“Cider is excellent,” Pitt replied, easing himself into the softness of the chair.
The manservant departed, closing the door behind him.
“Well?” Cornwallis demanded, resuming his own seat and the frown returning to his face. He was not handsome but there was a strength and a symmetry in his features which pleased one the longer one looked at him. When he moved it was with the grace and balance of his long years at sea, when he had had only the quarterdeck in which to pace.
“Something has arisen in connection with one of the parliamentary seats which Narraway wishes me to. . to watch.” He saw the flash of anger in Cornwallis’s face, and knew it was because he saw injustice in Narraway’s not honoring Bow Street’s commitment to Pitt’s leave. It added to the outrage of the entire dismissal of Pitt’s reposting to suit the vengeance of the Inner Circle. All the old presumptions and certainties were gone, for both of them.
But Cornwallis did not probe. He was accustomed to the solitary life of a captain at sea who must listen to his officers but share only practicalities with them, not explain himself or indulge in emotions. He must always remain apart, maintain as much as possible of the fiction that he was never afraid, never lonely, never in doubt. It was the discipline of a lifetime and he could not now breach it. It had become part of his personality and he was no longer aware of it as a separate decision.
The manservant returned with the bread, cheese, cider and cake, for which Pitt thanked him. “You are welcome, sir.” He bowed and withdrew.
“What do you know of Charles Voisey?” Pitt asked as he spread the crusty bread with butter and cut off a heavy slice of pale, rich Caerphilly cheese and felt it crumble beneath the knife. He bit into it hungrily. It was sharp and creamy in his mouth.
Cornwallis’s lips tightened, but he did not ask why Pitt wanted to know. “Only what is public information,” he replied. “Harrow and Oxford, then called to the bar. Was a brilliant lawyer who made a good deal of money, but of more value in the long run, a great many friends in the places that count, and I don’t doubt a few enemies as well. Elevated to the bench, and then very quickly to the Court of Appeal. He knows how to take chances and appear courageous, and yet never slip badly enough to fall.”
Pitt had heard all this before, but it still concentrated his mind to have it put so succinctly.
“He is a man of intense pride,” Cornwallis continued. “But in day-to-day life he has the skill to conceal it, or at least make it appear as something less offensive.”
“Less vulnerable,” Pitt said instantly.
Cornwallis did not miss the meaning. “You are looking for a weakness?”
Pitt remembered with an effort that Cornwallis knew nothing of the Whitechapel affair, except Adinett’s trial in the beginning and Voisey’s knighthood at the end. He did not even know that Voisey was the head of the Inner Circle, and for his own safety it was better that he never learn it. Pitt owed him at least that much in loyalty for the past, and he would have wished it in friendship now.
“I’m looking for knowledge, and that includes both strengths and weaknesses,” he replied. “He is standing for Parliament as a Tory, in a strong Liberal seat. The question of Home Rule has already arisen!”
Cornwallis’s eyebrows rose. “And that means Narraway?”
Pitt did not answer.
Cornwallis accepted his silence.
“What do you want to know about Voisey?” he asked. “What kind of weakness?”
“Who does he care for?” Pitt said softly. “Who is he afraid of? What moves him to laughter, awe, pain, any emotion? What does he want, apart from power?”
Cornwallis smiled, his eyes steady on Pitt’s, unblinking. “It sounds as if you are deploying for battle,” he said with a very slight lift of question.
“I am searching to see if I have any weapons,” Pitt replied without looking away. “Have I?”
“I doubt it,” Cornwallis answered. “If he cares for anything apart from power, I’ve not heard of it, not enough that the loss of it would hurt him.” He was watching Pitt’s face, trying to read in it what he needed. “He likes to live well, but not ostentatiously. He enjoys being admired, which he is, but he’s not willing to curry favor to get it. I daresay he doesn’t need to. He takes pleasure in his home, good food, good wine, the theater, music, company, but he’d sacrifice any of them if he had to, to reach the office he wants. At least that’s what I’ve heard. Do you want me to ask more?”
“No! No. . not yet.”
Cornwallis nodded.
“Anyone he fears?” Pitt asked without hope.
“None that I know,” Cornwallis said dryly. “Has he cause? Is that what Narraway is afraid of. . an attempt on his life?”
Again, Pitt could not answer. The silence was worrying him, even though he knew Cornwallis understood.
“Anyone he cares about?” Pitt asked doggedly. He could not afford to give up.
Cornwallis thought for a moment or two. “Possibly,” he said at last. “Although how deeply I don’t know. But I think there are ways in which he needs her-as his hostess, if nothing else. But I think he does care for her, as much as a man of his nature can.”
“Her? Who is she?” Pitt demanded, hope quickening in him at last.
Cornwallis dismissed the matter with a tiny, rueful smile. “His sister is a widow of great charm and formidable social skills. She appears, at least on the surface, to possess a gentleness and moral sensitivity he has never shown, in spite of his recent knighthood, of which you know more than I.” It was not a question. He would never intrude where he knew he had no rights, and a refusal would hurt. He frowned very slightly; it was just a shadow between the brows. “But I have met her only twice, and I am no judge of women.” Now there was a slight self-consciousness in him. “Someone more skilled might tell you quite differently. Certainly she is one of his greatest political assets among those in the party with the power and the will to support him. With the voters he has little to rely on but his own oratory.” He sounded discouraged, as if he feared that would be sufficient.
Pitt feared it even more so. He had seen Voisey face the crowd. It was a blow to discover that he had a social ally of such ability. Pitt had been hoping that perhaps being unmarried would be Voisey’s one weakness.
“Thank you,” he said aloud.
Cornwallis smiled bleakly. “Have some more cider?”
Emily Radley enjoyed a good dinner party, most especially when there was an edge of danger and excitement in the air, struggles of power, of words, ambition hidden behind a mask of humor or of charm, public duty or a passion for reform. Parliament had not been dissolved, but it would be any day, and they all knew it; then the battle would be in the open. It would be swift and sharp, a matter of a week or so. There was no time to hesitate, reconsider a blow, or moderate a defense. It was all in hot blood.
She prepared as for a campaign of war. She was a beautiful woman, and she was very well aware of it. But now that she was in her thirties and had two children, it required a little more care than it used to in order to be her best. She set aside the youthful pastels she had once favored for her delicate coloring and selected from the latest fashions from Paris something bolder, more sophisticated. The basic skirt and bodice were midnight-blue silk, but with an overdress of light blue-gray slashed diagonally to swathe up over the bosom and be caught at the left shoulder, and again at the waist, with another deep slash and ties falling from her hip. It had the usual high rouched shoulders, and of course she wore kid gloves to the elbows. She chose diamonds rather than pearls.
The result was really very good. She felt ready to take on any woman who might be in the room, even her current closest friend, the dashing and superbly stylish Rose Serracold. She liked Rose enormously, and had since the day they met, and she sincerely hoped that Rose’s husband, Aubrey, would gain his seat in Parliament, but she had no intention of being outshone by anyone. Jack’s seat was pretty safe. He had served with distinction and made several valuable friends in power who would no doubt stand by him now, but nothing should be taken for granted. Political power was a highly fickle mistress and must be courted on every possible occasion.
Their carriage drew up outside the Trenchard’s magnificent house on Park Lane, and she and Jack alighted. They were welcomed by the footman at the door and crossed the hall and were announced. She entered the withdrawing room on his arm with her head high and an air of confidence. They were greeted by Colonel and Mrs. Trenchard at exactly quarter to nine, fifteen minutes after the hour stated on the invitation that in turn had been received five weeks earlier. It was precisely the correct moment to arrive; they had judged it to perfection. To be on
