Hyde Park Headsman

8

THE FOLLOWING MORNING Emily’s fear had turned into furious anger. She was still shaking as she sat at the breakfast table opposite Jack, who had come in walking stiffly, and as she faced him he looked distinctly pale.

“What are you going to do about it?” she demanded. “It’s monstrous! A member of Parliament attacked in the street by a homicidal lunatic!”

He sat down carefully, as if any twisting or jolting might cause him pain. “I am not a member of Parliament,” he said slowly, his brow furrowed as if he had to search for the words. “And there is no reason why I should be exempt …”

“Of course there is,” Emily rejoined. “You have nothing to do with Captain Winthrop or Mr. Arledge, or the bus conductor, and we weren’t even in Hyde Park.”

“That is what I was thinking.” Jack stared at his plate. Beyond the door came the sound of footsteps as one of the servants crossed the hall.

“What do you mean?” Emily demanded. “You are not making a great deal of sense! Have you sent for the police? I still think you should have sent for them last night. I know they wouldn’t have caught anyone by then, but they should still have been told as soon as possible.”

“I want to think …” Before he could complete his sentence the parlormaid came in with hot tea and fresh toast for Emily, and inquired what Jack would like, offering him smoked haddock, eggs, sausages, bacon and potatoes, or chops. He thanked her and chose the fish.

“Think? What about?” Emily demanded as soon as the maid had gone. “The Headsman attacked you, for goodness sake! What is there to think about?” She leaned forward across the table, peering at him. “Jack? Are you ill? Did he injure you?”

He pulled a face of self-mockery, but his amusement was hollow.

“No, of course not. I am a trifle bruised, that’s all.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, I am quite sure.” He smiled, but his face was still very pale. “I want to think about it before I decide what to do….”

“I don’t know what you mean, what to do! You must report it to the police—preferably to Thomas. He has to know.” She leaned on her elbow, staring at him.

“Thomas, of course,” he agreed. “But I don’t think anyone else.”

“I don’t understand. Why not anyone else? It is hardly a private thing to be attacked in the street!” Absentmindedly she poured the tea for both of them and passed his across.

“I think it might be better if I didn’t mention it,” he replied, accepting the tea and taking a slice of toast.

“What? What on earth do you mean?” Her voice rose in incredulity. “No one is going to blame you for it! In fact quite the contrary, they will be highly sympathetic.”

“To me, perhaps,” he said thoughtfully. “Although there may be those who will wonder if I had some secret connection with the murdered men, and no doubt speculation would be rife. My enemies would—”

“You cannot keep silent in case someone speaks ill of you!” she said quickly. “Those that are of that bent will do so anyway. You cannot run away from it.”

“I wasn’t thinking of that,” he argued. “I was thinking of Thomas.”

“But it might help him,” she protested reasonably. “The more information he gets, the better chance he will have of finding the Headsman.”

The parlormaid returned with the haddock, inquired if there were anything else, and on being told there was not, took her leave.

“I’m not sure it was the Headsman,” Jack said as soon as the door was closed.

Emily was stunned. “What do you mean? I saw him. He had an ax! Jack—I saw him!”

“I know that,” he said gently. “You saw a man with an ax, but that doesn’t mean he was the Headsman. As you just said, I have no connection with Winthrop or Arledge or the bus conductor, nor was I near the park.” He took a mouthful of the fish. “And he attacked me when I was in company with someone else. It is not the Headsman’s pattern.”

“He has no pattern!” Emily said vehemently, ignoring the food.

He looked at her very seriously. “I shall tell Thomas, of course, but I don’t think I shall tell the local police. Can’t you imagine what the newspapers will say with another attack? It will play right into Uttley’s hands.”

“Oh.” She sat back in her chair, momentarily robbed of anger. “Yes, of course. I hadn’t thought of that. We must not give him anything at all. He would use it as another weapon, wouldn’t he?”

“I’ll send a message to Thomas.” Jack ignored the rest of his breakfast and rose, pushing his chair back.

The butler came in behind him, a bundle of newspapers over his arm. He looked very somber.

“I’ll look at them later.” Jack made as if to walk past him. “I must go and write a note to Superintendent Pitt.”

“I think he may already be aware of your misadventure, sir,” the butler said gravely.

“There is no way he could,” Jack replied, continuing on towards the door. “I did not tell the man who came to help us anything except that I lived not far away. It was too dark for him to have recognized me, even if he were minded to tell anyone, which he wouldn’t.”

The butler cleared his throat and set the newspapers down on the edge of the table. “I am sorry to say, sir, but you are mistaken in him. It is headlined in several of the newspapers this morning, most especially the Times. Mr. Uttley has written a very critical piece about the police force, I am afraid.”

“What?” Jack strode back and seized the top newspaper, holding it up to stare at it in horror. “This is absurd! How could Uttley possibly have known in time to have written this? In fact, how could he have known at all?”

“I’m sure I don’t know, sir. Do you still wish to send a note to Superintendent Pitt, sir?”

“Yes—no.” Jack sat down again hard, scratching his chair legs on the polished wooden floor. “This is damnable!”

Before Emily could reply there was a knock on the door and the maid opened it. “Superintendent Pitt is here to see you, sir. Shall I tell him as you’re in, sir?”

“Yes. Yes of course I’m in,” Jack said angrily. “Get him another cup and some more tea. And some fish, if he wants it.”

“Yes sir.”

Pitt came in almost as soon as she had withdrawn. He looked tired and profoundly worried.

“Are you all right?” he said quickly, looking from one to the other of them. “What happened? Why in Hell’s name didn’t you tell me last night?”

Emily swallowed hard and looked away.

“Sit down.” Jack pointed to a third chair not far from the table. “There’s more tea coming. Would you like something to eat? Smoked haddock? Eggs?”

“No thank you,” Pitt dismissed the offer totally, but accepted the seat.

Jack continued talking. “I didn’t tell you because I didn’t tell anyone last night,” he explained. “We came straight home and went to bed. No one knows but the servants.” He smiled in self-mockery. “One cannot keep much from them, especially when one is covered with bruises and limping around like the Ancient of Days. But I was going to send you a note just now, when Jenkins brought in the newspapers and said it was all over the front pages. I’m damned if I know how.”

“What happened?” Pitt asked wearily.

In careful and very precise detail, and without interruption from Emily, Jack recounted the events of the previous evening from the time he and Emily had left the reception until they had reached their home and closed the door on the street, with its sudden, inexplicable violence and fear.

The maid had brought a further cup and Emily had poured the tea, which Pitt sipped as he listened. Finally he put it down and regarded Jack with furrowed brows.

“Are you sure you haven’t forgotten anything?”

Jack looked at Emily.

“Nothing,” she replied. “That is exactly what happened.”

“Who was the man who came to your rescue?” Pitt looked from one to the other.

“I don’t know,” Emily said quickly. “I didn’t ask his name, nor did I give him mine.”

“Would you know him if you were to meet him again?”

“Possibly.” This time it was Jack who answered. “I’m not certain. The street was very ill-lit and I was considerably shaken. Added to which he was not dressed as one customarily meets someone.”

“How were you dressed?”

“Evening clothes, black and white.” Jack shrugged. “I did not have an overcoat because the evening was very mild.” He glanced at Emily. “Emily was in a deep green gown, but she did have a cloak, one with a hood, which she had up over her head”

“Could he have recognized you?” Pitt asked her thoughtfully.

Emily shook her head. “I’ve never met him before, so far as I can think. Anyway, why should he recognize me? I’m not running for Parliament.” She shook her head even more vehemently. “No, no, I was on the ground some of the time, and while he was helping Jack I did stand up, but my face was towards Jack. I don’t think I ever really looked at the man.”

