But again, they were not in a position to fight, or even to complain. Pitt needed the job in Special Branch. It was almost as well paid as Bow Street had been, and they had no resources other than his salary. For the first time in her life, she was aware not just of having to be very careful with money, but of the real danger that they might cease to have any to be careful with.
So she held her peace, and pretended to the children and to Gracie that being here in this wild, sun- and wind-drenched countryside was what she wanted, and the fact that they were alone was only temporary. It was for the excitement and the adventure of it, not because Pitt felt they were safer out of London where Voisey did not know how to find them.
“I never seen so much air in all me life!” Gracie said in amazement as they walked up a long, steep incline to the top of the track and stared out across the vast panorama of the moors, stretching into the distance in hazy greens and sorrels, splashed with gold here and there, cloud-shadowed to people in the distance. “Are we the only ones wot’s ’ere?” she said in awe. “Just now nobody else lives ’ere?”
“There are farmers,” Charlotte answered, gazing around to the dark rise of the moor itself to the north, and the softer, more vivid slopes of the hills and valleys to the south. “And the villages are mostly on the lee sides of the slopes. Look . . . you can see smoke over there!” She pointed to a slim column of gray smoke so faint one had to peer to make it out.
“’Ere!” Gracie shouted suddenly. “You look out, Your Lordship!”
Edward grinned at her, then hared over the grass with Daniel after him. They tumbled together in the green bracken and went rolling over and over in a tangle of arms and legs, the sound of laughter quick and happy.
“Boys!” Jemima said in disgust. Then suddenly she changed her mind and went running and jumping easily after them.
In spite of herself, Charlotte smiled. Even without Pitt it could be good here. The cottage was only half a mile from the center of the village, a pleasant walk. People seemed friendly and willing to be helpful. Away from the city the roads were narrow and winding; the views from the upstairs windows seemed to stretch forever. The silence at night was unfamiliar, and once they had blown the candles out, the darkness was total.
But they were safe, and even if that was not what seemed most important to her, it was to Pitt. He had felt the possibility of danger, and to bring the children here was the only way now in which she could help.
She heard a noise behind her and turned to see a pony and trap coming up the winding track just below them. There was a man driving it, face wind-burned, eyes narrowed against the brilliance of the light, as if searching for something. He saw them, and as he drew level he looked at her more closely.
“Arternoon,” he said pleasantly enough. “You’ll be the lady as ’as come to rent the Garths’ cottage over yon.” He nodded, but it was a statement that seemed to require an answer.
“Yes,” Charlotte agreed.
“That’s wot I told ’em,” he said with satisfaction, picking up the reins again and urging the pony forward.
Charlotte looked at Gracie. Gracie took a step after the man, then stopped. “Mebbe it’s just interest, like?” she said quietly. “There can’t be much ’appens ’round ’ere.”
“Yes, of course,” Charlotte agreed. “All the same, don’t let the children go out of sight. And we’ll lock the doors at night. Safer, even out here.”
“Yeah . . . o’ course,” Gracie said firmly. “Don’t want no wild animals wanderin’ in . . . foxes and the like, or wotever. I dunno wot they ’ave ’ere.” She stared into the distance. “I’nt it . . . beautiful! D’yer think mebbe I should keep a diary, or summink? I might never see anyfink like this again.”
“That’s a very good idea,” Charlotte said instantly. “We all will. Children! Where are you?” She was absurdly relieved when she heard their answer and all three of them came chasing back over the tussocky grass. She must not allow herself to spoil their happiness with fears for which there was no reason.
CHAPTER
FIVE
The day after the murder of Maude Lamont the newspapers gave it sufficient importance to place it on the front page, along with election news and foreign events. There was no question that it had been a crime rather than an accident or natural causes. The police presence confirmed as much, but there had been no statement issued beyond the fact that the housekeeper, Miss Lena Forrest, had summoned them. She had refused to speak, and Inspector Tellman had said only that the matter was being investigated.
Standing by the kitchen table, Pitt poured himself a second cup of tea and offered to do the same for Tellman, who was moving impatiently from one foot to the other. He declined.
“We’ve seen half a dozen of the other clients,” he said, frowning. “They all swear by her. Say she was the most gifted medium they’d ever known. Whatever that means.” He threw it out almost as a challenge, as if he wanted Pitt to explain it. He was deeply unhappy with the whole subject, and yet obviously whatever he had been told since Pitt had last seen him had disturbed the simple contempt he had had before.
“What did she tell them, and how?” Pitt asked.
Tellman glared at him. “Spirits coming out of her mouth,” he said, waiting for the derision he was certain would follow. “Wavering and sort of . . . fuzzy, but they were quite sure it was the head and face of someone they knew.”
“And where was Maude Lamont while this was going on?” Pitt asked.
“Sitting in her chair at the head of the table, or in a special sort of cabinet they had built, so her hands couldn’t escape. She suggested that herself, for their belief.”
“What did she charge for this?” He sipped his tea.
“One said two guineas, another said five,” Tellman answered, biting his lip. “Thing is, if she’s just saying it’s entertainment, and they won’t bring a charge against her, there wouldn’t have been anything we could do anyway. Can’t arrest a conjurer, and they paid willingly. I suppose it’s a bit of comfort . . . isn’t it?”
“It probably comes in the same category as patent medicines,” Pitt thought aloud. “If you believe it will cure a nervous headache, or make you sleep better, maybe it will? And who’s to say you have no right to try it?”
“Because it’s nonsense!” Tellman responded with vehemence. “She’s making a living out of people who don’t know any better. She tells them what they want to hear. Anybody could do that!”
“Could they?” Pitt said quickly. “Send your men back to ask more carefully. We need to know if she was getting real information that wasn’t public knowledge, and we can’t account for how she heard it.”
Tellman’s eyes opened wide in disbelief and then a shadow of real alarm.
“If she’s got an informant, I want to know about it!” Pitt snapped. “And I mean a flesh-and-blood one.”
Tellman’s face was comical with relief, then he blushed hot, dull red.
Pitt grinned. It was the first time he had found anything to laugh at since Cornwallis had told him he was back in Special Branch. “I assume you have already made enquiries about anyone seen in the street near Cosmo Place,” he went on, “that evening, or any other, who might be our anonymous client?”
“Of course I have! That’s what I have sergeants and constables for,” Tellman said tartly. “You can’t have forgotten that so soon! I’m coming with you to see this Major General Kingsley. I’m sure your judgment of him will be very perceptive, but I want to make my own as well.” His jaw tightened. “And he’s one of the only two witnesses we have who were there at the . . . séance.” He invested the word with all the anger and frustration he felt in dealing with people who exercised their rights to make fools of themselves and involve him in the results. He did not want to be sorry for them, still less to understand, and the struggle to maintain his dispassion was clear in his face, and that he had already lost.