Belgrave Square - Anne Perry [114]
“One of the names mentioned by this man is that of your husband.” He watched her closely to see even the faintest, most concealed of responses.
There was nothing whatever visible in her face but incomprehension.
“My husband’s? Are you quite sure?”
“There can be no doubt,” he replied. “The address is given as well.”
“But my husband is a member of the police—you know that.” She looked at him as if she doubted his intelligence.
“Not everyone believes the police to be beyond temptation or weakness, Mrs. Latimer. It is against those people we must guard. Which is what I am attempting to do. Does your husband have private income, an inheritance, perhaps?”
“No.” Her face pinched with distaste at the question. “Senior officers earn a considerable amount, Mr. Pitt. Perhaps you are not aware …” She trailed off; the intrusion of such questions offended her, and confused her. She did not deal in financial matters; it was not a woman’s place.
Pitt had originally intended asking her if she knew of Latimer’s ever having borrowed money, even for a short time to meet some unexpected expense, but looking at her smooth, humorless face he abandoned the idea. Had he been Latimer he would not have told her of anything so mundane or displeasing as financial difficulty, he would simply have handled the matter himself in whatever way he thought best, and presented her with the result. He had seen the glint of purpose in her eye. He doubted she was a stupid woman, for all the carefully cultivated extreme femininity. She was probably capable of intense determination, and acute social judgment; but she seemed to be without any breadth of imagination. The very predictability of the room evidenced that, as did her responses to his statements now.
“I am aware, ma’am,” he answered her half question. “But this man has left written claims that Superintendent Latimer borrowed considerable amounts of money from him. It is my task to disprove that.”
She blinked. “What is wrong with borrowing money, if you repay it?”
“Nothing. It only becomes wrong if you cannot repay—which is what this man has suggested, among other things.”
“What things, Mr. Pitt?”
She had surprised him. He had not expected her to pursue that, only to deny debt. He had been right; it was a flash of steel under all the fair hair and pink-and-white skin.
“Blackmail, Mrs. Latimer.”
That jolted her. She had not flinched with distaste in the outward show she had given earlier, but now her eyes widened a little, and beneath the mannerisms her concentration sharpened.
“Indeed. I think perhaps you had better speak to my husband about this. It appears to involve crime as well as malicious charges.”
“The crime is also being investigated,” he assured her. “It is the charges I am personally concerned with disproving. The reputation of the police force has suffered very gravely in the last year. It is most important we protect it now. I would greatly appreciate your assistance.”
“I don’t see what I can do.”
“May I speak with your servants?” He wanted to see the rest of the house. It would give him the best opportunity he could desire to estimate their financial standing.
“If you believe it will help,” she conceded reluctantly. “Although I cannot imagine how it could.”
“Thank you, that is most generous of you.” He rose to his feet and she did also, reaching for the bell.
When the parlormaid arrived she gave the necessary instructions and bade him good-day.
He spent a further hour asking all the servants pointless questions about callers, which enabled him to see most of the rest of the house. His ugliest fears were realized. The money had been spent on the front rooms. All the more private areas where no visitor would pass were furnished in castoffs, wood was scratched or blemished, carpets were faded in the sun, worn where feet had passed over them in constant tread, fringes on lamps and chairs were patched and missing tassels, the wallpaper was faded where the light fell on it, curtains were barely to the floor, and unlined. The domestic