Pitt was thoughtful. “Then how did he know who you were? You are quite sure there was no one else?”

“Another man did come up as we were leaving,” Jack replied “But all we said to him was that we were unhurt.”

“There were other people approaching as well,” Emily added. “I had screamed as loudly as I was able. I imagine it attracted the attention of several people—I surely hope so. I tried hard enough.”

“But I was not within a mile of Hyde Park,” Jack pointed out. “And I know nothing about Winthrop or Arledge. Why me?”

“I don’t know.” Pitt sounded thoroughly discouraged and Emily was so sorry for him that for a moment she forgot her own anger.

“Jack thinks it might not have been the Headsman,” she said very gravely. “He did have an ax, though, because I saw it quite distinctly. Do you suppose it could have been political?”

Pitt stared at her.

She looked embarrassed. Perhaps it was a foolish question. Pitt rose to his feet and thanked them for the tea. “I want to find out how Uttley knew about it,” he said with a frown. “It doesn’t make sense.”

He expected to have some trouble locating Nigel Uttley, considering that the political campaign was in full swing, but actually it turned out to be quite easy. Uttley was at his home just off Manchester Square and received Pitt without any prevarication, choosing to come out to the hall to meet him rather than invite him into a library or study.

“Good morning, Superintendent,” he said briskly, smiling and putting his hands into his pockets. “What can I do for you? I am afraid my knowledge of last night’s affray is very secondhand and I can think of nothing to tell you which you could not easily discover for yourself.”

“Good morning, Mr. Uttley,” Pitt said grimly. “That may be so. However, I should like to know directly from you the facts you wrote in the Times and seem to be so familiar with.”

Uttley’s eyebrows rose. “I detect a certain note of sarcasm in your tone, Superintendent” He smiled as he spoke, and rocked very slowly back and forth on the balls of his feet. The hall was handsome, very classical, with a Romanesque frieze around the walls just below the ceiling. The front door was still standing wide open and the sun streamed in. A young man stood on the steps outside, apparently awaiting Uttley’s attention.

Pitt would very much rather have discussed the matter in private, but Uttley apparently chose not to. He was going to wring the last possible political advantage out of it.

Pitt ignored the jibe. “How did you know about it, Mr. Uttley?”

“How?” Uttley seemed amused. “The local constable mentioned it. Why? Surely that cannot matter, Superintendent?”

Pitt was furious. What irresponsible constable had spoken to a civilian about the case? To have discussed it with anyone at all would have been bad enough, but to have chosen a politician who was building his platform upon his accusations of police incompetence was a breach of loyalty and duty beyond excusing.

“What was his name, Mr. Uttley?”

“Who? The constable?” Uttley’s eyes were very wide. “I have no idea. I didn’t ask him. Really, Superintendent, aren’t you wasting your time over quite the wrong thing? Perhaps he should not have confided in me, but it is just possible he is as concerned as the general public about the violence in our midst.” He hunched his shoulders and drove his hands deeper into his pockets. His voice was loud and very distinct when he continued. “I don’t think you seem to realize, Superintendent, just how deeply alarmed people are. Women are terrified to go out and many are ill with fear for their husbands and fathers, begging them not to leave home after nightfall. The parks are deserted. Even theaters are complaining that their patronage is falling off because no one wishes to have to return home in the dark.”

There were all sorts of answers Pitt might have given, but none of them countered the fact that the fear was real, however exaggerated. There was a smell of panic in the streets and he had felt it himself.

“I am aware of it, Mr. Uttley,” he replied as civilly as he could. It was not that Uttley was pointing it out to him that stirred his anger, but the pleasure that gleamed in the man’s eyes as he did it. “We are doing everything we can to apprehend the man.”

“Well it is patently not enough,” Uttley said penetratingly.

Outside on the step the young man was joined by a second.

“What did the constable tell you, Mr. Uttley?” Pitt kept the temper out of his voice as well as he could, but was not completely successful.

“That Radley had been attacked by a man with an ax who tried to kill him,” Uttley replied, looking beyond Pitt to the man on the step. “I shall be with you in a moment, gentlemen!” He looked back at Pitt, the smile on his lips broader. “Really, Superintendent, is this the best you can do? Surely a man of your rank can think of something more profitable to pursue than asking me for secondhand information, which I cannot help but think you want for the purpose of victimizing some wretched junior for having told me what you perhaps wish to keep secret.”

The young men outside came closer.

“Certainly if I find him, Mr. Uttley,” Pitt replied between his teeth, “I shall criticize him for having told you rather than me. That was a dereliction of duty which requires a good deal of explanation!”

“Not told you?” Uttley was amazed. “Good heavens!” His face filled with surprise, and then delighted amusement, so open as to be on the edge of laughter. “Do you mean you are here to find the facts, because your own police force has not told you? My God! Your incompetence exceeds all imagination. If you think I have criticized you so far, my dear man, I assure you, I have hardly begun.”

“No, Mr. Uttley, I am not here to find out the facts,” Pitt spat back. “I have those from Mr. Radley, including the fact that he gave no one his name and did not call the police.”

“Didn’t call the police?” Uttley’s face fell and he looked totally confused. “What do you mean? He was attacked in the street and damn nearly killed. Of course he called the police.”

“He was attacked.” Pitt was now also raising his voice. “But he was in perfect health this morning, and I understand from Mrs. Radley that he saw off the assailant fairly quickly, sustaining nothing more than a few bruises.”

“Is that what he says?” Uttley’s expression changed again to one of derision. “How brave of him—and loyal to his rather eccentric position of defending the police.”

“Is it not the truth?” Pitt inquired, suddenly softly.

“He was attacked by the Hyde Park Headsman, I heard,” Uttley said, not quite so blandly now. “Surely any man with a shred of responsibility would report that instantly to the police, whether he was actually hurt or not?”

“He reported it to me,” Pitt replied, stretching the truth very considerably—in fact, if not in spirit.

Uttley shrugged, pulling a face, and turned away. “Well then I assume you know all that you need to. That makes it rather unpleasantly obvious that you are asking me only in order to persecute this wretched constable, doesn’t it?”

“If he was the officer at the scene of the crime, it is important that I speak to him,” Pitt replied, gaining confidence every second. “Since Mr. Radley left immediately upon his escape from the attacker, waiting only long enough to assure his rescuer that he was unhurt, it is possible the constable may have found something of interest, for example the ax.”

Uttley looked startled, then composed himself rapidly.

“Then you had better go and look for him. It should not be beyond the powers of an officer of your experience to detect where one of your men has got to.” He laughed loudly. “What a farce! Gilbert and Sullivan could write a hilarious song about you, Superintendent, even funnier than the one in Pirates. Wait until the newspapers hear that the superintendent in charge of the case is busy combing London for one of his own constables. I imagine the cartoonists will have a marvelous time. What a gift!”

“You seem to think I shall have some difficulty, Mr. Uttley,” Pitt said just as clearly and penetratingly as Uttley had spoken. “Will it not be simply a matter of going to the appropriate station and inquiring as to who was on duty that evening?”

“I have no idea,” Uttley replied, but there was a very faint pinkness to his cheeks and his eyes did not meet Pitt’s as squarely as they had before. He thrust his hands deeper into his pockets and turned away. “And now if there is nothing further I can do for you, I have a great deal of other business to attend. I am sorry I cannot do anything to help you when you so apparently need it.”

“You have helped me a great deal,” Pitt replied. Then he added with a touch of bravado, “In fact, you may have solved it for me entirely. Good day, sir.” He walked out of the front door and passed the two young men on the steps, tipping his hat gently. “Good day, gentlemen.”

They turned to stare after him as he went on down the steps to the pavement, then looked at each other with wide eyes.

