Buckingham Palace Gardens - Anne Perry [48]
The last piece of the sandwich went down his throat the wrong way, probably because he drew in his breath at the same time. He found himself coughing and the tears coming to his eyes. He was making a complete fool of himself. It was a kind of nightmare.
“Take a sip of tea, Mr. Pitt,” she suggested gently. “It will no doubt be better in a moment. Do not try to speak and make it worse, please. I quite understand. I have noticed a few small nuances of character myself, which you may find of help.”
He thought that so unlikely as to be impossible. What could she conceivably know of the ways of prostitutes, or the more violent elements in men’s nature? He could not say so because courtesy forbade it, and he was still afraid of choking if he tried to speak.
She smiled a little absentmindedly, as if her attention was already engaged in marshaling her thoughts. “I have noticed that Mrs. Sorokine has a certain air of wanton glamour about her that does not seem to hold her husband’s eye at all,” she said with devastating candor. “I do not think he is affecting indifference. I saw no signs of it in him. If he looked at anyone unobtrusively, it was at his stepmother-in-law, Mrs. Dunkeld.”
Pitt cleared his throat. “You are very observant, ma’am.”
“I have plenty of time,” she said ruefully, but the calm expression in her face barely changed. “When you are deaf, people do not talk to you a great deal. It is too much trouble to make themselves understood. Few realize how much of understanding comes from seeing a person’s face, and watching them while they speak. You might be surprised how often the eyes and the lips give different messages.”
He knew she was right. That was very often how he sensed that someone was lying, even before he knew the facts. “And what did you observe in the others, ma’am?” he asked.
She frowned slightly. “I beg your pardon?”
He repeated the question more slowly and a little more loudly. He could feel his face color with the awkwardness of it. He felt as if he came across as faintly condescending, although he did not intend to be.
“Oh.” This time she understood. “Mrs. Marquand is very unhappy. Watch her face in repose. She alternates between anger and misery. And Mrs. Quase is frightened. Her hands are always fiddling with something.”
“And Mrs. Dunkeld?” he asked.
Obviously she had not heard him. “And Mrs. Dunkeld,” she went on, “is afraid of her husband, which is quite different. Mrs. Quase is, I think, afraid for Mr. Quase. Although what she believes may happen to him I do not know. Mrs. Dunkeld never looks at Mrs. Sorokine. I think perhaps she does not dare to, in case her eyes betray her.”
“You are extremely observant, ma’am,” he said sincerely.
“Please drink your tea.” She gestured toward the tray. “It is far less pleasant cold. And try a scone or two. It is not impolite. I requested them for you and shall be disappointed if you do not enjoy them.”
He dared to smile at her. “Thank you, ma’am.”
She smiled back in a suddenly charming gesture. “You see, I would make a better detective than you think. Mr. Dunkeld does not like Mr. Sorokine. I do not hear what he says, but I see his eyes. Even though he laughs, it is not a laugh of warmth or of pleasure. He is an angry man.”
“Do you know why, ma’am?” Pitt asked.
She did not hear. “My husband likes him, but I do not. I think he is using His Royal Highness in order to obtain something he wishes for. Not that that is unusual, of course. One must expect it. However, the Prince sometimes thinks better of people than I believe is justified. He imagines that those with whom he enjoys his leisure time are more of a like mind with him than they really are.”
Pitt had a glimpse of loneliness that was terrible, a world where no one was equal and no one dared speak the truth if it would not please you. You would always be floundering in a sea of lies. “I’m sorry,” he said with intense feeling.
She must have understood from the movement of his lips. “You have a gentleness in you, Mr. Pitt. Please