‘Some things need changing,’ Narraway had said with a wry bitterness. ‘No one but a fool would deny that there is injustice. But this would result in anarchy. God alone knows how wide this spreads, at least as far as France, Germany, and Italy, and by the sounds of it here in England as well. The rest of Europe went mad in forty- eight and it was over a couple of years later, with all the old tyrannies back in place, as strong as ever. The barricades came down. The reforms were overturned and everything reverted to the old ways!’
Pitt had stared at him, seeing a sadness in him he had never imagined before. With amazement he realised that Narraway regretted the death of those dreams, perhaps even more the death of the passionate, idealistic and naive men and women who had sacrificed their lives in pursuit of them.
Narraway had shaken his head, as if awakening himself. ‘This is a different breed, Pitt, and the tide of victory is with them now, but not the violence. We don’t change that way in Britain, we evolve slowly. We’ll get there, but not with murder, and not by force.’
The wind was fading, the water smoother.
They were nearly at the south bank of the river. It was time to make a decision. Gower was looking at him, waiting.
Wrexham’s ferry was almost at the Lavender Dock.
‘He’s going somewhere,’ Gower said urgently. ‘Do we want to get him now, sir — or see where he leads us? If we take him we won’t know who’s behind this. He won’t talk: he’s no reason to. We practically saw him kill West. He’ll hang for sure.’ He waited, frowning.
‘Do you think we can keep him in sight?’ Pitt asked.
‘Yes, sir.’ Gower did not hesitate.
‘Right.’ The decision was clear in Pitt’s mind. ‘Stay back then. We’ll split up if we have to.’
The ferry hung back until Wrexham had climbed up the narrow steps and all but disappeared. Then, scrambling to keep up, Pitt and Gower went after him.
They were careful to follow now from more of a distance, sometimes together but more often a sufficient space between them that a casual onlooker would have taken them for strangers merely travelling in approximately the same direction.
But Wrexham seemed to be so absorbed in his own concern now that he never looked behind him. He must have assumed he had lost them when he crossed the river. Indeed, they were very lucky that he had not. With the amount of water-borne traffic, he must have failed to realise that one ferry was dogging his path.
At the railway station there were at least a couple of dozen other people at the ticket counter.
‘Better get tickets all the way, sir,’ Gower urged. ‘We don’t want to draw attention to ourselves from not paying the fare.’
Pitt gave him a sharp look, but forebore from making the remark on the edge of his tongue.
‘Sorry,’ Gower murmured with a slight smile.
Once on the platform they remained close to a knot of other people waiting. Neither of them spoke, as if they were strangers to each other. The precaution seemed unnecessary. Wrexham barely glanced at either of them, nor at anyone else.
The first train was going north. It drew in and stopped. Most of the waiting passengers got onto it, but not Wrexham. Pitt wished he had a newspaper to hide his face and appear to take his attention. He should have thought of it before.
‘I think I can hear the next train,’ Gower said a minute or two later, almost under his breath. ‘It should be to Southampton — eventually. We might have to change. .’ The rest of what he said was cut off by the noise of the engine as the train pulled in, belching steam. The doors flew open and passengers poured out.
Pitt struggled to keep Wrexham in sight. He waited until the last moment in case he should get out again and lose them, then he and Gower boarded a carriage behind his.
‘He could be going anywhere,’ Gower said grimly. His fair face was set in hard lines, his hair poking up where he had run his fingers through it. ‘One of us had better get out at every station to see he doesn’t get off at the last moment and we lose him.’
‘Of course,’ Pitt agreed.
‘Do you think West really had something for us?’ Gower went on. ‘He could have been killed for some other reason. A quarrel? Those revolutionaries are pretty volatile. Could have been a betrayal within the group? Even a rivalry for leadership?’ He was watching Pitt intently, his blue eyes staring so hard it was as if he were trying to read inside Pitt’s mind.
‘I know that,’ Pitt said quietly. He was by far the senior, and the decision was his to make. Gower would never question him on that. It was little comfort now, in fact rather a lonely thought. He remembered Narraway’s certainty that there was something planned that would make the recent random bombings seem trivial. In February of last year, 1894, a French anarchist had tried to destroy the Royal Observatory at Greenwich with a bomb. Thank heaven he had failed. In June, President Carnot of France had been assassinated. In August a man named Caserio had been executed for the crime.
Just before Christmas, French Army officer Alfred Dreyfus had been convicted of treason, but that was simply a scandal of persecution and prejudice. In January of this year Dreyfus had been sentenced to life imprisonment on Devil’s Island. Everywhere there was anger and uncertainty in the air.
It was a risk to take the chance of following Wrexham, but to seize on an empty certainty was a kind of surrender. ‘We’ll follow him,’ Pitt replied. ‘Do you have enough money for another fare, if we have to separate to be sure of not losing him?’
Gower fished in his pocket, counted what he had. ‘As long as it isn’t all the way to Scotland, yes, sir. Please God it isn’t Scotland.’ He smiled with a twisted kind of misery. ‘You know in February they had the coldest temperature ever recorded in Britain? Nearly fifty degrees of frost! If the poor bastard let off a bomb to start a fire you could hardly blame him!’
‘That was February,’ Pitt reminded him. ‘This is April already. We’re pulling into a station. I’ll watch for Wrexham this time. You take the next.’
‘Yes, sir.’
Pitt opened the door and was only just on the ground when he saw Wrexham get out and hurry across the platform to change trains for Southampton. Pitt turned to signal Gower and found him already out and at his elbow. Together they followed, trying not to be conspicuous by hurrying. They found seats, but separately for a while, to make sure Wrexham didn’t double back and elude them, disappearing into London again.
But Wrexham seemed to be oblivious of them, as if he no longer even considered the possibility of being followed. He appeared completely carefree. From the serene expression on his face he could have spent a perfectly normal day. Pitt had to remind himself that Wrexham had followed a man in the East End, only a matter of hours ago, and quite deliberately cut his throat and seen him bleed to death on the stones of a deserted brickyard.
‘God, he’s a cold-blooded bastard!’ he said with sudden fury.
A man in pinstripe trousers on the seat opposite put down his newspaper and stared at Pitt with distaste, then rattled his paper loudly and resumed reading.
Gower smiled. ‘Quite,’ he said very quietly. ‘We had best be extremely careful.’
One or the other of them got out briefly at every stop, just to make certain Wrexham did not leave this train, but he stayed until they finally pulled in at Southampton. When at last he left, it was still without appearing to have any concern that he was being followed.
Gower looked at Pitt, puzzled. ‘What can he do in Southampton?’ he said. They hurried along the platform to keep pace with Wrexham, then past the ticket collector and out into the street.
The answer was not long in coming. Wrexham took an omnibus directly towards the docks, and Pitt and Gower had to race to jump onto the step just as it pulled away. Pitt almost bumped into Wrexham, who was still standing. He only just avoided his face by turning away suddenly, as if catching sight of someone he recognised. Deliberately he looked away from Gower. They must be more careful. Neither of them was particularly noticeable alone. Gower was fairly tall, lean, his hair long and fair, but his features were a trifle bony, stronger than average. An observant person would remember him. Pitt was taller, rather gangling, perhaps less than graceful, and yet he moved easily, comfortable with himself. His hair was dark and permanently untidy. One front tooth was a little chipped, but visible only when he smiled. It was his steady, very clear grey eyes people did not forget.
Together, one would have to be extraordinarily preoccupied not to be aware of seeing them in London, and now again here in Southampton. Accordingly, Pitt moved on down the inside of the bus to stand well away from
