Free Bluegate Fields by Anne Perry Page B

Thomas.”
    Two days later, any doubts he had were dismissed when a constable met him with the message that Sir Anstey Waybourne’s footman had called, and Pitt was required at the house because a most serious turn of events had taken place; new and extremely disturbing evidence was to hand.
    Pitt had no choice but to go immediately. It was raining, and he buttoned up his coat, tied his scarf tighter, and pushed his hat down on his head. It took only moments to find a hansom and clatter over the wet stones to the Waybourne house.
    A serene-faced parlormaid let him in. Whatever had happened, it seemed she was unaware of it. She showed him straight into the library, where Waybourne was standing in front of the fire, clasping and unclasping his hands. His head jerked up and he faced Pitt even before the maid had closed the door.
    “Good!” he said quickly. “Now perhaps we can get this whole dreadful business over with and bury the tragedy where it belongs. My God, it’s appalling!”
    The door closed with a faint snap and they were alone. The maid’s footsteps clicked away on the parquet floor outside.
    “What is the new evidence, sir?” Pitt asked guardedly. He was still sensitive to Charlotte’s implication of convenience, and it would have to be more than suspicion or malice before he regarded it with any credence.
    Waybourne did not sit down or offer Pitt a seat.
    “I have learned something most shocking, quite—” His face creased with distress, and again Pitt was suddenly caught by a sense of pity that surprised and disconcerted him. “Quite dreadful!” Waybourne finished. He stared at the Turkish carpet, a rich red and blue. Pitt had once recovered one like it in a robbery case, and so knew its worth.
    “Yes, sir,” he said quietly. “Perhaps you would tell me what it is?”
    Waybourne found the words difficult; he searched for them awkwardly.
    “My younger son, Godfrey, has come to me with a most distressing confession.” He clenched his knuckles. “I cannot blame the boy for not having told me before. He was ... confused. He is only thirteen. Quite naturally, he did not understand the meaning, the implication.” Finally he looked up, though only for a moment. He seemed to desire Pitt’s understanding, or at least his comprehension.
    Pitt nodded but said nothing. He wanted to hear whatever it was in Waybourne’s own words, without prompting.
    Waybourne went on slowly. “Godfrey has told me that Jerome has, on more than one occasion, been overly familiar with him.” He swallowed. “That he has abused the boy’s trust, quite natural trust, and—and fondled him in an unnatural fashion.” He shut his eyes and his face twisted with emotion. “God! It’s revolting! That man—” He breathed in and out, his chest heaving. “I’m sorry. I find this—extremely distasteful. Of course Godfrey did not understand the nature behind these acts at the time. He was disturbed by them, but it was only when I questioned him that he realized he must tell me. I did not let him know what had happened to his brother, only that he should not be afraid to tell me the truth, that I should not be angry with him. He has committed no sin whatsoever—poor child!”
    Pitt waited, but apparently Waybourne had said all he wished to. He looked up at Pitt, his eyes challenging, waiting for his response.
    “May I speak to him?” Pitt said at last.
    Waybourne’s face darkened. “Is that absolutely necessary? Surely now that you know what Jerome’s nature is, you will be able to find all the other information you need without questioning the boy. It is all most unpleasant, and the less said about it to him, the sooner he may forget it and begin to recover from the tragedy of his brother’s death.”
    “I’m sorry, sir, but a man’s life may depend on it.” There was no such easy escape for either of them. “I must see Godfrey myself. I shall be as gentle as I can with him, but I cannot accept a secondhand