hesitated. If she pointed out that guns and searches would not have discovered Magnus Landsborough’s part in it, it would be needlessly cruel, and could make her seem to be defending Voisey. It was an emotional game she was playing, as well as one of facts.

“I am not defending Sir Charles, or his point of view, Mr. Denoon,” she said gently, with the tiniest touch of condescension. “I am concerned that we do not allow him to seem reasonable in Parliament, or in whatever newspapers that may choose to publish his opinions. I came merely to make you aware that he is likely to be a vigorous opponent of Mr. Tanqueray’s bill.”

Denoon let out his breath silently. “Yes, of course,” he said more calmly. “Are you aware of the nature of his interest in the subject? Is it personal, or political?” He was watching her more closely than he pretended to be.

Enid sneezed again, and stood up from where she had been sitting on the large sofa. Her eyelids looked puffy.

Vespasia lifted her shoulders. The gesture was elegant, perfectly casual. “I have no idea,” she lied.

Cordelia was impatient. “The two are probably the same,” she said briskly. “He is an ambitious man. That much is obvious.” She looked at Enid. “You had better sit in the other chair,” she said without sympathy. “Edward, would you be so good as to open the window.” It was an order, as to a servant, given without thought that he might not obey.

He frowned at her, not moving from where he stood.

“Enid is choking on the cat hair!” Cordelia snapped. “You know she is allergic to cats! For heaven’s sake, Sheridan is just as bad. The wretched creature is supposed to remain in the servants’ quarters, but obviously it got in here somehow. I shooed it out this morning, but it has left hair behind.”

Denoon went reluctantly to the window and opened it unnecessarily wide, letting in the cool air and the smell of damp, mown grass.

“Thank you,” Enid said, and sneezed again. “I apologize,” she turned to Vespasia. “I like cats—they are very useful creatures—but we can’t keep one. Both Piers and I are sensitive to them. All our family is, Sheridan as well.” This last remark was directed at Cordelia.

“That is why it is restricted to the servants’ quarters,” Cordelia pointed out. “He never goes in there.”

“Where is he anyway?” Denoon asked. “Is he expected home this afternoon? We could greatly use his assistance in the cause. He could speak more powerfully than anyone else. His weight behind the campaign would be superb. If he changes his mind from the liberal position he used to take, that would move more people than anything else I can think of.”

“Of course he’s going to be here,” Cordelia replied. “He’s late!” There was both anger and contempt in her face.

“I think we should continue our plans without him,” Denoon said. “Inform him when he comes.”

Vespasia turned slightly and caught a look of intense hatred on Enid’s face as she stared at her husband. It was so virulent that it stunned her. Then an instant later it was ironed away, and Vespasia wondered if it had been her imagination or a trick of the shifting summer light through the window.

There were footsteps in the hall, voices. The door to the withdrawing room opened and Sheridan Landsborough came in. He glanced around the group and acknowledged them all—Vespasia with surprise and pleasure—but he did not apologize for being late. It was as if he were unaware that he had been expected. His face was pale, shadowed with grief, and there was no vitality in his eyes.

Enid looked at him with profound gentleness, as if she were aching with almost physical pain to reach out to him, but there was no comfort to give. His loss was untouchable, and she understood that.

There was no similar warmth in Cordelia. As happened so often, bereavement seemed to have driven them apart rather than brought them closer. Each nursed their pain in different ways: she was angry; he withdrew, holding himself even farther apart than before.

Denoon behaved as if he were not emotionally involved. “We are discussing our best action to promote this bill of Tanqueray’s,” he said to Landsborough. “Lady Vespasia seems to think Charles Voisey is going to prove an adversary worthy of being taken seriously.”

Landsborough regarded him with little interest. “Really?”

“For goodness sake, Sheridan!” Cordelia said fiercely. “We must give all the assistance we can now, while the atrocity is at the forefront of everyone’s minds. It will not wait upon our bereavement.”

“Quite,” Denoon agreed, still looking at Landsborough. “You must know Voisey. What are his weaknesses? Where is he vulnerable? Lady Vespasia seems to think he is likely to be a nuisance. Can’t see why, myself.”

