Ashworth Hall - Anne Perry [111]
“If you please?” Pitt smiled back.
“We kissed,” Fergal ground between his teeth. “I … I think I opened the bodice of her … of her gown ….” His eyes were daggers.
“You think?” Pitt said curiously. “You don’t find it something you remember?”
“I did!” He turned to give O’Day, who was clearly amused, a look of loathing.
“Thank you,” Pitt acknowledged it. “It seems, from the other description I have already heard, that McGinley could not have been in the study long enough to have wired up the dynamite.”
“I hope you appreciate that it also means I didn’t?” Fergal said sarcastically.
“Of course I appreciate it.” Pitt still smiled. “That is of the utmost importance. You were naturally the first in my mind to suspect. You have a classic motive.”
Fergal blushed scarlet.
“And Mrs. McGinley too.” Pitt opened his eyes very wide. “A trifle ungallant for me to have to remind you it also removes her from suspicion.”
Fergal was incredulous. “You couldn’t have thought … that she …”
“She would not be the first woman to murder an unwanted husband in order to elope with someone else,” Pitt pointed out reasonably. “Or to conspire with a lover to that end.”
Fergal was too angry to reply, nor could he think of an argument, which was plain in his face.
“Then who did?” O’Day asked, wrinkling his brow. “You seem to have reasoned yourself into an impasse, Mr. Pitt.”
It was true, although it was not pleasant having O’Day point it out.
Fergal smiled for the first time.
“Then we shall just have to go over everyone’s movements again,” Pitt replied. “And verify them again. Obviously there is a mistake somewhere.” And with that he left and went to search for Tellman.
Charlotte left the scene of the explosion and found herself physically shaking and a little dizzy. Her eyes stung from the dust in the air and she was gulping, which made the dust catch in her throat as well, and she started to cough. For a moment the hallway swayed around her and she thought she was going to fall. She grasped the arm of a big wooden settle and sat down hard. She was obliged to lean forward and lower her head until the swimming sensation cleared.
She straightened up slowly, her eyes prickling with tears. This was ridiculous. She wished Pitt were beside her, warm and strong and concerned, to comfort her fear and assure himself she was all right, not frightened, not distraught. But of course he was trying to do his job, not look after a wife who ought to be strong enough to look after herself. There was nothing in coping with death or fear of death which a woman should not be able to do just as well as a man … even violent death and the blasting apart of a room. It did not require any physical strength or specialized knowledge, just self-control and a greater concern for others than a concentration upon oneself. She should be supporting Pitt, helping, not looking for him to help her.
And Emily. She should be thinking how to comfort Emily, who was obviously terrified, and with good reason. That dynamite had been intended to kill Jack. It was only the most extraordinary chance that Lorcan McGinley had gone to the study and, without asking, opened the drawer.
Or had he known the dynamite was there and, as some people were already suggesting, tried to defuse it—and given his life in the attempt?
Poor Iona. She must be feeling riddled with guilt. And even worse than that, did she even wonder if Fergal had had something to do with it?
The most helpful thing Charlotte could do would be to discover who had killed Greville and tried to kill Jack, but she had no idea where to begin. Pitt had confided unusually little in her this time. Perhaps that was because he had not discovered much of meaning, but more probably it was because she had been so preoccupied with trying to help Emily with this ghastly party that she had seen him so seldom, and then for only moments.
She had not asked him about Greville’s death. She only knew that he had been hit over the head and then pulled under the water in the bath, and everyone