Anne Perry - The Angel Court Affair

Brundage was a large young man, almost Pitt’s own height, but more broadly built. His brown hair flopped forward over his brow and he brushed it back automatically as he straightened up from reaching across to a collection of printed papers advertising the event. He had unusual features, blunt and yet in no way coarse.

“Sir,” he said politely on recognizing Pitt.

“Evening, Brundage,” Pitt acknowledged, glancing around the room, noting the windows and the second door. “Tell me what you’ve found so far.”

Brundage rolled his eyes very slightly. “Wish I could say it was what I expected, sir. The hall is secure enough, and the local police are prepared for a big crowd. Probably more people curious than looking for any trouble, but it only takes a few to make it turn nasty.”

“What is here that you did not expect?” Pitt asked a little skeptically.

Brundage shrugged. “Someone I can’t dismiss as a harmless lunatic I suppose,” he answered with a degree of self-deprecation. “I thought her followers would be the usual collection of idealists, dependents and hangers-on. And of course those who want to take her place. I’m not wrong about that. Although they are more intense than I expected.”

“A threat to her?” Pitt asked quickly.

“I hope not.” He met Pitt’s eyes. “But it is not impossible.”

“Who are they? Names. Do we know any of them?”

“They’re all with her full time. They don’t do anything else. They’ve given their lives to this. The most important, certainly in his own estimation, is Melville Smith,” Brundage began. “He is the only one who’s English. In his fifties. Ambitious, but denies it. Seems loyal, but I think to the ideas rather than to her. Ramon Aguilar, on the other hand, is about fifteen years younger than Smith, and he’s loyal to Sofia over all else. He’s Spanish, very soft spoken, gentle.” Brundage smiled. “Sings to himself while he’s walking around. The three women who came with her are all harder to read. Cleo Robles is small and pretty, about twenty-five; English mother and Spanish father. I’m guessing there is some tragedy in her background…” He left the words unfinished, as he was uncertain what to add.

Pitt formed the instant opinion that Brundage had liked her.

“Elfrida Fonsecca is quiet, watchful,” Brundage continued. “Heavier, but in a comfortable sort of way. Womanly, if you know what I mean? And she has a lovely skin, not a mark on it.”

Pitt nodded. “Do you know anything about her?”

“She seems devout, withdrawn,” Brundage answered with a small shake of his head. “I can’t get any history from her. But she bites her nails. Something bothers her.”

“Go on,” Pitt told him.

“Henrietta Navarro is older. I think she was in some kind of religious order before she joined Sofia. She refuses to speak of it, and I can’t press her without causing real anger. I tried, and Sofia herself told me in no uncertain words to leave the subject alone.”

Pitt heard a new note in Brundage’s voice, something he had not ever heard before in the year and a half he had known the man. It spoke of a certain awe.

“And Sofia herself?” Pitt asked.

Brundage hesitated.

Pitt waited. Honesty was more important than speed.

“I don’t know,” Brundage said eventually. “I can tell you about the others. They’re not all that different from many I’ve known.” He regarded Pitt earnestly. “But she is. I can’t even tell you if I think the threats against her are real. I also can’t tell you if she thinks they are, or if she believes some kind of holy angel is going to protect her, so they don’t matter.”

Pitt stared at him. “Is there anything useful you can tell me?” he said with an effort at courtesy. Brundage probably did not want this task any more than he did himself. There were other, genuine and important cases to work on, specifically the industrial sabotage one he had mentioned to Sir Walter, which was growing more serious with time.

Brundage shifted his weight.

“Ramon Aguilar is loyal. If there’s going to be an attack from inside it’ll be Melville Smith.”

They could hear the sound of movement back and forth along the passage, footsteps, quiet voices.

“Relationships among the followers?” Pitt asked.

Brundage pursed his lips. “Pretty strong dislike between the two men. They think it’s concealed, but it isn’t. The two older women are distant with each other, but polite. Henrietta Navarro seems to be closer to Smith in attitude. And there’s another woman who sweeps and cleans in the yard at Angel Court, where they are staying. But she’s new, apparently, only just joined them, and doesn’t talk to anyone.”

“Then let’s see if Sofia Delacruz will speak with me now,” Pitt replied. “I suppose she’s preparing to give her sermon, or whatever it is.”

Brundage looked relieved. He straightened up and went out the door without any further comment.

It was less than five minutes later that the door opened again. Pitt swung around expecting to see Brundage returning with the message that Delacruz was too busy to see him, because she was praying or studying, or whatever she did to prepare herself. Instead he saw a slender woman of more than average height. Dark hair was drawn back from the most remarkable face he could ever recall seeing. His first thought was that she was not beautiful. She was too fierce, her slate-blue eyes too deeply set. Then he realized as she walked toward him that indeed she was beautiful, in a way that was both savage and tender. There was a burning intelligence in her-and something in her expression that might have been amusement.

“I am Sofia Delacruz,” she said quietly. “I understand you are Commander Pitt of Special Branch.”

Pitt inclined his head. “Yes, ma’am. I hope we can help avoid any unpleasantness occurring for you.”

To his surprise she laughed, a rich, spontaneous sound. “I hope that will not be the case. It will mean I am so bland that no one can find anything to object to. Then I need not have come.”

Pitt was confused. This was not how he had pictured a woman who was dedicated to religion, regarded by some as a saint. He realized that he had expected a calmness, a purity apart from the world, in fact apart from reality. But Sofia seemed very present, very earthy.

“You came with the intention of disturbing people?” he asked, trying to keep surprise from his voice, and a thread of exasperation. Perhaps she was merely a troublemaker who thrived on attention and shock. He saw nothing holy in that, in fact the opposite. It was contemptible.

She walked across the floor in front of him. She held her head high, proud. The light overhead accentuated the bones of her cheeks and the fine lines about her eyes and mouth. Then she was in the shadows again. She moved with extraordinary grace.

“What do you expect me to say?” she asked him. “Do you think I came here to tell people that there is nothing to do, nothing to worry about? That everyone is perfect, just continue as you are? God loves you and will give you everything you want, so there is no need for you to do anything at all?” She gave a shrug so slight it was barely a movement. “The complacent do not need me to tell them that. The sinless, and those who know in their hearts that this is not the glory possible for them, would both go away empty, and wonder why I had even bothered to come. That is what you expected of me? Why would anyone threaten me, then, Commander? I would be guilty of lying, and of perpetuating boredom, but no one kills for such things, as long as the lies are comfortable enough.”

Pitt drew a deep breath. He reminded himself that whatever it cost him in patience or tact, Sir Walter had made it very clear that any attack on this woman while she was in England would be more than embarrassing; it could be the spark that would ignite an international incident that could escalate into a war.