Free The Angel Court Affair (Thomas Pitt 30) by Anne Perry Page A

said.
    ‘And if she doesn’t?’ Hall asked. ‘I presume you are looking for her? Questioning these . . . people that she has now made her life with?’ His shoulders were tight, pulling the fabric of his coat, and there was a thin thread of fear in his voice. ‘For God’s sake, do you know anything about them? You must be making some sort of enquiries!’
    ‘We are,’ Pitt replied. ‘But all of them are Spanish, apart from Melville Smith, and we are having to work with the Spanish Embassy—’
    ‘Sofia is English!’ Hall interrupted angrily. ‘She was born and bred here, from generations of English! Marrying some damn Spaniard doesn’t rob her of that!’
    Pitt was surprised by the heat of the anger in Hall’s words. His fists were by his sides, but Pitt could see they were clenched so the large knuckles shone white.
    Hall stared at Pitt for a moment, then apparently realised that he had betrayed too much emotion and deliberately composed his face into total gravity.
    ‘I apologise, Mr Pitt. Sofia has always been a deep concern to her family, but that does not mean we are indifferent to what happens to her.’ He cleared his throat again. ‘Or that the thought of her coming to some harm is not extremely distressing, especially to me, since I am the last one who was close to her parents. I regret to say both my aunt and her husband are deceased.’
    ‘No brothers or sisters?’ Pitt allowed himself to be led, at least temporarily.
    ‘She had one brother who died as a child,’ Hall said simply. ‘You understand why I am concerned.’ It was a statement, not a question. He would not have accepted a negative answer.
    ‘Of course,’ Pitt agreed. ‘It is perfectly natural. I shall see that you are informed of any progress we make.’ They were still standing on the middle of the carpet. Pitt did not feel as if he could sit in any of the comfortable armchairs until Hall should invite him to. There was a charge of emotion in the air like the tension before a storm. Any ease would be pretended.
    ‘Thank you,’ Hall acknowledged.
    ‘Were you in regular correspondence with Señora Delacruz?’ Pitt continued.
    ‘Señora Delacruz? For God’s sake!’ Hall’s voice was tight, the music that had been in it so agreeably, now completely gone. ‘No, I wasn’t. If our family had not lived in this house for generations I doubt if she would have known where to find me.’
    ‘She lives in Toledo?’ Pitt asked, trying to judge how much Hall had kept up his information about her.
    ‘So I am told. Is that relevant?’ Hall appeared surprised.
    ‘I don’t know,’ Pitt answered. ‘She seems to have gained enemies long before she came to England, at least according to the threats she has received.’
    ‘Hardly surprising,’ Hall snapped back. ‘She has a gift for it. Her ideas are absurd, which is irrelevant, but they are also deeply offensive to many who revere the teachings of their own Churches, whose faith is nearly two thousand years old, and has stood the test of time and hardship!’ He started to clear his throat and turned it into a cough. ‘How can they not be?’
    ‘Christianity has certainly withstood terrible persecution,’ Pitt agreed, watching Hall’s face.
    ‘And now on top of her . . . her blasphemous philosophy, a cheap trick to gain attention,’ Hall said desperately. ‘And from a woman in my own family! Thank God her parents are not alive.’
    Pitt was taken aback. Hall spoke as if he considered himself the persecuted, not the aggressor. There was almost a hunted look about him.
    Hall straightened himself up. ‘I’m sorry. This must seem absurd to you.’ His voice was stronger, his composure regained. ‘Her return to England has come at an unfortunate period for me. I have responsibilities to which I need to give uninterrupted time: serious matters to which I cannot afford to give less than my full attention. I’m sorry if I seem heartless, but there are only so many times