“He is likely to argue against the bill,” Landsborough answered mildly. He remained standing, almost as if he wished to be able to leave at any moment. “From what I have heard, he believes reform will come about more effectively if done in a moderate manner, but that it is necessary in time, if we are to maintain a peaceful society.”

“He’s an opportunist,” Denoon replied coldly. “You think too well of people, Sheridan. You are unrealistic.”

Vespasia was furious. “You see that as an idealized view of Sir Charles’s behavior?” she asked with chill.

“I think his protestations of drafting peaceful reform are self-serving,” Denoon replied, his tone of voice suggesting that it should have been obvious, even to her.

“Of course it is self-serving,” she retorted. “That is not the question. All that matters to us is what he will argue, not what he believes.”

Denoon flushed a dull red.

“I had forgotten how frank you are, Vespasia,” Cordelia observed with something close to pleasure.

“Or how wise,” Landsborough added, provoking a smile from Vespasia.

“By all means, let me have the benefit of your opinion,” Denoon said grudgingly.

Cordelia glared at him. “I am hoping that Vespasia will give us more than her opinion. Since she agrees with us about the urgency and the seriousness of addressing the violence in our midst, and doing something to make it possible for the police to curtail it, before we are all overtaken by a tide of destruction, she may be of practical help.”

For an instant the effort to control his arrogance was visible in Denoon’s face, then he masked it. He looked at Vespasia blandly. “That would be excellent. I am aware that you have a great deal of social influence, perhaps among people whose support we shall require, needless to say, your exercise of it would be invaluable.”

The maid came in with tea and the discussion became practical, naming other members of Parliament, editors of newspapers and political pamphlets, and how their assistance might be recruited, or if negative, how best countered.

Vespasia left as soon as it was courteous to do so. It was easy to plead other engagements. She excused herself and bade Cordelia and Denoon good-bye. Enid had left the room a few minutes earlier, without giving her reason. Vespasia asked to be remembered to her, and went out into the hall, accompanied by Landsborough.

The butler sent for her carriage, and while she was waiting she glanced towards the passage that led to a side door into the garden, and saw Enid talking closely with a footman. He did not wear the Landsborough livery, so presumably he was her own, and had come with her. He was a fine-looking young man, as was often required in his calling. However it was the expression on his face that caught Vespasia’s attention and held her momentarily transfixed. His eyes were direct, intensely earnest, and he was looking at Enid as if she were giving him instructions for some complicated and profoundly important task. He stood to attention, and she, with her back to Vespasia, was speaking softly, closer to him than was customary, and she seemed, at least for the moment, oblivious of anyone else.

Then Landsborough returned and his footsteps on the hall floor shattered the moment. Enid broke off what she was saying. The footman took a step back and his deferential manner was resumed. He accepted his instructions and turned away to fulfill them. Enid walked slowly back into the hall, moving naturally towards Landsborough.

Vespasia repeated her farewell. Enid acknowledged it and went back to the withdrawing room. Landsborough walked with Vespasia to her carriage.

“Do you really believe it will be a good thing if the police are given more arms?” he asked when they reached the pavement, his face puckered with concern.

She hesitated. He was looking at her with a puzzled honesty, expected candor in return. In the past they had said to each other many things that were perhaps kind more than they were true, but not in order to deceive. There was an understanding that it was a pleasant evasion, a blunting of the edges that would otherwise have cut. This was different; that part of their relationship was in the past, and events had long overtaken it. Grief and wisdom had replaced the old urgency, and loneliness was of a different nature, needing different healing.

What kind of truth could he bear now, amid such terrible pain?

A carriage clattered by on the street, the horse picking its feet up high, its harness gleaming in the sun.

“We need to deal with anarchists,” she replied. “I am not yet certain how.”

“An increase of police powers is not the right way,” he said gravely. “Magnus told me quite a lot about the misuse of it already. The law must protect the innocent as well as catch and punish the guilty, or it is a license to oppress.”

“I know.” She searched his face, waiting to understand the emotions behind his words. How much did he know of what Magnus had done? What could he bear to believe?

“Don’t trust Voisey!” he said with sudden profound emotion thickening his voice. “Please! Whatever course you follow, Vespasia, take the greatest care in whom you confide. There is far more here than you know.” Then as if he were aware of being watched from the curtained windows behind him, he bade her good-bye, and handed her up into the carriage, inclining his head politely as it pulled away.

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