Pitt sat back on the wooden seat and watched with profound pleasure as the sun faded on the old apple tree in the center of the lawn and for a few moments gilded the rough bark. They had only been in the new house a matter of weeks, but already it had a familiarity about it as if he were returning rather than moving in for the first time. It was many small things: the light on the patch of stone wall at the end of the garden, thte bark of the trees, the smell of grass deep in the shade under the branches. It was early evening and there were moths fluttering and drifting in the early May air, which was already cooler as twilight approached. Charlotte was inside somewhere, probably upstairs seeing the children to bed. He hoped she had also thought of supper. He was surprisingly hungry, considering he had done little all day but enjoy the rare full Saturday at home. That was one of the benefits of having been promoted to Superintendent when Micah Drummond had retired: he had more time. The disadvantages were that he carried far more responsibility and found himself, rather too often for his wishes, behind a desk in Bow Street instead of out investigating. He settled a little lower in the seat and crossed his legs, smiling without being aware of it. He was dressed in old clothes, suitable for the gardening he had done through the day very casually, now and then. There was a click as the French doors opened and closed behind him. "Please, sir . . ." It was Gracie, the little waif of a maid they had brought with them, and who was now filled with importance and satisfaction because she had a woman in five days a week to do the heavy scrubbing and the laundry, and a gardener's boy three days. This fell under the heading of a considerable staff. Pitt's promotion had been hers as well, and she was immensely proud of it. "Yes, Gracie," he said without getting up. "There's a gentleman to see you, sir, a Mr. Matthew Desmond . . . ." "Matthew Desmond?" he repeated incredulously. "Yes sir." She looked startled. "Shouldn't I 'ave let 'im in" "Yes! Yes, certainly you should. Where is he?" "In the parlor, sir. I offered 'im a cup o' tea but 'e wouldn't 'ave it. 'E looks awful upset, sir." "Right," he said absently, brushing past her and striding to the doors. He pulled them open and went into the sitting room. It was now filled with the last sunlight and looking oddly golden, in spire of its green and white furnishings. "Thank you," he added over his shoulder to Gracie. He went into the hall, his heart beating faster and his mouth suddenly dry with anticipation and something not unlike guilt. He hesitated for a moment, a confusion of memories teeming through his mind and stretching as far back as consciousness would take him. He had grown up in the country, on the Desmond estate, where his father had been gamekeeper. He was an only child, as was Sir Arthur's son, a year younger than Pitt. And when Matthew Desmond had longed for someone to play with in the huge and beautiful grounds, Sir Arthur had found it natural enough to choose the gamekeeper's son. It had been an easy friendship from the beginning, and in time extended to the schoolroom as well. Sir Arthur had been pleased enough to include a second child and watch his own son's application improve, with someone to share his lessons and to compete against him. Even with Pitt's fathers disgrace when he was unjustly accused of poaching (not on Sir Arthur's lands, but those of his nearest neighbor), the family were permitted to remain on the estate, with rooms in the servants' quarters, and Pitt himself had not been denied his continued education while his mother worked in Excerpted from Traitor's Gate by Anne Perry All rights reserved by the original copyright owners. Excerpts are provided for display purposes only and may not be reproduced, reprinted or distributed without the written permission of the publisher.
