Seven Dials

“Ferdinand, please calm yourself sufficiently to inform me what I must say to him,” she said firmly. “I ca

Garrick made a tremendous effort to master the panic inside himself, but still his voice cracked with emotion.

“The people who killed Lovat will stop at nothing whatever to kill Stephen also, and Sandeman if they can find him. Stephen knew it!” His face was pink, the embarrassment painful to see, nevertheless he continued with some semblance of control. “He was… not well…”

She allowed the euphemism to pass. She knew what outward form his son’s illness had taken, but it was the cause of it that mattered now, so she did not interrupt.

“He had episodes of delirium,” he continued more steadily. “I had him put in a hospital…” He took a deep, shuddering breath. “The Bethlehem Lunatic Hospital.”

Vespasia was well aware of the reputation of Bedlam; it needed no words of his to expand the horror of it. That he would place his son in such a man-made hell said more than anything else could have to show her his fear.

“And Pitt found him there and removed him?” she said with only the very slightest lift of question. “Do you not think that perhaps it was Martin Garvie he went seeking? You did send the valet as well, did you not?”

His face was slack for a moment with surprise, then the look vanished. “It seems you know even more about it than I had supposed. Yes, I imagine Garvie might be more within his circle of-” He stopped, aware suddenly that he was ru

She looked at his anguished face. “And what is it I should tell Pitt, or whoever is concerned?” she asked. “What is the danger that you fear, Ferdinand?” She moved across to the sofa as she spoke, and gestured for him to be seated, but he remained unyielding on his feet.

“Give him back to me, and I’ll take care of it,” he said between his teeth.

She sat down. “I think if they wanted him so little that they would be prepared to give him back simply because I asked it, then they would not have gone to the trouble of taking him in the first place,” she said reasonably. “Is it not time to deal with rather more reality?”

He started to speak, and then stopped.

She waited. She would not ask again. He knew the facts. Stephen was his son.

He lowered his eyes. “He has knowledge which I believe certain people will kill him to obtain,” he said.

It was an oblique answer, less than the truth. However, it served the purpose, and she knew he would not give her more unless forced to. She would leave that to Victor Narraway, and she had already made up her mind that it was he to whom she would go.

“I shall inform them of that,” she promised.

Something in him eased a fraction, but now that victory was achieved, he moved from foot to foot in impatience for her to proceed.

She regarded him coldly. “I have no intention of permitting you to accompany me, Ferdinand. You have told me all I require. As you have made clear, time is of importance. Good morning.”

“Thank you,” he said stiffly. His expression was one of relief, gratitude, and almost disappointment, now that there was nothing more for him to do in his own cause. He hated dependence of any sort whatever, and upon a woman most of all. “Yes… I am obliged. Good day to you. I…”

“I shall inform you of the outcome,” she replied coldly. “Should you not be at home, I shall leave a message with your butler.”

“I shall be at home.”

She inclined her head in the faintest acknowledgment.

He colored deeply, but he offered no further argument. She rose to her feet to permit him to take his leave without seeming rude.

Again, Vespasia used her telephone. It was an instrument she had been quick to adopt, and she was impatient with those who resisted its speed and convenience.

She was certain that Victor Narraway was again attending the trial of Ryerson and the Egyptian woman, and that court would adjourn for luncheon at one. That gave her an hour to be there, and convey to him that she wished to see him urgently.

As it was, they met on the steps as she was arriving. He came towards her with his customary elegance and an outward appearance of ease, but even before he spoke she saw in the shadows of his face, the tension within him, that he was profoundly worried, perhaps even afraid.

“Good afternoon, Lady Vespasia,” he said quietly.

“Good afternoon, Victor. I am sorry to call you away from the business of the court, but Ferdinand Garrick came to me in profound distress this morning.” She ignored his surprise. There was no time for the explanation of courtesy. “He is aware that Pitt has found Stephen Garrick in Bedlam, and removed him. I believe he would not have done that without your approval, and possibly your assistance.”

He offered her his arm and she took it. Obviously he wished to move away from the steps, where they might be overheard.

“Actually, it was Garvie we were more interested in-to begin with,” he told her.

“Yes, I am aware of Charlotte’s concern for him; you do not need to explain that to me.”

The shadow of a smile touched his lips and then disappeared. “It was Mrs. Pitt who learned where Garvie was,” he said wryly. “From a priest in Seven Dials.” They were walking along the footpath side by side, away from the Old Bailey down to Ludgate Hill, then east towards the vast shadow of St. Paul’s, its dome dark against a bright, windy sky.

“That sounds like Charlotte,” she responded.

He drew in breath as if to say something, then the thought vanished and another, far darker, took its place.

“There was an atrocity in Egypt,” he said so quietly she could barely hear him. “Twelve years ago. Lovat, Garrick, Sandeman, and a man named Yeats were involved. Ferdinand Garrick concealed it then. If it is exposed now, to anyone at all, it could set Egypt ablaze, and cost us Suez. There are men who will kill to keep it silent.”

“I see.” She drew in a long, shaky breath. The thought did not surprise her. Money, power and passionate loyalties were involved. “Do I assume that Lovat was murdered in revenge for this?”

“It looks like it. God help them… who wouldn’t? But I shall protect Stephen Garrick as long as it is necessary, and you may tell his father so. I have as much interest in keeping him safe from his enemies as he has. Please say no more. I don’t know yet who is playing in this, or on which side. I would save Ryerson if I could, but it is beyond my ability now.”

She hesitated only momentarily. “May I visit him, to offer the services of a friend?” she asked.

“I will arrange it this evening,” he promised. “You should say all you wish to him then. Once the jury is in, I… I believe you may have no further opportunity.”

She found without warning her voice was trembling. “I see. Thank you.”

“Lady Vespasia!” He did not risk the impertinence of using her name without her title.

“Yes?” She had her composure again.

“I am truly sorry.” The pain in his face was momentarily naked. She did not know why Ryerson’s conviction should hurt him so much, or even whether he believed him guilty of more than foolishness, but she was certain beyond any hesitation at all that the emotion was deep and private, part of the man, not the calling.

She stood still, facing him on the quiet footpath in the shadow of St. Paul’s. “There are some things we ca

He was self-conscious, something she had never seen in him before.

“Come to the Newgate entrance at eight,” he said, then he turned and went back into the courtroom.

EVEN NARRAWAY COULD CONTRIVE only a very brief visit for Vespasia. She had expected Ryerson to show signs of the strain he must be feeling, but in spite of her mental preparation for it, she was shocked when she saw him. She remembered him as a big man. The sense of his physical power had always been overwhelming, the most remarkable thing about him, more than the character in his face or the intelligence or the charm.