Austwick sat down without being asked. Pitt realized he would not have done that with Narraway.
“More reports from Manchester,” Austwick replied. “It does begin to look as if Latimer is right about this factory in Hyde. They are making guns, despite their denials. And then there’s the mess-up in Glasgow. We need to pay more attention to that, before it gets any bigger.”
“Last report said it was just young people protesting,” Pitt reminded him. “Narraway had it marked as better left alone.”
Austwick pulled his face into a grimace of distaste. “Well I think Narraway’s mind was hardly on the country’s interests over the last while. Unfortunately we don’t know how long his … inattention had been going on. Read it yourself and see what you think. I’ve been handling it since Narraway went, and I think he may have made a serious misjudgment. And we can’t afford to ignore Scotland either.”
Pitt swallowed his response. He did not trust Austwick, but he must not allow the man to see his doubt. All this felt like wasting time, of which he had far too little.
“What about the other reports from Europe on the socialists?” he asked. “Anything from Germany? And what about the Russian emigres in Paris?”
“Nothing significant,” Austwick replied. “And nothing at all from Gower.” He looked at Pitt steadily, concern in his eyes.
Pitt kept his expression perfectly composed. “He won’t risk communication unless he has something of value to report. It all has to go through the local post office.”
Austwick shook his head. “I think it’s of secondary importance, honestly. West may have been killed simply on principle when they discovered he was an informant. He may not have possessed the crucial information we assumed he did.”
Austwick shifted his position a little and looked straight at Pitt. “There have been rumblings about great reform for years, you know. People strike postures and make speeches, but nothing serious happens, at least not here in Britain. I think our biggest danger was three or four years ago. There was a lot of unrest in the East End of London, which I know you are aware of, though much of it took place just before you joined the branch.”
That was a blatant reminder of how new Pitt was to this job. He saw the flicker of resentment in Austwick’s eyes as he said it. He wondered for a moment if the hostility he sensed was due to Austwick’s personal ambition having been thwarted. Then he remembered Gower bending over West’s body on the ground, and the blood. Either Austwick had nothing to do with it, or he was better at masking his emotions than Pitt had judged. He must be careful.
“Perhaps we’ll escape it,” he offered.
Austwick shifted in his chair again. “These are the reports in from Liverpool, and you’ll see some of the references to Ireland. Nothing dangerous as yet, but we need to make note of some of these names, and watch them.” He pushed across more papers, and Pitt bent to read them.
The afternoon followed the same pattern: more reports both written and verbal. A case of violence in a town in Yorkshire looked as if it was political and turned out not to be. A government minister was robbed in Piccadilly; and investigating it took up the rest of the day. The minister had been carrying sensitive papers. Fortunately it was not Pitt’s decision as to how seriously he should be reprimanded for carelessness. It was, however, up to him to decide with what crime the thief should be charged.
He weighed it with some consideration. He questioned the man, trying to judge whether he had known his victim was in the government, and if so that his attache case might contain government papers. He was uncertain, even after several hours, but Narraway would not have asked advice, and neither would he.
Pitt decided that the disadvantages of letting the public know how easy it was to rob an inattentive minister outweighed the possible error of letting a man be charged with a lesser crime than the one he had intended to commit.
He went home in the evening tired and with little sense of achievement.
It changed the moment he opened the front door and Daniel came racing down the hall to greet him.
“Papa! Papa, I made a boat! Come and look.” He grasped Pitt’s hand and tugged at him.
Pitt smiled and followed him willingly down to the kitchen, where the rich smell of dinner cooking filled the air. Something was bubbling in a big pan on the stove and the table was littered with pieces of newspapers and a bowl of white paste. Minnie Maude was standing with a pair of scissors in her hands. As usual, her hair was all over the place, pinned up over and over again as she had lost patience with it. In pride of place in the center of the mess was a rather large papier-mache boat, with two sticks for masts and several different lengths of tapers for bowsprit, yardarms, and a boom.
Minnie Maude looked abashed to see him, clearly earlier than she had expected.
“See!” Daniel said triumphantly, pointing to the ship. “Minnie Maude showed me how to do it.” He gave a little shrug. “And Jemima helped a bit … well … a lot.”
Pitt felt a sudden and overwhelming warmth rush up inside him. He looked at Daniel’s face shining with pride, and then at the boat.
“It’s magnificent,” he said, emotion all but choking his voice. “I’ve never seen anything better.” He turned to Minnie Maude, who was standing wide-eyed. She was clearly waiting to be criticized for playing when she should have been working, and having dinner on the table for him.
“Thank you,” he said to her sincerely. “Please don’t move it until it is safe to do so without risk of damage.”
“What … what about dinner, sir?” she asked, beginning to breathe again.
“We’ll clear the newspapers and the paste, and eat around it,” he answered. “Where’s Jemima?”
“She’s reading,” Daniel answered instantly. “She took my
“ ’Cos they’re boring,” Jemima answered from the doorway. She had slipped in without anyone hearing her come along the corridor. She looked past Pitt at the table, and the ship at the center. “You’ve got the masts on!
