The Angel Court Affair

by Anne Perry

  “Didn’t she?” he asked, turning the question back.

  Charlotte thought for a few moments. “Yes, I suppose she did, but more subtly than that. I thought the real trouble would be that she said we all had the same chance of becoming divine.”

  Pitt considered for a moment. “You’re right. Most people won’t like that.”

  “Just about everyone thinks they have a better chance than others, either because they’re cleverer, or believe the right doctrine, or are just more humble and generally virtuous.” She bit her lip and smiled at him with a steady probing gaze. “And I suppose that excludes us pretty well from real virtue, doesn’t it? If we loved others we would be seeking to find a way of including as many as possible, not as few!”

  “Laurence didn’t say that,” he replied thoughtfully. “Perhaps he should have.”

  —

  THE LETTERS WERE THERE the next day, as Pitt had expected. Passions were ignited both for and against Sofia Delacruz, with considerably more against than for.

  Pitt read them methodically at the breakfast table. Some simply defended their own faith and felt Sofia had made grave errors of understanding. Those were to be foreseen, and were largely harmless.

  Others called her outrageous and demanded that she be silenced. A few suggested God would act to destroy her, if man did not. Various biblical punishments were suggested, more colorful than practical.

  Pitt was aware of Charlotte watching him read, concern in her face.

  “It’s only words,” he said, smiling at her, trying to defuse the sense of unease he felt. There was an ugliness to the tone of so many of the letters. They expressed not so much a defense of faith as a wish to punish Sofia for the offense of disturbing their certainties and awakening doubts that had been long asleep.

  Charlotte started reading over Pitt’s shoulder.

  “Some of them are pretty vicious,” she said.

  He folded the newspaper and put it facedown on the table.

  “You have to be very ugly inside to write the sort of things they say,” she went on, moving around the table to face him.

  “They’re angry because she’s disturbed them,” Pitt pointed out reasonably. “They’re frightened.”

  “I know that.” There was an effort at patience in her voice, and it showed through. “But frightened people are dangerous. You taught me that, and I haven’t forgotten. Can you stop any of it?”

  “No,” he said more gently. “She has the right to say whatever she believes. And they have the right to deny it, ridicule it or put forward any alternatives. We can’t pick and choose whose opinions we allow to be heard.”

  “But they could become violent,” Charlotte protested.

  He stood up, ready to leave. “As I said, my darling, they’re only words. The threats are implied, no more.” He got no farther than the hall, when the telephone rang, and he went to answer it.

  “Brundage.” The person on the other end identified himself immediately. He sounded hoarse and a little shaky. “She’s not here, sir. We’ve searched the whole of Angel Court, where they’re staying, and it seems she went sometime during the night.”

  Pitt felt a chill ripple through him, leaving him cold. “Señora Delacruz? Where on earth would she go?”

  “I don’t know, sir,” Brundage said with a thread of desperation in his voice. Pitt could hear it over the wire.

  “Did anyone come, either in the night, or earlier?” Pitt asked. “Any letters, messages?”

  “No, sir,” Brundage answered a little more sharply. “And nothing seems to be damaged, or missing…”

  “Except Señora Delacruz,” Pitt snapped.

  “Not just her, sir.” Brundage swallowed hard. “Two other women are gone too. Cleo Robles and Elfrida Fonsecca.”

  “For God’s sake, Brundage, what happened? Nobody could forcibly kidnap three adult women without there being some signs of a struggle!”

  “I know that, sir! But there are no signs of a struggle or a fight. Nothing’s broken. Nobody heard anything, not even a cry or a thump.”

  “Or nobody’s admitting to hearing anything,” Pitt corrected.

  “Yes, sir, I thought of that.” Suddenly Brundage’s anger was gone and he sounded crushed.

  It was not his fault, and Pitt knew it. None of them had taken the threats very seriously. They had thought no further than of a little unpleasantness at one of the public appearances: perhaps at worst a loss of temper, a few stones or pieces of rotten fruit thrown. Now, suddenly, she was gone. Voluntary or not, it was disturbing.