Pitt intended going straight to the police station from where any patrolling constable would have come, but before he reached it he was crossing a broad thoroughfare, moving between a fishmonger’s barrow and a cart filled with potatoes and cabbages, when he was accosted by a very fat man with grayish hair which fell in curls over his collar. His green eyes were bulbous in his bloated face. He was dressed immaculately with a long gold watch chain across his vast stomach. Beside him was another man, who barely came up to his elbow, his squat figure distorted, his sharp face vicious, lips open to show pointed, discolored teeth.

“Good morning, George,” Pitt said to the huge man. He looked from Fat George to his companion. “Good morning, Georgie.”

“Ah, Mr. Pitt,” Fat George said in a soft, high-pitched voice, oddly sad and whispering. “You’ve let us down, sir, that you have. The park isn’t safe for gentlemen anymore. It’s awful hard for business, sir. Awful hard.”

“You aren’t doing right by us, Mr. Pitt,” Wee Georgie added in a voice that was a hideous mimicry of his partner’s, the same breathy softness, but with a sibilance which made it harsher and immeasurably uglier. “We don’t like that. It’s costing us a lot o’ money, Mr. Pitt.”

“If I knew who the Headsman was, I assure you I’d arrest him,” Pitt answered as levelly as he could. “We are doing everything we can to find him.”

“Not good enough, Mr. Pitt,” Wee Georgie said, pulling a face. “Not good enough at all.”

“There’s a lot of gentlemen wot’s too scared to take their pleasures, Mr. Pitt,” Fat George added, poking his silver-handled stick at the ground. “They’re not happy, not happy at all.”

“Then you had better see what you can do to find out who the Headsman is,” Pitt replied. “You have more eyes and ears in the park than I have.”

“We don’t know anyfink,” Fat George said plaintively. “I thought we’d told you that already, one way and another. Do you suppose if we did we’d be standing here in this street between the carts reproaching you, Mr. Pitt? We’d have dealt with him ourselves. It isn’t any of our people. If you imagine it is something to do with business, you are mistaken.”

“Fool!” Wee Georgie spoke viciously. “Cretin! Do you think we like this kind o’ thing going on? If one of our people started cutting gents’ ’eads off, we’d stick a shiv in ’is back and put ’im in the river. We might teach the odd person a lesson wot gets above ’emselves and starts poachin’, but never touch a toff. It’s bad for business, and that’s stupid!” He fingered something at the side of his leg, invisible under his coat. Pitt was sure it was a knife. The little man licked his lips with a pointed tongue and stared at Pitt without blinking.

“What Georgie says is true, Mr. Pitt,” Fat George whispered, breathing in and out wheezily. “It’s not us. It’s somefink to do with gentlemen, you mark my words.”

“A lunatic from some …” Pitt began.

Fat George shook his head. “You know better than that, Mr. Pitt. I’m surprised at you. You’re wasting my time. There’s no lunatic living in the park, we both know that.”

Wee Georgie fidgeted from one foot to the other. A succession of carts and wagons was passing in the streets just beyond the two men.

Pitt did not argue. He had never thought it was a random madman.

“You’d better find ’im, Mr. Pitt,” Fat George said again, shaking his head till his curls bounced on his Astrakhan collar. “Or we shall be very upset, Wee Georgie and me.”

“I shall be upset myself,” Pitt said sourly. “But if it really bothers you, you’d better start doing something about it yourself.”

Wee Georgie looked at him venomously. Fat George smiled, but there was neither humor nor pleasantness in it.

“That’s your job, Mr. Pitt,” he said softly. “We would like it very much if you would attend to it.” And without saying anything further he turned on his heel and in a moment had disappeared between the carts. Wee Georgie looked up at Pitt one more time, his eyes full of malice, then trotted after his companion. He was obliged to trot in order to keep up, and it infuriated him.

Pitt continued on his way without giving the matter a great deal more thought, but it was an indication of the public mood that even Fat George should have felt the pinch of fear touching his business.

At the police station he was met with blank incomprehension. The inspector who spoke to him was a tall, lean man with a lugubrious, ascetic face and an air of harrowed dignity.

“We don’t know anything about it,” he said wearily. “Incredible as it seems, it was not reported to us. I know little more than I read in the newspapers.”

“Not reported?” Pitt was startled. “This is the right station?”

“Yes it is.” The inspector sighed. “I checked all my men. I wanted to know for myself what irresponsible idiot spoke to Uttley about it, but no one was on patrol in that area. And I’ve checked, so you don’t need to wonder if my men are telling the truth or if someone is trying to lie their way out of a stupid mistake. Every man can account for where he was. Uttley didn’t get it from one of them.”

“How very curious,” Pitt said thoughtfully. He did not doubt the man, nor did he think his constables were lying; it would be too easy to check, and the man found in such a stupid act would lose his employment.

“It’s a dammed sight more than that,” the inspector said tartly. “I can only suppose it must have been one of the people who came to help. Radley himself would hardly have told the newspapers. He at least seems to be on our side. He’s about the only one. Have you seen the papers, sir?”

“Yes—yes, that’s how I heard of it, in spite of the fact that Radley’s my brother-in-law.”

The inspector’s bushy eyebrows shot up. “Wasn’t he going to report it?”

“To me, because the man had an ax, but not to you. Wanted to save us the publicity of another attack.”

“Makes us look pretty stupid, doesn’t it?” the inspector said grimly. “It has to come to a sad state when a member of Parliament rides to power on the tide of public disgust with the police.” He pulled a face. “Bit of a coincidence, isn’t it, that the Headsman should attack Uttley’s rival in the by-election?”

“More than a bit,” Pitt replied. “Thank you for your time, Inspector. I think I’ll go and see these gentlemen who came to Mr. Radley’s aid, see what they have to say for themselves.”

“Can’t think what for. They didn’t see the wretched man,” the inspector said lugubriously. “Still, if you think it’s worth it?”

“Oh yes—yes, it may be.”

“Most certainly not, sir,” Mr. Milburn said in amazement. “That would be an inexcusable liberty, sir. Why in Heaven’s name should I do such a thing, indeed?”

“It might have been how you saw your public duty,” Pitt responded soothingly. “Or it is possible to let something slip in the heat of the moment.”

Mr. Milburn stood very straight, his shoulders square.

“The only heated moment, sir, was at the time of the attack upon the poor gentleman. And the lady too, for Heaven’s sake! Right in the middle of an exceptional area like this. A person is not safe anywhere these days.” Mr. Milburn shook his head, then ran his short fingers through his hair. “I really don’t know what things are coming to. I don’t wish to appear critical, sir, but the police force ought to be able to do better than this. We are living in the largest city in the world, and many would say the most civilized, and yet we walk our own streets in fear of anarchists and lunatics. It is not good enough, sir!”

“I regret it,” Pitt said sincerely. “But I know of nothing we could do that we are not doing.”

“I daresay, I daresay.” Milburn nodded and looked a trifle embarrassed. “Fear does not bring out the best in us. Perhaps I spoke hastily. Is there any way in which I can be of help?”

“Did you recognize anyone, sir?” Pitt asked.

“My dear fellow, I did not even see the attack. I was in my bedroom preparing to retire when I heard the good lady’s screams. I immediately ran down the stairs and out into the street to see what assistance I could give.”

“That is most commendable,” Pitt said sincerely. “And I may say, very brave.”

Milburn colored faintly.

“Thank you, sir, thank you. I freely admit I did not even think of the danger to myself at the time, or I might have reconsidered the matter. But that is as it may be. No, I cannot help you in the slightest in that regard, I am afraid.”

“Actually, sir, I meant did you recognize the lady and gentleman who were the victims of the attack?”

