entirely out of her character. She is committed to the cause.’
Pitt did not interrupt him. He looked at Smith’s high-boned, rather pale face and found himself unable to read it. He appeared worried, but not deeply afraid. That could have been so for many reasons. Perhaps he knew that Sofia had disappeared by intent, to create a stir, and thereby reach a far wider audience. Did he disapprove or did he find it manipulating and insincere? Was that what he had meant by there being many ways to teach?
Perhaps he even knew where she had gone, for some reason Sofia was reluctant to have other people know.
Worse, it was possible that he welcomed her disappearance because that would leave him as leader of this fast-growing sect, and free to take it in a direction he might prefer, or feel to be more likely to succeed.
Smith drew in a deep breath. ‘Sofia has come to England primarily to meet with Barton Hall, who is a cousin in some degree, although he is considerably older than she. She did not hide from me that it is a matter of some urgency, although I have no idea why. Hall is apparently in good health.’ He stopped, waiting for Pitt to respond.
‘And the “mission”?’ Pitt asked curiously. If Smith were right then it altered the way in which he should look at everything that had happened.
Smith bit his lip. ‘It is a chance to preach that we should not lose, and I believe much wiser we do not make it obvious that meeting Hall was Sofia’s real purpose in coming to England.’
Pitt looked at Smith. He was sitting uncomfortably, his back straight, his hands clasped in front of him, knuckles white – but there was no wavering in his eyes.
‘Do you know anything of their business?’ Pitt asked.
‘No,’ Smith replied. ‘But I came to believe that my first supposition that it was a family matter was at least partially mistaken, perhaps entirely.’
‘What changed your mind?’ Pitt said. He wanted far more than simply to know Smith’s decision; he needed the reasons for it. His own conclusion might be different. If Sofia Delacruz had come to England for a reason other than her religious beliefs, or to resolve an old quarrel, then that other reason might explain her absence now.
Smith frowned. ‘It is hard to be precise, and I feel somewhat foolish about it,’ he said hesitantly. ‘If it had been clear to me then I should have prevented this, and you will think me incompetent . . .’
That word again. ‘Incompetent?’ Pitt said ruefully. ‘If she has gone away in order to whip up greater public interest in her message, then she has duped me, and I assume you also. If something unpleasant has happened to her, then it is my charge to protect her, and therefore my inadequacy that she is now missing.’
For a moment Smith looked embarrassed, almost compassionate, then it was gone again. ‘I have known her for nearly six years,’ he stated. ‘If she went willingly then I should have seen it coming. At least I should have been more aware of the danger. Having seen the threatening letters, I believed those who wrote them to have been no more than cranks, people whose words were violent, but who had not the courage to act.’ He smiled sourly. ‘At least not so criminally . . .’
‘What gave you the thought that she was not here to resolve an old family quarrel?’ Pitt reverted to the earlier, still unanswered question.
‘From what she said to me of it, there was little chance that a meeting would make it better,’ Smith answered. ‘More likely it would raise old issues that are far better left to rest.’ He leaned forward a little. ‘When she was in her early twenties, about seventeen years ago, I think, she was betrothed to be married to someone extremely suitable, in her parents’ view.’
Pitt could well imagine what was to come, but he did not interrupt.
‘She refused to accept the man,’ Smith said with a faint shrug of his shoulders. ‘I have no idea why. She may have known
Pitt did not interrupt him. He looked at Smith’s high-boned, rather pale face and found himself unable to read it. He appeared worried, but not deeply afraid. That could have been so for many reasons. Perhaps he knew that Sofia had disappeared by intent, to create a stir, and thereby reach a far wider audience. Did he disapprove or did he find it manipulating and insincere? Was that what he had meant by there being many ways to teach?
Perhaps he even knew where she had gone, for some reason Sofia was reluctant to have other people know.
Worse, it was possible that he welcomed her disappearance because that would leave him as leader of this fast-growing sect, and free to take it in a direction he might prefer, or feel to be more likely to succeed.
Smith drew in a deep breath. ‘Sofia has come to England primarily to meet with Barton Hall, who is a cousin in some degree, although he is considerably older than she. She did not hide from me that it is a matter of some urgency, although I have no idea why. Hall is apparently in good health.’ He stopped, waiting for Pitt to respond.
‘And the “mission”?’ Pitt asked curiously. If Smith were right then it altered the way in which he should look at everything that had happened.
Smith bit his lip. ‘It is a chance to preach that we should not lose, and I believe much wiser we do not make it obvious that meeting Hall was Sofia’s real purpose in coming to England.’
Pitt looked at Smith. He was sitting uncomfortably, his back straight, his hands clasped in front of him, knuckles white – but there was no wavering in his eyes.
‘Do you know anything of their business?’ Pitt asked.
‘No,’ Smith replied. ‘But I came to believe that my first supposition that it was a family matter was at least partially mistaken, perhaps entirely.’
‘What changed your mind?’ Pitt said. He wanted far more than simply to know Smith’s decision; he needed the reasons for it. His own conclusion might be different. If Sofia Delacruz had come to England for a reason other than her religious beliefs, or to resolve an old quarrel, then that other reason might explain her absence now.
Smith frowned. ‘It is hard to be precise, and I feel somewhat foolish about it,’ he said hesitantly. ‘If it had been clear to me then I should have prevented this, and you will think me incompetent . . .’
That word again. ‘Incompetent?’ Pitt said ruefully. ‘If she has gone away in order to whip up greater public interest in her message, then she has duped me, and I assume you also. If something unpleasant has happened to her, then it is my charge to protect her, and therefore my inadequacy that she is now missing.’
For a moment Smith looked embarrassed, almost compassionate, then it was gone again. ‘I have known her for nearly six years,’ he stated. ‘If she went willingly then I should have seen it coming. At least I should have been more aware of the danger. Having seen the threatening letters, I believed those who wrote them to have been no more than cranks, people whose words were violent, but who had not the courage to act.’ He smiled sourly. ‘At least not so criminally . . .’
‘What gave you the thought that she was not here to resolve an old family quarrel?’ Pitt reverted to the earlier, still unanswered question.
‘From what she said to me of it, there was little chance that a meeting would make it better,’ Smith answered. ‘More likely it would raise old issues that are far better left to rest.’ He leaned forward a little. ‘When she was in her early twenties, about seventeen years ago, I think, she was betrothed to be married to someone extremely suitable, in her parents’ view.’
Pitt could well imagine what was to come, but he did not interrupt.
‘She refused to accept the man,’ Smith said with a faint shrug of his shoulders. ‘I have no idea why. She may have known
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