  “What’s your impression, Brundage?” he asked.

  There was a moment’s silence, and then Brundage answered. “She was persuaded to go, sir. Or else she planned to all along. But I think that’s less likely, in the circumstances…”

  “What circumstances?” Pitt asked.

  “She has a meeting tomorrow evening. Melville Smith has canceled it now.” Brundage’s voice grew harsher. “He seems certain she isn’t going to be back for it.”

  A dark thought entered Pitt’s mind. “What did he say about the meeting, as clearly as you can remember?”

  “I know exactly what he said,” Brundage replied sharply. “ ‘Due to unforeseen events, which we cannot at the moment explain, Señora Delacruz will not be able to speak at St. Mary’s Hall tomorrow evening. We deeply regret the disappointment and inconvenience this will cause, and hope that she will be able to take up her mission again soon.’ ”

  “I’m coming to Angel Court,” Pitt said. There could be any number of reasons why Sofia had gone, willingly or unwillingly: illness, an accident, a quarrel during which someone lost control, possibly something to do with one of the members of her family in London. That last seemed the most likely. But why on earth had she not informed Melville Smith of the reason for leaving, and the date when she would return? It was discourteous, to say the least. Could it be carelessness? A message gone astray?

  He was back in the kitchen again and its warmth wrapped around him, the comfortable smell of bread toasting in front of the open grating, a breath of air from the window over the sink.

  “What is it?” Charlotte asked quietly.

  “Sofia Delacruz has gone from Angel Court, without explanation,” he replied.

  Charlotte rose to her feet. “What on earth do you mean ‘gone’? Has someone kidnapped her? How could that happen with all those people around her, and your men watching?”

  “It doesn’t seem that she was kidnapped—at least not forcibly,” he said bluntly. “She may have had some urgent call from a member of her family.”

  “Went out alone, leaving no word?” Charlotte said with disbelief.

  “We don’t know what happened,” he replied. “I’m going to Angel Court now. And she wasn’t alone. Two of her women went with her.”

  Charlotte grasped his wrist, holding it with surprising strength. “Is that what you believe, Thomas? That she received a message from her family? It’s not, is it? She isn’t a foolish woman. If she were in the habit of treating her staff like this, it would become known, and defeat her whole purpose.”

  “Many so-called saints are tyrants at home,” he said gently. He knew Charlotte had liked the woman, as had many others. If this disappearance was intentional then Sofia was letting them down, and he resented it.

  “Thomas, she hasn’t gone willingly!” Charlotte said with a burst of desperation. “You know that as well as I do! You must find her.” She did not add that she feared Sofia had been hurt, perhaps killed, but it was there in her eyes.

  Pitt’s touched Charlotte’s hand gently, loosening her hold, but not letting go of her. “Of course I’ll find her,” he said gently. “But you have to prepare for the possibility that this is a deliberate piece of melodrama to gain more attention. It’s possible none of the threats to her life are real. The fact that two of her women went with her suggests it was planned. And it would be extremely difficult to kidnap a visiting Spanish saint undetected.�
� He leaned forward and kissed her gently.

  —

  BUT PITT WAS FAR less certain of the truth when he paid the cabby and crossed the pavement to the entrance into Angel Court. It was an ancient courtyard, its surrounding buildings three stories high and with mullioned windows. At the entrance to the courtyard stood a stone angel, life-size, its wings gigantic, its arms raised as if in benediction. It was imposing and strangely sinister. There was an old stable half door to the left. The ground was paved with rough cobbles, which were rounded on the surface, green moss thick between them. An old woman moved rhythmically over them with a broom, back and forth.

  Melville Smith had clearly been waiting for Pitt. He strode across the open space toward him, tension in every line of his body.

  “Thank heaven you’ve come,” he said breathlessly. “This is a disaster. It makes us look like…incompetents! It’s absurd!” His voice cracked with the effort to control it.

  Pitt felt the sting of the word “incompetent.” It applied to him far more than Smith.

