‘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 Boy’s Own! Why doesn’t she read a girls’ book?’
‘’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 centre. ‘You’ve got the masts on! That’s beautiful.’ She gave Pitt a radiant smile. ‘Hello, Papa. Look what we made.’
‘I see it,’ he replied, putting his arm around her shoulder. ‘It’s magnificent.’
‘How is Mama?’ she asked, an edge of worry in her voice.
‘Well,’ he answered, lying smoothly and holding her a little closer, ‘she’s helping a friend in bad trouble, but she’ll be home soon. Now let’s help clear the table and have dinner.’
Afterwards he sat alone in the parlour, as the silence settled over the house. Daniel and Jemima had gone up to bed. Minnie Maude had finished in the kitchen and went up as well. He heard every creak of her tread on the stairs. Far from being comforting, the absence of all voices or movement made the heaviness swirl back in again like a fog. The islands of light from the lamps on the wall created deeper shadows. He knew every surface in the room. He also knew they were all immaculately clean, as if Charlotte had been there to supervise this new girl whose only fault was that she was not Gracie. But she was good; it was only the familiarity she lacked. The papier-mache ship made him smile. It wasn’t a trivial thing, it was very important indeed. Minnie Maude Mudway was a success.
He sat in the armchair, thinking of Jemima and her pride, Daniel’s happiness, for as long as he could. Finally he turned his mind to tomorrow, and the fact that he must go and tell Croxdale the truth about Gower, and the betrayal that might run throughout the service.
The following day at Lisson Grove was filled with the same necessary trivia. There was news from Paris, which was only vaguely disturbing. There was a definite increase in activity among the people Special Branch was watching, but if it had any meaning Pitt was unable to determine what it was. It was much the same sort of thing he might have done had Narraway been here, and he in his own job. The difference was the weight of responsibility, the decisions that he could no longer refer upwards. Now they all came to him. Other men who had previously been his equals were now obliged to report to him. They came not always for advice; more often simply so that he was aware of all the different pieces that formed the picture they had of subversion, possible treason, violence before it happened. He must know everything that might threaten the safety of Her Majesty’s realm, and her government, the peace and prosperity of Britain.
It was the morning of the day after when he finally obtained an interview with Sir Gerald Croxdale. Pitt was no further forward in understanding the extent of the treachery, but he must tell Croxdale of Gower’s death, and how it had happened. No report had come in yet, but it could not be long now.
He arrived at Whitehall late in the afternoon. The sun was still warm and the air was soft as he walked across from the park and along the street to the appropriate entrance. Several carriages passed him, the women in them wearing wide hats to protect their faces from the light, their muslin sleeves drifting in the breeze. Horse brasses winked with bright reflections, and some carriage doors carried painted family crests.
Pitt was admitted without question. Apparently the footman knew who he was. He was taken straight to Croxdale’s rooms and kept waiting only a matter of moments.
‘How are you, Pitt?’ Croxdale said warmly, rising from his seat to shake Pitt’s hand. ‘Sit down. How is it at Lisson Grove?’ His voice was pleasant, almost casual, but he was watching Pitt intently. There was a gravity in him as if he already knew that Pitt had ugly news to tell him.
It was the opening Pitt needed without having to create it himself.
‘I had hoped to tell you more, sir,’ he began. ‘But the whole episode of seeing West murdered, and following Frobisher to France was far more serious than I thought at first.’
Croxdale frowned, sitting a little more upright in his chair. ‘In what way? Have you learned what he was going to tell you?’
‘No, sir, I haven’t. At least, I am not certain. But I have a strong idea, and everything I have discovered since returning supports it, but does not provide a conclusion.’
‘Stop beating around the bush, man!’ Croxdale said impatiently. ‘What is it?’
Pitt took a deep breath. The risk must be taken. ‘We have at least one traitor at Lisson Grove. .’
Croxdale froze, his eyes hard. His right hand on top of the desk suddenly became rigid as if he were deliberately forcing himself not to clench it.
‘I presume you mean other than Victor Narraway?’ he said quietly.
Pitt made another decision. ‘I don’t and never have believed that Narraway was a traitor, sir. Whether he is guilty of a misjudgement, or a carelessness, I don’t yet know. But regrettably we all misjudge at times.’
‘Explain yourself!’ Croxdale said between his teeth. ‘If not Narraway — and I reserve judgement on that-then who?’
‘Gower, sir.’
‘Gower?’ Croxdale’s eyes opened wide. ‘Did you say “Gower”?’
‘Yes, sir.’ Pitt could feel his own temper rising. How could Croxdale accept so easily that Narraway was a traitor, and yet be so incredulous that Gower could be? What had Austwick told him? How deep and how clever was this web of treason? Was Pitt rushing in where a wiser, more experienced man would have been careful, laid his ground first? But there was no time to do that. Narraway was outcast, in Ireland, and heaven only knew if Charlotte was safe, or where she was and in what circumstances. Pitt could not afford to seek their enemies cautiously.
Croxdale was frowning at him. Should he tell him the whole story, or simply about the murder of West? Any of it made Pitt look like a fool! But he had been a fool. He had trusted Gower, even liked him. The memory of it was still painful. He could smell the sea air of St Malo, feel the heat of the sun on his face, hear Gower’s voice, his laughter. .
‘Something happened in France that made me realise that it only appeared that Gower and I arrived together as Wrexham killed West,’ he said. ‘Actually, Gower had been there moments before and killed him himself-’
‘For God’s sake, man! That’s absurd,’ Croxdale exploded, almost rising from his seat. ‘You can’t expect me to believe that! How did you fail. .?’ He sat back again, composing himself with an effort. ‘I’m sorry. This comes as an appalling shock to me. I. . I know his family. Are you certain? It all seems very. . flimsy.’
‘Yes, sir, I’m afraid I am certain.’ Pitt felt a stab of pity for the minister. ‘I made an excuse to leave him in France and return by myself-’
‘You left him?’ Again Croxdale was stunned.
‘I couldn’t arrest him,’ Pitt pointed out. ‘I had no weapon, and he was a young and very powerful man. The last thing I wanted to do was inform the local police of who we were, and that we were there without their knowledge or permission, watching French citizens.’
‘Yes, of course. I see. I see. Go on.’ Croxdale was flushed and obviously badly shaken. Pitt could have sympathised at another time.
‘I told him to remain watching Wrexham and Frobisher-’
‘Who’s Frobisher?’ Croxdale demanded.
Pitt told him what they knew of Frobisher, and the other men they had seen coming and going from his house.
Croxdale nodded. ‘So there was some truth to this business of socialists meeting, and possibly planning something?’
‘Possibly. Nothing conclusive yet.’
‘And you left Gower there?’
‘I thought so. But when I reached Southampton I took the train to London. On that train I was attacked, twice, and very nearly lost my life.’