“No sir, I did not. It was all extremely hasty and in the dark. And I confess, normally I wear spectacles. I did not have them on this occasion, of course. The gentleman appeared to be quite young. He certainly moved in the most agile manner. And robust, yes definitely robust I cannot say more than that.” He took a deep breath and regarded Pitt very soberly. “As for the lady, it was certain she had spirit, and very fine lungs, but I really did not notice beyond that, even if she were fair or dark, comely or plain. I am sorry, sir, it seems I can be of no use whatever. I begin to appreciate your difficulty.”

“On the contrary, Mr. Milburn,” Pitt replied. “You are of the utmost help possible. In fact I think you may have solved the entire problem for me. Thank you, sir, good day to you.” And he excused himself and left Mr. Milburn standing open-mouthed, searching in vain for something appropriate to say.

But at Bow Street the reception was entirely different. Giles Farnsworth was in Pitt’s office, pacing the floor. He swung around as soon as he heard Pitt’s hand on the door and he was facing Pitt as he entered, a newspaper in his hand.

“I assume you have read this?” he said furiously. “How do you explain it? What are you doing about it?” He waved the paper in the air. “Now a prospective member of Parliament has been attacked in the heart of Mayfair! Do you know anything about this Headsman at all, Pitt? Any single damn thing!”

“I know this wasn’t the Headsman,” Pitt replied in a calm, precise voice.

“Not the Headsman?” Farnsworth said incredulously. “Are you telling me we have two homicidal lunatics running around London swinging axes at people?”

“No, we have one madman and one opportunist taking advantage of the situation.”

“What? What are you talking about?” Farnsworth demanded. “What sort of advantage would a sane man possibly take of this nightmare?”

“Political,” Pitt replied succinctly.

“Political?” Farnsworth’s eyes opened and he stood perfectly still. “Are you saying what I think you are, Pitt? My God, if you make this accusation, you’d better be right. And you’d better be able to prove it.”

“I can’t prove it sufficiently to charge him,” Pitt replied, walking into the room and across to his desk. “But I am satisfied it was he who attacked Mr. and Mrs. Radley last night.”

Farnsworth stared at him, the newspaper forgotten. “Are you? Your word, Pitt?”

“My word,” Pitt replied slowly.

“How do you know? He didn’t admit it?”

“No, of course not; but it was he who wrote it up in the newspapers. He told me that he heard of it from a constable on duty, but there was no such constable, nor did he learn it from the man who came to Mr. Radley’s rescue, because he was unaware of Radley’s identity.”

“Indeed,” Farnsworth said thoughtfully. “The man’s a complete fool.” The contempt in his voice was stinging. Then he dismissed the matter and looked back at Pitt with a return of his anxiety. “What about the real Headsman? The whole city is under a pall of terror. There have been questions in the House of Commons, the Home Secretary has been severely embarrassed at the dispatch box. Her Majesty has expressed her concern. She is distressed, and has made it known.” Suddenly his voice rose, harsh and furious, the fear rushing back in like a tide. “For God’s sake, Pitt, what’s the matter with you, man? There must be something you can do to find enough evidence to arrest him!”

“Are you talking about Carvell again, sir?” Pitt asked carefully.

“Of course I’m talking about Carvell,” Farnsworth snapped. “The man had the motive, the means and the opportunity. You’ve got the ideal leverage to pressure him into a confession. Use it!”

“I don’t have anything—” Pitt began, but Farnsworth interrupted him impatiently.

“Oh, for God’s sake!” He slashed his hand through the air. “Tellman’s right, you’re too squeamish. This is not the time or the place to indulge your personal conscience, Pitt.” He leaned forward across the corner of the desk, resting his hands on it, staring at Pitt eye to eye. “You have obligations, duties to your superiors and to the force. You’ve got to be above such things. They’re for juniors, if you like, not for the men in charge. Face your responsibilities, Pitt—or resign!”

“I cannot arrest Carvell,” Pitt said very quietly. “And I refuse to persecute the man over what I believe his private life to be.”

“Dammit, Pitt!” Farnsworth smashed his fist down on the desk. “The man was having an illicit love affair with the victim of a murder. He can’t account for where he was either then or when Winthrop was killed. Arledge may have known Winthrop—”

“How do you know that?” Pitt interrupted.

Farnsworth looked at him incredulously. “He knew Mrs. Winthrop. It’s not a large leap from that to suppose he knew Winthrop himself. And if Carvell was a jealous man, then the conclusion is obvious.”

“Tellman told you?”

“Of course Tellman told me! What’s the matter with you? What are you hesitating for?”

“It could as easily have been Bartholomew Mitchell.” Now Farnsworth was confused.

“Mitchell? Winthrop’s brother-in-law? Why, for Heaven’s sake? What had he to do with Arledge?”

“Winthrop beat his wife,” Pitt replied. “Mitchell knew it. Arledge was seen with Mrs. Winthrop when she was extremely distressed over something.”

“And the omnibus conductor?” Farnsworth pursued, ignoring the issue of Winthrop and the beating. “What about him? Don’t tell me he had anything to do with this domestic melodrama?”

“No idea. But then we have no idea what he has to do with Carvell either,” Pitt argued.

Farnsworth bit his lip. “Blackmail,” he said acidly. “It’s the only answer. Somehow or other he was in the park and saw one of the murders. I still think it’s Carvell. Go after him, Pitt. Press him into telling you the truth. You’ll get a confession, if he’s guilty.”

There was a knock on the door before Pitt could reply, and without waiting for an answer, it opened and Tellman came in.

“Oh,” he said with some surprise, as if he had not known Farnsworth was there. “Excuse me, sir.” He looked at Pitt. “I thought you’d like to know, Mr. Pitt. The men have been following up Mr. Carvell’s whereabouts at the times of the murders.”

“Yes?” Pitt said sharply, a sinking feeling in his stomach.

Farnsworth stared at Tellman, his eyes wide.

“Haven’t found anyone to substantiate it,” Tellman replied. “Not for Captain Winthrop or Mr. Arledge. I don’t know what else we can try.”

“That’s sufficient,” Farnsworth said decisively. “Arrest him for the murder of Arledge. The other two don’t matter for the charge. Once you’ve got him in custody, he’ll break.”

Pitt drew breath to argue, but Tellman cut across him.

“We don’t know about Yeats yet, sir,” he said quickly, looking at Farnsworth. “He might have been somewhere he can prove when that happened.”

“Well what does he say?” Farnsworth demanded irritably.

“That he was at a concert, and we’re still looking into it,” Tellman replied, his eyes very wide open, his expression innocent. “We’d look stupid if we arrested him, then found someone who said that they’d seen him at the theater half a dozen miles away at, say, midnight.”

“What time was Yeats killed?”

“Probably between midnight and half past,” Pitt replied.

“Probably?” Farnsworth said sharply. “How accurate can the medical examiner be? Maybe it was later. Maybe it was a couple of hours later. That would give Carvell plenty of time to have taken a hansom to Shepherd’s Bush.” He looked from Tellman to Pitt, his face triumphant.

Tellman looked at him very deliberately.

“Wouldn’t matter, sir. Yeats would hardly have been hanging around the Shepherd’s Bush bus terminal a couple of hours after he came in. He’d set off home, the driver said that. And since it’s only fifteen minutes or so at a good walk, that narrows down the time of his death rather fine.”

Farnsworth’s lips tightened. “Then you’d better get on with finding out who else was at that concert,” he said. “If the man was there, someone must have seen him! He’s a well-known figure. He didn’t sit in a room alone. For God’s sake, man, you’re a detective. There must be a way of proving if he was there or not. What about the interval? Did he take refreshment? He must have spoken to someone. Concerts are social occasions as well as musical.”