  Smith clasped Pitt’s hand, then let go of it. He led the way across the court to the open door of their lodgings, and inside.

  Brundage was in the oak-paneled hallway speaking with a dark, gentle-faced man whom Smith introduced briefly as Ramon Aguilar. They were both pale and clearly distressed. Brundage swung round when he saw Pitt.

  “Morning, sir,” he said grimly.

  “Morning,” Pitt replied. He might be less civil later, but not now. They needed clear thinking, a logical appreciation of the facts. Whatever was written in the newspapers yesterday, to Frank Laurence, and any other skeptical observer, this would look very much like a stunt to obtain publicity. They had to tread carefully to keep the situation from spinning out of control.

  “Was the front door locked and bolted this morning?” he asked Brundage levelly.

  “Yes, sir,” Brundage replied. “So was the back door into the delivery area. I can’t find anything to indicate a jimmied window, but there is an open one on the second floor. It’s right near the bathroom downpipe, but I can’t see three women dressed in long skirts climbing down the wall in the middle of the night or the small hours of the morning.”

  Pitt could in fact imagine Sofia Delacruz doing it, if the cause was important enough to her, but he did not say so.

  Smith glared at Brundage. “Someone could have climbed up it,” he pointed out angrily. “They could have broken in and taken Sofia and—”

  “The two other women also?” Pitt raised his eyebrows. “Only with help. And it’d be almost impossible to do silently. I cannot imagine Sofia Delacruz going unwillingly and without a fight. Can you?”

  Smith glared at him. “Are you suggesting she went willingly?” he said between his teeth, anger staining his cheeks pink.

  “Is it possible?” Pitt responded. “You know her better than most people do. You have supported her for over five years. You have stated publicly, many times, that you believe her philosophy.” He smiled very slightly. “You certainly appear to admire her.”

  “Of course I do,” Smith said instantly, then stiffened as if he regretted committing himself so far, and without equivocation. He moved his feet uncomfortably on the wide oak floorboards. “We have our differences though,” he went on, aware of now being intensely awkward. “On minor points only.”

  Pitt purposely allowed the silence to grow heavy. Footsteps echoed across the yard, uneven on the cobbles, and somewhere in the kitchen a saucepan was dropped.

  “She was in danger!” Smith finally said angrily. “That’s why your people were supposed to guard her! Where were your men when she was taken? Why aren’t you asking them these questions? Where were you yourself?”

  “Asleep, as I imagine you were,” Pitt said softly. “I am not attacking you, Mr. Smith. I am trying to rule out impossibilities, so that we can concentrate on what is possible. A window three stories up is open, but all the doors to the outside were locked and bolted. It seems hard to think of a way in which Señora Delacruz and both the other women were taken by force without a sound being heard. There has been nothing broken, nothing stolen and no indications that anyone was hurt.”

  Ramon spoke for the first time, his face flushed with anger. “If you are saying that the señora went willingly and has left us, then you are a fool! You know nothing of my people.” His accent was very slight but his voice was husky with anger. “You spoke with her, I know that. Do you see that woman stealing out in the night like an eloping maid? Why? What for? Her faith is her life…”

  “There are different kinds of faith, Mr. Aguilar,” Pitt said very gently. The man’s distress was clear in his pale face and clenched body. “What about coercion or trickery?” he suggested. “Or a message from her family that someone was ill, perhaps dying, and time was short.”

  Ramon hesitated. “I suppose it is possible,” he said with a flicker of hope. “But why did she not leave a message? And why take both Cleo and Elfrida?”

  Smith’s mouth was drawn in a tight, thin line. “If she had gone to see her cousin, Barton Hall, then she would certainly have told us,” he answered for Ramon. “The situation between them is…unpleasant. He has no understanding of her mission. She did say she wished to see him, but I have no idea why. And I am certain that she has not done so yet.”

  Ramon gave him a withering look. “Her business is private. She certainly would have gone alone, but not in the night, and not without telling anyone.”

  “An emergency?” Pitt was still looking for an answer that displayed thoughtlessness possibly, but not danger.

