Betrayal at Lisson Grove - Anne Perry [109]
She needed to ask help from someone, because alone she might as well simply give up and go back to London, leaving Narraway to his fate, and eventually Pitt to his! Before she reached Molesworth Street and even attempted to explain the situation to Mrs Hogan, which she must do, she had decided to ask Fiachra McDaid for help.
‘What?’ McDaid said incredulously when Charlotte found him at his home and told him what had happened.
‘I’m sorry.’ She gulped and tried to regain her composure. She had thought herself in perfect control, and realised she was much further from it than she imagined. ‘We went to see Cormac O’Neil. At least Victor said he was going alone, but I followed him, just behind—’
‘You mean you found a carriage able to keep up with him in Dublin traffic?’ McDaid frowned.
‘No, no, I knew where he was going. I had been there the evening before myself.’
‘To see O’Neil?’ He looked incredulous.
‘Yes. Please . . . listen.’ Her voice was rising again and she made an effort to calm it. ‘I arrived moments after he did. I heard the dog begin to bark as he went in, but no shot!’
‘It would bark.’ The frown deepened on his brow. ‘It barks for anyone except Cormac, or perhaps Talulla. She lives close by and looks after it if Cormac is away, which he is from time to time.’
‘Not the cleaning woman?’ she said quickly.
‘No. She’s afraid of it.’ He looked at her more closely, his face earnest. ‘Why? What does it matter?’
She hesitated, still uncertain how far to trust him. It was the only evidence she had that protected Narraway. Perhaps she should keep it to herself.
‘I suppose it doesn’t,’ she said, deliberately looking confused. Then, as coherently as she could, but missing out any further reference to the dog, she told him what had happened. As she did, she watched his face, trying to read the emotions in it, the belief or disbelief, the confusion or understanding, the loss or the triumph.
He listened without interrupting her. ‘They think Narraway shot Cormac? Why, for God’s sake?’
‘In revenge for Cormac having ruined him in London,’ she answered. ‘That’s what Talulla said. It makes a kind of sense.’
‘Do you think that’s what happened?’ he asked.
She nearly said that she knew it was not, then realised her mistake just in time. ‘No,’ she spoke guardedly now. ‘I was just behind him, and I didn’t hear a shot. But I don’t think he would do that anyway. It doesn’t make sense.’
He shook his head. ‘Yes it does. Victor loved that job of his. In a way it was all he had.’ He looked in conflict, emotions twisting his features. ‘I’m sorry. I don’t mean to imply that you are not important to him, but I think from what he said that you do not see each other so often.’
Now she was angry. She felt the anger well up inside her, knotting her stomach, making her hands shake, her voice thick as if she were a little drunk. ‘No. We don’t. But you’ve known Victor for years. Was he ever a fool?’
‘No, never. Many things, good and bad, but never a fool,’ he admitted.
‘Did he ever act against his own interest, hot-headedly, all feelings and no thought?’ She could not imagine it, not the man she knew. Had he once had that kind of runaway passion? Was this supreme control a mask? She found the thought oddly alien, destroying some part of him she would not have wished different.
McDaid laughed abruptly, without joy. ‘No. He never forgot his cause. Hell or heaven could dance naked past him and he would not be diverted. Why?’
‘Because if he really thought Cormac O’Neil was responsible for ruining him in London, for setting up what looked like embezzlement and seeing that he was blamed, the last thing he would want was Cormac dead,’ she answered. ‘Then he couldn’t tell who helped him, how it was done or where to find the proof of it. It would be—’
‘I see,’ he interrupted. ‘I see.You’re right. Victor would never put revenge ahead of getting his job back. Vindicating himself would be the best revenge anyway.’
‘So someone else killed Cormac and made it look like