“He says he didn’t,” Tellman answered. “It was shortly after Arledge’s death, and he wasn’t feeling like speaking to anyone. He simply went for the music, because it carried memories for him. He went in without speaking to anyone, and came out the same way.”

“Then arrest him,” Farnsworth repeated. “He’s our man.”

“What if it turns out to be Mr. Mitchell, sir?” Tellman said ingenuously. “Seems he could have had cause as well, and he can’t prove where he was either, except for Mrs. Winthrop’s word, and that doesn’t count for much.”

Farnsworth turned towards the door.

“Well you’d better do something, and quickly.” He ignored Tellman and faced Pitt. “Or you will have to be replaced by someone who will be more effective. The public have the right to expect something better than this. The Home Secretary is taking a personal interest in the case, and even Her Majesty is concerned. The end of the week, Pitt—no more.”

As soon as he was gone Pitt looked at Tellman curiously.

Tellman affected a certain indifference.

“They would,” he said casually. “Pity they can’t think of some useful suggestions. Damned if I know what else to do. We’ve got two men trying to find out everything they can about the damned bus conductor. He’s so ordinary he could be changed with ten thousand other ordinary little men and no one would know the difference with any of them. Pompous, bossy, lived with his wife and two dogs, fancied pigeons, drank ale at the Fox and Grapes on a Friday night, played dominoes badly, but was rather good at the odd game of darts. Why would anybody murder a man like that?”

“Because he saw something he shouldn’t have,” Pitt answered simply.

“But he was on his bus when Winthrop and Arledge were killed,” Tellman answered in exasperation. “And it didn’t run anywhere near the park. And even if Arledge was killed somewhere else, we know exactly where Winthrop was killed.”

“Then put someone further onto searching for the place where Arledge was killed,” Pitt said without hope. “Search all the area ’round Carvell’s house. See if you can find an excuse to call on Mitchell, and search that house again too.”

“Yes sir. What are you going to do?” For once it was asked without insolence.

“I am going to attend the Requiem service for Aidan Arledge.”

There was never any question that Charlotte would accompany Pitt, first to the Requiem service itself, and then to the reception afterwards. The new house was very nearly completed and there were a score more minor things to be seen to: curtains to be hung, loose floorboards to be screwed down, a water tap replaced, tiles to be affixed in the kitchen and more in the pantry, and so on. However, they all paled to insignificance compared with the opportunity to meet probably all the main protagonists in the tragedies Pitt was investigating.

Deliberately they arrived early, discreetly dressed like the other mourners. Indeed Pitt had spent three times as long in front of the cheval glass as usual. It was still only a matter of minutes, but he had also allowed Charlotte to readjust his collar, his cravat and his jacket until they were to her satisfaction. Charlotte herself was dressed in the same black gown she had worn for the funeral reception for Captain Winthrop, but with a quite different hat, this time high crowned and smaller brimmed, and absolutely up to the moment, if not a trifle ahead of it. It was a gift from Great-Aunt Vespasia.

They had only just alighted from their hansom, around the corner so as not to be seen without a personal carriage, when they met Jack and Emily, also arrived early. Jack was as casually elegant as usual, even though he still walked a trifle stiffly. Charlotte knew all about the incident from the newspapers, from Pitt, and from Emily herself, upon whom she had quite naturally called very shortly after reading of it.

Emily was ravishing in black silk overlaid with lace and cut with wide sleeves and pleated shoulders. However, there was a flicker of appreciation when she saw Charlotte’s hat, and something like surprise in her face.

“I’m so glad you are here,” she said immediately, moving over to stand beside Charlotte, and saying nothing about the hat. “I feel terribly guilty. We haven’t accomplished a thing to help Thomas, and if I am honest, we haven’t really tried. What the newspapers are saying is quite unjust, but then justice never had anything to do with it. Do you know who is who?” She indicated the gathering around to explain the meaning of her last remark.

“Of course I don’t,” Charlotte replied under her breath. “Except that looks like Mina Winthrop. And that’s her brother, Bart Mitchell. Thomas.” She looked around to find Pitt. “Why are they here? Is it just sympathy, do you suppose? She looks very sad.”

“She knew him,” Pitt replied, moving close to them again and acknowledging Emily.

“She knew him?” Charlotte was aghast. “You didn’t tell me!”

“I only just learned of it….”

“How well? How did she know him?” she plunged on. “Could it have been …? Oh, no, of course it couldn’t—”

“Oh look at that poor soul,” Emily interrupted as Jerome Carvell passed within a few yards of them. “The poor man looks appalling.” And indeed he did; his face was sickly pale, his eyes red-rimmed as if he had been up half the night straining them to see something which, when he had finally perceived it, had shaken him to the core. He walked wearily and threaded his way between people without meeting anyone’s eyes. He spoke only to acknowledge people’s sympathies.

“He looks deeply troubled,” Charlotte said softly. “Poor man. I wonder if he knows something, or if it is merely grief?”

“It could be both,” Emily answered, looking not at Carvell’s back as he disappeared but at Mina Winthrop. Mina was wearing black for her own mourning, of course, as well as this occasion, but now with trimmings of garnet and pearl jewelry, and no veil over her face. Her skin was clear, and flushed with faint color, and she looked around her with interest. Her brother stood close beside her, and it crossed Charlotte’s mind that he wished to be aware if she moved from him, as one does in the company of a small child who might be in danger if unsupervised, or might even wander off and get lost. She had stood close to her own children like that, talking to someone, and yet half her mind attuned to their presence.

She turned to Pitt “Thomas …”

“Yes?”

“Is Bart Mitchell a suspect?”

“Why?”

“Because Captain Winthrop beat her, of course. I mean, what about Aidan Arledge? Could he also have done something to hurt Mina?”

“I don’t know. She was very distressed on the occasion they were seen together. It is possible.”

“What about the bus conductor?”

“No idea. There seems to be no reason for him, whoever it was.”

“He saw something,” Emily said reasonably. “From his omnibus.”

“It didn’t run anywhere near Hyde Park.”

“Oh.”

More people were arriving, among them a man of most distinguished appearance. He was in his middle years, with a handsome head, thick hair, graying at the temples, and a fine mustache. He was dressed immaculately in the latest cut of suit and silk shirt. He walked with shoulders back and a casual confidence which drew many people’s eyes towards him. Apparently he was accustomed to such attention, because it did not seem to cause him any concern, in fact he seemed hardly to be aware of it.

“Who is he?” Charlotte asked curiously. “Is he a cabinet minister, or something of that sort?”

“I don’t recognize him.” Pitt shook his head. Emily stifled a giggle with her black-gloved hand over her mouth.

“Don’t be absurd. It’s Sullivan.”

“Who is Sullivan?” Charlotte asked tartly.

“Sir Arthur Sullivan!” Emily hissed. “Gilbert and Sullivan!”

“Oh! Oh, I see. Yes of course. Mr. Arledge was a composer and conductor, wasn’t he? I wonder if Mr. Gilbert will come.”

“Oh no,” Emily replied quickly. “Not if he knows Sir Arthur is here. They’ve quarreled, you know.”

“Have they?” Charlotte was surprised and disappointed. “I didn’t know that. How on earth do they write such gorgeous operas together, then?”

“I don’t know. Maybe they don’t do it anymore.”

Charlotte felt unreasonably disappointed. She could still remember the color and excitement, the gaiety and irrepressible melody, of the few evenings she had spent at the Savoy Opera. Now just as Pitt was promoted and they might begin to afford such things more often, there were to be no more.

Her disappointment was interrupted by a second wave of interest from the rapidly expanding group by the church door. People moved aside, nudged each other and, without intending to, turned to stare.

“That’s him!” Emily said with unconcealed delight.

