Seven Dials Page 0,39

himself in society. Then, with Emily's pushing, and some example of Pitt's, and possibly the respect he had observed both his wife and her sister had for achievement, he had taken up a vivid interest in politics. That did not alter the fact that he and Pitt met seldom.

"I don't know Ryerson," Jack said regretfully. "Bit above my political reach... for the time being." He saw Pitt's face. "I mean I intend to climb," he corrected quickly, "not that I think he is going to fall. Is he?" Now his expression was suddenly very serious.

"Too early to say," Pitt replied. "No, I'm not being discreet. I really don't know." He pushed his hands into his pockets, a dramatic contrast to Jack, who would never have dreamed of doing so. It would ruin the line of his clothes, and he was far too innately elegant to do that.

"I wish I could help," Jack said with implied apology. "It all seems ridiculous, from what I've heard."

A small black-and-white dog was charging around, wagging its tail with excitement. It did not seem to belong to the courting couple near the trees, or to the nursemaid in starched uniform, the sun shining on the fair hair escaping her white cap as she pushed a perambulator along the path.

Pitt bent and picked up a piece of stick and threw it as far as he could. The dog hared after it, barking with excitement.

"Did you know Lovat?" he asked.

Jack glanced sideways at him, unhappiness in his eyes. "Not well."

Pitt could not afford to let him escape so lightly. "He's been murdered, Jack. If it were not important I wouldn't ask."

Jack looked startled. "Special Branch?" he said with disbelief. "Why? Is there something in the Ryerson speculation? I thought it was just the newspapers."

"I don't know what it is," Pitt retorted. "And I need to know, preferably before they do. Did you know Lovat? Without the censorship of decency toward the dead."

Jack's mouth tightened and he stared into the distance.

The dog came galloping up to Pitt and dropped the stick, dancing backwards in anticipation, gazing up at him.

He bent, picked up the stick and pitched it far again. The dog hurtled after it, ears and tail flying.

"A difficult man," Jack said at last. "An ideal candidate for murder, I suppose, in a way. Actually, I'm damned sorry it happened." He turned to look at Pitt. "Tread softly, Thomas, if you can. There are a lot of people who could be hurt, and they don't deserve it. The man was a bastard where women were concerned. If he'd stayed with the sort of married women who've had their children and now play the field a bit, no one would have minded a lot, but he courted women as if he loved them, young women expecting marriage, needing it, and then once he had them, he suddenly cried off. Left everyone wondering what was the matter with them. The conclusion was usually that they had lost their virtue. Then, of course, nobody else wanted them either." He did not need to paint a further picture. They both knew what lay ahead for an unmarriageable woman.

"Why?" Pitt said miserably. "Why court a decent woman you have no intention of marrying? It's cruel... and dangerous. I'd-" He stopped, but in his mind he thought for a moment of Jemima, trusting, eager, so easy to hurt. If a man had done that to her, Pitt would have wanted to kill him, but not shoot him cleanly in someone else's garden in the middle of the night. He would have wanted to beat him to a pulp first, feel the crack of bone on bone, the impact of his fist on flesh, see the pain, and the understanding of why it was happening. It was probably primitive, and would be of no help at all to Jemima, except to let her know she was of infinite value to someone and that she was not alone in her pain. And it would serve the point at least that the man would be a great deal less inclined to do it again.

He looked sideways at Jack, and saw something of the same raw anger in his face. Perhaps he was thinking of his own daughter, barely more than a baby.

"You know it for certain?" Pitt asked quietly.

"Yes. I suppose you want names?"

"No. I don't want them," Pitt replied. "I would far rather let the poor devils keep their pain secret, but I have to. If