Cornwallis was embarrassed by it. It was something he could not ignore, but it was full of elements of personal weakness and shame which should have been kept decently private. If a man behaved badly in his personal life, he might be ostracized by his peers; one might cease even to recognize him in the street. He might be asked to resign from his clubs, and if he had a whit of decency left he would preempt that necessity by doing it beforehand. But he should not display his weakness to the public gaze.
“Does the O’Shea case have any bearing on the meeting at Ashworth Hall?” Pitt asked, returning them to the purpose at hand.
“Naturally,” Cornwallis replied with a frown of concentration. “If Parnell is publicly vilified and details of his affair with Mrs. O’Shea are disclosed which put him in an unsympathetic light, a betrayer of his host’s hospitality, rather than a hero who fell in love with an unhappy and ill-used wife, then the leadership of the only viable Irish political party will be open to anyone’s ambition. I gather from Greville that both Moynihan and O’Day would not be averse to grasping for it. Actually, O’Day at least is loyal to Parnell. Moynihan is far more intransigent.”
“And the Catholic Nationalists?” Pitt was confused. “Isn’t Parnell a Nationalist too?”
“Yes, of course. No one could lead an Irish majority if he were not. But he is still Protestant. The Catholics are for nationalism, but under different terms, far closer to Rome. That is a great deal of the issue: the dependence upon Rome; the religious freedom; old enmities dating back to William of Orange and the Battle of the Boyne, and God knows what else; unjust land laws; the potato famine and mass emigration. I am not honestly sure how much of it is just remembered hate. According to Greville, another major bone of contention is the Catholic demand for state-funded separate education for Catholic children, as compared to one school for all. I readily admit, I do not understand it. But I accept that the threat of violence is real. Unfortunately, history bears too excellent a record of it in the past.”
Pitt thought again of Denbigh. He would far rather have remained in London to find whoever had killed him than guard politicians at Ashworth Hall.
Cornwallis smiled with ironic appreciation. “There may be no more attempts made,” he said dryly. “I would imagine the danger to the representatives would be greater before they arrive, or after they leave. They are less vulnerable while actually at Ashworth Hall. So is Greville, for that matter. And we will have at least a dozen other men in the village and around the grounds of the hall. But I must oblige Greville, if he feels he is in any danger. If there were to be a political assassination of one of the Irish representatives while at Ashworth Hall because we do not take the matter seriously, then surely I do not need to explain to you the damage it could do? It could set back peace in Ireland by fifty years!”
“Yes sir,” Pitt conceded. “Of course I understand.”
Cornwallis smiled, for the first time real humor lighting his eyes.
“Then you had better go and inform Tellman of his new duties. They are to begin this weekend.”
“This weekend!” Pitt was staggered.
“Yes. I’m sorry. I told you it was short notice. But I am sure you will manage.”
Tellman was a dour man who had grown up in bitter poverty and still expected life to deal him further blows. He was hardworking, aggressive, and would accept nothing he had not worked for. As soon as he saw the look on Pitt’s face he regarded him suspiciously.
“Yes, Mr. Pitt?” He never used “sir” if he could avoid it. It smacked of respect and inferiority.
“Good morning, Tellman,” Pitt replied. He had found Tellman in one corner of the charge room and they were sufficiently private for the confidentiality of what he had to say. There was only one sergeant present and he was concentrating on writing in the ledger. “Mr. Cornwallis has been in. There is a job for you. We are needed for this coming weekend. In the country.”
Tellman raised his eyes. He had a lugubrious face, aquiline-nosed, lantern-jawed, not undistinguished in his own fashion.
“Yes?” he said doubtfully. He knew Pitt far too well to be duped by courtesy. He read the eyes.
“We are to guard the welfare of a politician at a country house party,” Pitt continued.
“Oh yes?” Tellman was on the defensive already. Pitt knew his mind was conjuring pictures of rich men and women living idly on the fat of the land, waited on by people every bit as good as they but placed by society in a dependent position—and kept there by greed. “Politician being got at, is ’e?”
“He’s been threatened,” Pitt agreed quietly. “And there has been at least one attempt.”
Tellman was unimpressed. “Did more than ‘attempt’ to poor Denbigh, didn’t they? Or don’t that matter anymore?”
The room was so quiet Pitt could hear the scribbling of the sergeant’s quill on the paper. It was cold, so the windows were closed against the noises of the street. Beyond the door two men were talking in the passageway, their words inaudible, only the murmur of voices coming through the heavy wood. “This is the same case, only the other end of it,” he said grimly. “The politician concerned is involved in the Irish Problem, and this weekend is an attempt at least to begin a solution. It is extremely important that there be no violence.” He smiled at Tellman’s challenging eyes. “Whatever you think of him personally, if he can bring Ireland a single step closer to peace, he’s worth the effort to preserve.”
The ghost of a smile flickered over Tellman’s face.
“I suppose so,” he said grudgingly. “Why us? Why not local police? They’d be far better at it. Know the area, know the locals. Spot a stranger where we wouldn’t. I’m good at solving murders once they’ve happened, and I want to catch the bastard who killed Denbigh. I dunno a thing about preventing one at political parties. And with respect, Mr. Pitt, neither do you!” He put the “with respect” into his words, but there was not a shred of it in his voice. His next question betrayed his thoughts. “I suppose you agreed to it? Didn’t ask for it, did you?”
“No, I didn’t. And it was an order,” Pitt replied with a smile which was at least half a baring of the teeth. “I have no choice but to obey orders given me by a superior, just as you have now, Tellman.”
This time Tellman’s amusement was real.
“Run out on Denbigh, are we, and going to skulk around some lordship’s house instead, keeping an eye on peddlers and footpads and strangers lurking in the flower beds? A bit beneath the superintendent o’ Bow Street Station, isn’t it … sir?”
“Actually,” Pitt replied, “the party is to be held at my sister-in-law’s country house, Ashworth Hall. I shall be going as a guest. That is why it has to be me. Otherwise I should stay here on the Denbigh case and send someone else.”
Very slowly Tellman looked up and down Pitt’s lanky, untidy figure, his well-tailored jacket pulled out of shape by the number of odd articles stuffed into his pockets, his clean white shirt with tie slightly askew, and his hair curling and overlong.
His face was almost expressionless. “Oh, yes?”
“And you will be going as my valet,” Pitt added.
“What?”
The sergeant dropped his pen and splurted ink all over the page.
“You will be going as my valet,” Pitt repeated, keeping all emotion from his voice.
For an instant Tellman thought he was joking, exercising his rather unreliable sense of humor.
“Don’t you think I need one?” Pitt smiled.
“You need a damn sight more than a valet!” Tellman snapped back, reading his eyes and realizing suddenly that he meant it. “You need a bleedin’ magician!”
Pitt straightened up, squared his shoulders and pulled his lapels roughly level with each other.