“Who? Gilbert?” Charlotte whispered back.

“Yes, of course. W. S. Gilbert,” Emily said urgently.

“Did they really quarrel?” Charlotte watched as Mr. Gilbert moved inexorably closer to where Sir Arthur Sullivan was standing at the top of the steps by the church door, apparently oblivious of new arrivals. “What about?”

“I don’t know. That’s what I heard.” Emily took Charlotte’s arm and propelled her closer to the church steps. “I am sure it is time we went in. It would be most inconsiderate to keep people waiting, don’t you think? And ridiculous, after having come here early, to enter the church late.”

Charlotte accepted without demur.

At the top of the steps Sir Arthur Sullivan became aware of a considerable stir in the crowd and turned to see W. S. Gilbert a few yards from him, mounting the stairs at a steady pace, talking to those on either side of him with earnestness, and they were listening with such apparently total attention that they did not look or slow their stride until it appeared as if they were going to bump into each other.

Sir Arthur stood his ground, continuing his own conversation as though it were the most important thing in the world.

Mr. Gilbert was forced to come to a halt on the top step.

“Sir, you are blocking the way,” he said clearly, his voice carrying to all the assembled people.

A hush fell over them. One by one they turned to stare. Someone cleared his throat nervously. Someone else giggled and instantly stifled it.

Sir Arthur stopped his conversation with a large man with white hair, and very slowly turned to face Gilbert.

“Are you addressing me, sir?”

Gilbert looked around carefully to see if there were anyone else in his immediate path, then faced Sir Arthur again.

“You have an excellent grasp of the obvious, sir,” he replied. “I see you have reduced the matter to its core in one leap of deduction. I am addressing you, sir. You are blocking the entrance to the church. Would you be so kind as to make way?”

“Can’t you abide your turn, sir, like a civilized man?” Sir Arthur’s eyebrows rose in an expression of disdain. “Must the whole of society stop its business and move aside so you may pass the instant you wish to?”

“I like a man with self-esteem, sir, but to regard yourself as the whole of society is to verge upon the ridiculous,” Gilbert replied.

Sir Arthur flushed a dull pink. The exchange had now made it impossible for him to move aside without losing face. He remained precisely where he was, right in Gilbert’s path.

It was Lady Lismore who saved the situation. She emerged from the shadow of the church doorway and addressed Sir Arthur.

“I do apologize for interrupting you, Sir Arthur, but I should greatly appreciate your assistance. We must have the music right for such an occasion, and I am not at all sure about the cellist.”

Sir Arthur looked irritated, as if he had actually had the perfect riposte on the edge of his tongue, but he went with her with some alacrity. “Of course, Lady Lismore. Any assistance I can offer …”

Mr. Gilbert smiled to himself and glanced sideways at the watching and listening assembly. But there was only the very faintest satisfaction in him as he went through the church doors and disappeared into the shade of the dim interior.

Charlotte let out her breath in a sigh.

“ ‘With a twisted cue and a cloth untrue, and elliptical billiard balls,’ ” Emily said cheerfully. “ ‘My object all sublime, I shall achieve in time …’ ”

“Ssh!” Charlotte frowned. “You can’t go into church for a Requiem service singing The Mikado!”

Emily fell silent immediately, at least until they were shown into a pew rather nearer the back than they had wished. Pitt and Jack were somewhere to their left, Pitt well in the shadows of the support pillars.

“There are a lot of people here,” Emily said as soon as they were settled. “I suppose it is because he was murdered. I’ll wager half of them have only come out of curiosity.”

“So have you,” Charlotte pointed out.

“Don’t be spiteful. You know the campaigning is going very well. I really think Jack has a chance of being elected.”

“Good. Now be quiet! We are in church.”

“It hasn’t started yet,” Emily replied. “Aunt Vespasia said she was coming, but I haven’t seen her. Have you?”

“No. But I haven’t seen anyone else I recognize either.”

“Have you seen Mama lately?”

“No, I’ve been too busy with the house.”

Emily bent her head as if she were deep in prayer or contemplation.

“She is getting worse,” she hissed into her prayer book. “She was out on the river till dawn the other night.”

“How do you know?”

“I saw her.”

“So you were out too.”

“That’s different!” Emily was indignant. “Quite different. Really, sometimes you are obtuse.”

“No I’m not. I just don’t think there is any purpose in being upset about it. You can’t stop her.”

“If I saw her, then Heaven knows who else did!”

The woman in the pew in front turned around and glared at Emily, fanning herself with her order paper for the service.

“Are you unwell?” she said crisply. “Perhaps you should take a little air before the service begins.”

“How considerate of you,” Emily replied with a saccharine smile. “But if I were to leave, I doubt I should ever find my seat again, and then my poor sister would have to sit all by herself.”

Charlotte covered her face with her hands to hide her laughter and allow the woman to assume it was grief.

The woman turned back with a frown.

The organ music swelled and then suddenly fell silent. The vicar began to speak.

Charlotte and Emily devoted themselves to appearing to mourn.

The reception afterwards was a very different matter. Emily’s carriage deposited all four of them on the pavement in Green Street outside Jerome Carvell’s house, then drove away to allow a brougham to arrive and its passengers to alight also.

Emily took Jack’s arm and went up the steps to the door, where a tall, very upright butler with a high-boned face and magnificent legs examined Jack’s card and made his decision.

“Good morning, Mr. Radley, Mrs. Radley. Please come in.” He turned to Pitt. “Good morning, sir?” His expression had changed subtly; one could not say precisely how it was different, but the respect had drained away, his eyes were arrogant and disinterested.

“Mr. and Mrs. Pitt,” Pitt replied with corresponding chill.

“Indeed, sir.”

Charlotte felt her stomach tighten. She ached for Pitt in the face of the butler’s superciliousness, but she was horribly afraid he would retaliate and earn still further contempt. She forced herself to smile as if she were totally unaware of anything but the usual courtesy.

Pitt lifted his head a little higher, but before he could reply the butler spoke again.

“I regret, sir, but this is not a convenient time for you to see Mr. Carvell. As you may observe, this is a social occasion of some gravity, and sadness.”

Charlotte drew in her breath to say something crushing.

“I have not called to see Mr. Carvell,” Pitt said politely, “but Mrs. Arledge. She is expecting me, and I should be distressed if she thought I had declined her invitation.”

“Oh.” The butler was clearly taken aback. “I see, sir. Of course. If you would be pleased to come in.”

“Thank you.” Pitt invested his thanks with only the faintest touch of sarcasm, and giving Charlotte his arm, he led her inside to the large reception room where already there was a considerable crowd gathered.

The table was spread with all manner of delicacies and presumably Carvell had hired extra staff for the occasion, because there were at least half a dozen maids and footmen in livery that Charlotte could see, standing discreetly ready to attend to everyone’s wishes.

There was a small group of men standing together in the doorway to the next room and as she and Pitt came in they turned. One of them took a step forward, his highly intelligent face filled with a mixture of pain, apprehension and hope. She did not need to ask Pitt if it were Carvell, the power of feeling in him could only belong to the man Pitt had described. It was the same man she had seen at the service, and whose grief had so moved her.

Pitt glanced at her, realized her perception, and smiled before going towards Carvell.

“Good day, Superintendent,” Carvell said with his eyes searching Pitt’s face. “Is there some …” He saw from Pitt’s eyes that there was nothing. “Oh, I’m so sorry. How clumsy of me. I beg your pardon. Should I say how good of you to come, or is that naive?” He did not seem to have realized that Charlotte was with Pitt. Curiously, she felt in no way slighted. Closer to, his face was uglier, the pockmarks on his skin showed very clearly, and yet it was also more intensely alive. In spite of knowing his relationship with Arledge, and her imagination of what it must have cost Dulcie, and the very real possibility that he was guilty of murder, she found herself curiously partisan on his behalf. Perhaps it was the sheer depth of his feeling and its reality she could not doubt. There was nothing indifferent in him.