  “What emergency?” Smith said bitterly. “They were not close. Her family treated her very badly. Without understanding. They are steeped in their own past, their own knowledge, their own importance! Rigid…” He stopped and flushed very slightly, aware that both Pitt and Ramon were staring at him. He cleared his throat. “I apologize. I have never met Barton Hall. I know only what she told me, and what I read between the lines of her words.”

  Ramon was irritated. “I do not believe she spoke ill of him, whatever she thought.” He turned to Pitt. There was anger and warning in his eyes.

  Ramon’s blind defense of Sofia was possibly hampering the investigation, but nevertheless Pitt admired it, which was unreasonable in itself. If any woman looked capable of defending herself, and was willing to do so, it was Sofia Delacruz.

  “You wouldn’t,” Smith said with an edge of contempt. “Your views of her are tinged with affection, even though at the moment only the truth is of any help to us.” He turned from Ramon back to Pitt. “Their differences are an old wound to Barton Hall’s family pride. To his standing in the world, if you like.”

  “He has no standing in the world,” Ramon snapped back. “He is a banker and a layman in the Church of England. He is important in his community, that’s all. When he retires someone else will take his place, and he will sink into obscurity. The señora will be remembered forever. The world will be changed because of her.” His dark face with its gentle lines was filled with a passionate enthusiasm that made him momentarily beautiful.

  Pitt was momentarily shaken by the man’s conviction. Then common sense returned like a cold wind erasing words written in sand. Sofia had gone away, unaccountably. Judging from his face, Smith’s feelings were very mixed, but he seemed more angry than concerned. Was that because he knew perfectly well where she was? Or was he unable to contemplate something serious having happened to her?

  Ramon’s expression was different. He looked fearful of the worst, as if in his vision she was important enough that all the power of evil, human or otherwise, would quite naturally gather against her. It was there in the panic to his voice, the intensity of his speech.

  Pitt clung to the details of fact and reason.

  “The two women who went with her,” he said, returning to the issue, “Cleo Robles and Elfrida Fonsecca—tell me something of them. I remember seeing them at the meeting. They seemed to be close to her, but
why would she take both of them with her?”

  Smith and Ramon began speaking at the same time, and then both stopped. It was Smith who began again, asserting his seniority.

  “Cleo Robles is very young, twenty-three. She is well meaning, full of enthusiasm, but she has much yet to learn of the way to teach people.”

  “There are as many ways as there are people to teach,” Ramon interrupted. “And often enough it takes more than one person to do it.”

  “He was asking about Cleo, not about teaching,” Smith corrected him. He turned back to Pitt and, with an effort, resumed his formal voice. “She is like a child, eager and friendly. If you imagine she has guile in her, then you know nothing of people.”

  Pitt was used to being in the center of a disagreement. “She has no guile. Does that mean that she is also gullible?” he asked, looking from one to the other of them.

  “Yes,” Smith said without hesitation. His eyes darted at Ramon, then back again to Pitt.

  “No,” Ramon contradicted him in the same breath. “Not…gullible. Perhaps innocent. She has dreams…”

  “Gullible,” Smith repeated, looking away from him. “But she is loyal. Ramon is right: she has dreams of saving the world, and she believes that Sofia can do it.” This time his voice did not give away his own feelings, only that he was struggling to hide them.

  Pitt wondered what had made a man like Melville Smith join Sofia’s group. It had to be alien to him in every way: to his family background, his culture and his upbringing. The reason must have been compelling, but was it a need for what Sofia taught, a hunger he could not deny, even at the cost of giving up all that was familiar? Or was it a flight from something he could no longer bear?

  If Sofia did not reappear soon, Pitt would have Brundage look into the man’s background.

  “And Elfrida Fonsecca?” he asked. “Is she gullible too?”

  This time both other men hesitated.

  “I don’t know,” Smith admitted. “She is extremely capable in administrative matters. We could be in trouble without her, which I am sure she is aware of. It would be very unlike her to absent herself from any of her duties. It…it mattered to her belief of herself.”