Belgrave Square - Anne Perry [106]
Instinctively he leaned even closer to her, then stopped. He had no idea whether she was aware of him or not.
“I wonder whether he knows who it is?” she went on, her voice very low and a thrill of horror in it. “And if it is not a stranger, not some poor debtor from Clerkenwell, but a man he has some acquaintance with, even some sympathy for—and that is why he is so reluctant to expose him? That would explain a great deal.”
She shivered. “It would be easier then to understand why he is in such an agony of mind. Poor Sholto. What a fearful decision to have to make.” She turned back to Drummond, her eyes wide. “And if Weems would blackmail Sholto, then he would as easily blackmail someone else, wouldn’t he?”
“We believe he has,” he agreed quietly, Addison Carswell in his mind, and a new shadow of pity. What a miserable and futile waste of life and all its wealth. Over what? An infatuation with a pretty face, a young body and a few hours of an appetite and a dream that could never last.
She saw the distress in his face and her expression changed from hope to sorrow.
“You know who it is?” she said in little more than a whisper.
“I know who it may be—”
In the beginning she had said “the least awful possibility.” Neither of them spoke the most awful—that Byam had killed Weems and his fear was dreadfully and sickeningly for himself. He would not say it now.
It was getting late. The quality of the light was beginning to change, deepening in color, and already the shadows were across the floor and creeping up the brilliance of the far wall, lighting the peacock fire screen. He did not want her to leave, and yet he was afraid if he offered her refreshment she would realize the hour and excuse herself. But what else could he ask her?
“Mr. Drummond—” She turned around towards him, rearranging her skirt.
“I have not offered you anything by way of refreshment,” he said quickly, his voice louder than he had intended.
“Oh please do not put yourself to inconvenience. It is most kind of you to have spared me your time, and at this hour. You must be tired.”
“Please! Allow me to repair my oversight.”
“It is not necessary, I assure you. You have been most patient.”
He stood up and reached for the bell and rang it furiously.
“I have been very remiss. I would like some refreshment myself, and it is far too early for dinner. Please permit me to redeem myself.”
“No redemption is required,” she said with a smile. “But if it would make you feel more comfortable, then I will be glad to take a little tea.”
“Excellent!” His spirits soared and he rang the bell again and immediately Goodall appeared, his face politely inquiring.
“Tea,” Drummond said quickly. “And something …”
“Yes sir.” Goodall withdrew, his face expressionless.
Drummond sat opposite her again, wondering what to discuss. The formal part of her visit seemed to have exhausted itself and he had no desire at all to pursue the subject. He wanted to know more about her, but it seemed too crass simply to ask. He had not felt so awkward with anyone since before he had been married, when he was a young man raw to the army, and not even having thought of the police force for a career. He could remember balls and soirees then when he had felt this tongue-tied and desperate for something casual and charming to say.
Before the silence grew oppressive she rescued him. No doubt it was easy for her, with a relationship which hardly mattered.
“This is a most pleasing room, Mr. Drummond. Have you always lived here?”
“No—no, I lived in Kensington before my wife died.”
“I’m sorry,” she said quickly. “I expect you miss her very much.”
“It is some years now, but yes, there are times when it seems very silent, and I imagine what it would be like if she were here,” he replied truthfully. “She was …” He looked at her and saw only interest in her face. He had thought he would not wish to tell her of Catriona, that it would be somehow disloyal, but now that it came