“It is not news in the slightest,” Pitt replied sincerely. “I have come because Mrs. Arledge invited me, and I am grateful to be permitted to pay my respects to a man I believe I would have admired very much, had I had the opportunity to know him.”

Carvell bit his lip and swallowed hard. “You are very gracious, Superintendent. No one could have said that more generously and still have told the absolute truth. You have learned nothing more so far, and your duty brings you here, as well as your natural inclination. I do understand.”

“I would not say there is nothing further,” Pitt argued. “But the little there is leads to no conclusion. Mr. Carvell, may I present you to my wife?”

“Oh!” Carvell was completely taken aback. “Oh, I am sorry, ma’am. I beg your pardon for my complete rudeness. I had assumed—really, I am not sure what I had assumed. Forgive me.” He bowed very slightly. “How do you do, ma’am.”

He made no movement towards her.

“How do you do, Mr. Carvell,” she said with a smile. “Please accept my sympathies for your loss. It is an inexpressibly bitter thing to lose one’s dearest friend.”

He stared at her, surprise in his eyes, then a moment of embarrassment, and at last a spontaneous warmth.

“How kind of you.” They were very formal words, and yet she knew he meant them.

Before any of them could pursue the matter further and search for some easier subject of conversation, there was a stirring of movement at the doorway behind them, a murmuring of voices, a slither and brush of fabric as people moved against one another. Then as Pitt and Charlotte turned they saw a solitary woman enter the room, dressed in pretty and feminine black decorated with exquisite discreet mourning jewelry, lace at her wrists and throat. She was not a large woman, nor yet a strikingly beautiful one, but she commanded an immediate attention. Her features were well proportioned, her mouth gently curved. The delicate color of her skin was not marred, nor was her hair dressed less than gracefully; only her blue eyes betrayed the sleeplessness and the anxiety.

Charlotte felt Pitt stiffen and looked up quickly at him. There was an admiration in his face, and a profound gentleness which she had not seen in a long time, not even for Jerome Carvell. She did not need Pitt to tell her that this was Dulcie Arledge.

Dulcie looked around the room for an instant, her eyes resting on one person, then another. She did not hesitate at Mina Winthrop; apparently she did not recognize her, nor, it would seem, Bart Mitchell standing beside her. She smiled at Sir James Lismore and at Roderick Alberd. Several others earned a slight movement of her head and a shadow of a smile. Her glance slid over the graceful figure of Landon Hurlwood, a fraction taller than those surrounding him, but she gave no sign of acknowledgment.

Victor Garrick was sitting in an alcove with his cello cradled in his arms, waiting for the time when he was asked to play. His fair hair gleamed in the light from the gas bracket above him, and there was a look of peace in his face, as if he dreamed of something remote and uniquely lovely.

Dulcie inclined her head towards him, and pleasure softened his concentration in acceptance, and then the distant gaze returned.

Dulcie’s eyes finally came to rest on Pitt and a delicate smile curved her mouth. She moved forward, nodding, exchanging a word here and there, until she was only a few feet away from him.

Pitt waited and Charlotte did not speak. She was startled by the depth of feeling she sensed in Pitt, not only for Dulcie’s loss, and the dreadful disillusion she must be suffering with such dignity, but also a regard for her which held a tenderness and a respect he would almost certainly remember long after the case was over.

Charlotte admired him for it. She would not have wanted him to be incapable of such emotions; and yet it also stirred a twinge of unease in her, a consciousness that they had not shared this case, a recollection of the number of times that she had been absent when he had come home tired and worried, confused and needing to speak. She had been so full of her plans to make the new house beautiful, and to do it within an acceptable cost, that she had had room for little else in her mind. Now she was touched by a whisper of jealousy, soft, but unmistakable.

“Good morning, Superintendent,” Dulcie said, smiling up at Pitt. There was a distinct hesitation before she turned to Charlotte. “How do you do. You must be Mrs. Pitt. How gracious of you to have come as well. Most sensitive of you.”

Charlotte had to struggle to keep her answering smile sweet and think of something equally pleasant to reply. The slightest slip would be perceived and understood. She had only to meet Dulcie’s eyes to know that nothing passed her by.

“Thank you, Mrs. Arledge. I hope it is not an intrusion?”

“Of course not Please don’t think that for a second.” Dulcie turned to Carvell. Charlotte held her breath, then suddenly realized that of course Dulcie had no idea that he was anything more than another grieving friend, simply generous enough to have lent her his home for the occasion. She let out her breath again in a silent thanksgiving.

“Thank you, Mr. Carvell,” Dulcie said with a slight tilting of her head. “Your generous hospitality has made all the difference to me in what could well have been an almost unbearable situation. I assure you I appreciate it more than you can know.”

Carvell’s face flushed deep red and he stood as if transfixed to the spot Charlotte could only dimly guess at the storm of emotions that must rage through him as he faced Arledge’s wife. He opened his mouth to speak, and his voice failed him.

Pitt was standing almost as stiffly himself.

Dulcie waited expectantly.

Surely Carvell would say something before he betrayed himself. Any second the thought must surely enter her mind. It had to be someone. The choice was not wide.

Pitt drew in his breath sharply.

The sound of it seemed to force Carvell back to reality.

“I am glad it is of some service,” he said awkwardly. “It seems such a—a small thing to do. Not enough—not at all enough—”

“I am sure it is a great help,” Charlotte interrupted, unable to bear the tension any longer. “Simply not to have to worry about practicalities, and to be free to leave when one cannot endure company any longer and would prefer solitude, that is a great gift.”

Dulcie looked at her. “How perceptive of you, Mrs. Pitt,” she observed. “Of course you are quite right. Your gift is great, Mr. Carvell. Please do not allow your modesty to belittle it.”

“Thank you—thank you,” he said again, backing away a little. “If you will excuse me, ma’am, I will make sure that Scarborough is ready to serve when it is required.” And turning on his heel, he escaped to find the butler.

Dulcie smiled at Pitt.

“I had no idea he was so shy. What a curious man. But he has been very kind, and surely that is all that can matter.”

Any further private discussion was cut short by various people approaching to offer Dulcie their condolences and to say how fine the service had been, how they had enjoyed the music.

“Yes, young Mr. Garrick is most gifted,” Dulcie agreed. “He plays with more true feeling than anyone else I can recall. Of course I am not equipped to judge his technical skill, but it seems very fine to me.”

“Oh, it is,” Sir James Lismore agreed, nodding, and glancing across the room towards Victor, still sitting with his cello and talking to Mina Winthrop. “It is a pity he does not see fit to take it up professionally,” he continued. “But he is very young and may yet change his mind. He could go far, I think.” He turned to Dulcie. “Aidan certainly thought well of him.”

“Who is the lady with him?” she asked curiously.

He turned. “Oh, that is Mrs. Winthrop. Do you not know her?”

“I cannot recall that we have met. Poor woman. We have much in common, I am afraid. I must offer her my sympathies.” She smiled with twisted amusement. “Mine will be particularly apt, I’m afraid.”

But before she could move to fulfill her words, they were approached by more guests, and she was obliged to murmur polite acceptances and thanks for several more minutes. Charlotte and Pitt excused themselves and moved away to listen and watch from a discreet distance the faces of the other mourners.

They observed Lord and Lady Winthrop standing side by side, speaking very gravely to an elderly gentleman with rimless spectacles on his nose.

“I am most disappointed in the police,” Lord Winthrop was saying with obvious displeasure. “I had thought, considering my son’s reputation, and his service to his country, that they would have made more of an effort to apprehend the madman who committed such a crime!”

“Dastardly,” the elderly gentleman agreed. “Quite dastardly. One expects such things among the lower orders, but when it begins to invade the lives of respectable, even honorable people, the country is in a sad state. I assume you have spoken to the Home Secretary?”

“Of course,” Lord Winthrop said quickly. “Frequently! I have written to the Prime Minister.”

“He has had no reply,” Lady Winthrop said fiercely.

“That is not quite true, my dear,” her husband corrected her, but before he could take it any further, she cut across him again.

“Meaningless,” she said. “All he did was acknowledge that he had read your letters. That is not a reply! He did not tell you what he was going to do about it.”

The elderly gentleman with the spectacles made a clicking sound with his teeth and muttered something inaudible.

Pitt smiled. At least the Prime Minister was not going to be rattled.

The food was served. Footmen and maids moved among the guests with trays of wine and delicacies. All the time the supercilious butler, Scarborough, ordered the proceedings and saw that everything to the minutest detail was perfect.

Charlotte moved away from Pitt and began to observe for herself as much as she was able. She spoke for some minutes to Mina Winthrop, who was delighted to see her, and to Thora Garrick, who had apparently chosen to accompany Mina, perhaps to hear Victor play.

“How nice to see you, Mrs. Pitt,” Mina said with a rather uncertain smile. “You remember Mrs. Garrick, don’t you?”

“Of course,” Charlotte said quickly. “How are you, Mrs. Garrick?”

“I am very well, thank you,” Thora answered with a smile.

“I have heard your son play,” Charlotte went on. “He is extremely gifted.”

“Thank you,” she accepted.

“How is your house progressing?” Mina asked.

“It is very nearly finished,” Charlotte answered. “I have a yellow room, thanks to your brilliant creative sense.”

Mina flushed with pleasure.

“How is your arm?” Charlotte looked at her as casually as she could and still express concern.

“Oh it is nothing,” Mina said quickly. “It really didn’t hurt at all. I think it is most foolish to make too much of accidents. I … I really bring it upon myself….”

Thora looked at Charlotte with wide eyes full of incredulity, then at Mina, whose discomfort was now apparent.

Charlotte perceived the layers of meaning and misunderstanding.

“I thought it was a nasty burn,” she said gently. “The tea was extremely hot I admire your fortitude, but …”

Mina relaxed so visibly the color rushed back into her face and her whole body seemed easier.

Thora sucked in her breath in sudden relief.

“But I should not think you self-indulgent to have admitted it was acutely painful,” Charlotte finished. “I don’t think I would have put on such a brave face.” Then she changed the subject, and they spoke of porcelain, and what manner of design was most pleasing for clocks and mirrors.

But when Charlotte excused herself she was still turning over in her mind the fact that Thora Garrick was aware of Mina’s bruises, and presumably of their cause, and yet it stirred in her neither overwhelming pity, nor anger, nor fear that Mina or Bart Mitchell might be involved in Winthrop’s death. She must impart this knowledge to Pitt at the first convenient opportunity.

Victor Garrick was asked to play again, and did so with exquisite melancholy, to a vociferous appreciation from an audience with a deeper love and understanding of music than he was accustomed to.

Nearly three quarters of an hour later Charlotte was joined by a furious Emily.

“That man is a complete swine!” Emily said with suppressed rage shaking her voice and her cheeks flaming.

“Who?” Charlotte was astonished, and amused. “Who on earth has behaved so appallingly as to cause you to use a word like that? I thought you were far too much the lady to—”

“It’s not amusing,” Emily said between her teeth. “I’d like to see him out in the street, begging with a bowl in his hand!”

“Begging with a bowl in his hand. What on earth are you talking about? Who?”

“That arrogant pig of a butler Scarsdale, or whatever he’s called,” Emily replied, screwing up her face. “I found one of the maids weeping her heart out just now. He caught her singing and dismissed her—because this is a Requiem reception. She didn’t know the wretched man. Why should she know the difference between Victor Garrick’s playing the cello and her singing a sad little song? I’ve half a mind to tell Mr. Carvell and ask him to do something about it. Reinstate the girl and put that abysmal man out in the street.”

“You can’t,” Charlotte protested. “He won’t dismiss his butler because of a maid being disciplined.” But even as she said it, her mind was crowded with other thoughts. Jerome Carvell’s face filled her inner vision, the pain and the grief in it, and the imagination. Surely he would not wittingly have permitted any one of his servants to treat people in that manner?

Or was he too vulnerable to a manservant who lived in his house and knew him as only a servant can?

“Charlotte?” Emily said slowly. “What? What is it?”

“A thought,” Charlotte replied. “Perhaps nothing. But you cannot speak to Scarborough. You wouldn’t help the maid.”

“Why not? I certainly can.”

“No! Believe me, there are reasons.”

“What reasons?”

“Good reasons, concerning Mr. Carvell. Please.”

“Then I’ll employ her myself,” Emily said decisively. “You should have seen her, Charlotte. I’m not going to allow that to happen.”

Charlotte was about to reply when Dulcie Arledge approached them, smiling, her face weary, her shoulders still straight, her smile fixed.

“Poor creature,” Charlotte said softly to Emily, almost under her breath, her gaze still upon Dulcie.

“I think she looks better than I would do in the same circumstances,” Emily replied, but there was an ambiguity, a hesitation in her voice which Charlotte did not understand. However, it was too late to ask her what she meant. Dulcie was almost upon them.

“It has been a most moving occasion,” Charlotte said courteously.

“Thank you, Mrs. Pitt,” Dulcie accepted.

Emily added some appropriate remark, and before Dulcie could continue with whatever formality came next, they were joined by Lady Lismore and Landon Hurlwood.

“Dulcie, my dear,” Lady Lismore began with a warm smile, “do you know Mr. Landon Hurlwood? He greatly admired Aidan’s work, and came to pay his respects and offer his sympathy.” She turned to Hurlwood.

“No,” Hurlwood said.

“Yes,” Dulcie said at exactly the same moment.

Hurlwood blushed.

“I am so sorry,” he said quickly. “Of course I have met Mrs. Arledge. I simply meant that our acquaintance is very slight. How do you do, Mrs. Arledge. I am flattered you remembered me. There must be so many who admired your husband’s work.”

“How do you do, Mr. Hurlwood,” she answered, looking up at him with wide, dark blue eyes. “It is very kind of you to have come. I am gratified you admired my husband’s work. I am sure his name will live on, and perhaps give pleasure and encouragement for years to come.”

“I have no doubt.” He bowed very slightly, searching her face, his expression full of concern. “Would it be impertinent to say how much I admire your dignity in the face of such a loss, Mrs. Arledge?”

She colored deeply and lowered her eyes.

“Thank you, Mr. Hurlwood, although I fear you flatter me. It is most generous.”

“Not at all,” Lady Lismore said quickly. “It is no more than the truth. Now I am sure you must be ready to retire after all this emotion. I shall be privileged to remain here and bid people good-bye, if you would like me to.”

Dulcie took a very deep breath, not looking at Hurlwood anymore.

“I think I should appreciate that, my dear, if you really do not mind?” she accepted.

“May I see you to your carriage?” Hurlwood offered her his arm.

She hesitated for several moments, then with a nervous flicker of her tongue across her lips, her face showing the exhaustion she must have felt, she declined graciously and walked alone to the door, where Scarborough stepped forward and opened it for her, following her out to accept her cloak from the footman and call her carriage.

“A most remarkable person,” Lady Lismore said with feeling.

Hurlwood’s eyes were still on the doorway where she had departed. There was a faint color in his cheeks. “Indeed,” he echoed. “Quite remarkable.”