Buckingham Palace Gardens - Anne Perry [94]
She did not understand. All she wanted to do was stop Pitt from believing it. What could she say? If she defended Julius and blamed Cahoon, then Pitt would see her emotions quite nakedly. Was that what he was trying to do, see if Julius had killed his wife and was trying to blame Cahoon?
“If they fought…” she started, then realized the remark was pointless, and stopped.
“Neither of them denied that,” he said. “And Cahoon says that Julius had his injuries before their fight.”
She did not understand.
“I’m sorry.” His voice was very gentle now, as if he pitied her. “Mrs. Sorokine fought for her life. Whoever killed her would have scratches and perhaps bruises as well.”
She had to say it. The words were like a nightmare, but if she did not say them, it would be even worse. How could she outthink him? “My husband would never have killed his daughter, Mr. Pitt. He loved her deeply, far more than he loved anyone else.”
“Didn’t Mr. Sorokine also love his wife?” he asked.
She could not read the expression on his face now. He had gray eyes, very clear, as if he could see into the horror and confusion inside her.
“I imagine so,” she said hesitantly. “One always assumes. And when it is family, even more so. I…I can’t believe that Julius killed her.”
He waited.
It was a stupid thing to have said, and yet it was true. Whatever Cahoon had seen, or said he had seen, she did not believe Julius had murdered either the woman in the cupboard or Minnie. She would not believe it; the burden of loss it would bring was more than she could carry.
“Thank you, Mrs. Dunkeld. I don’t think I have anything else to ask you at the moment,” Pitt said.
She had betrayed herself. He knew what she felt. She saw it in his face. She was embarrassed, as if she were emotionally naked. She rose to her feet, tried to think of something to say so she could leave with a shred of grace, but there was nothing. She went to the door and opened it without speaking again.
CHANGING HER MORNING GOWN for one suitable for luncheon, she found herself alone with Cahoon. It was the one thing she had wished to avoid. Bartle had already left when he came into her dressing room. She swiveled around to face him. She always felt uncomfortable when he was behind her.
He looked haggard. He had aged ten years since yesterday. She felt a moment’s stab of pity for him again. It would have been instinctive to have touched him, to have gone over and put her arms around him and held him, but the barrier of estrangement was too high. They had touched in the heat of physical hunger, but never in tenderness, the need of the heart or the mind.
“I’m so sorry,” she said quietly.
He was watching her, his eyes so dark she could see no expression in them. “You didn’t think Julius would do that, did you!” It was a challenge, not a question.
A shiver of alarm went through her. “Of course I didn’t,” she said abruptly.
“You didn’t know him as well as you thought!” A flash of pleasure lit his eyes, almost of triumph.
She was cold inside, frightened that he could hate her enough to savor hurting her, even in the depth of his own loss.
She tried to look surprised. “Why? Did you imagine it then?” She must be desperate to be fighting back. She had thought of doing it before, but never had the courage.
Rage flared in his face. “For God’s sake, you stupid creature, do you think I would have let him into the same house as my daughter if I had?” His voice was hoarse, almost cracking with grief.
Again the pity for him drowned out her own anger. “None of us saw it, Cahoon, or we would have done something and prevented this,” she told him gently. Was he blaming himself for not having had Julius arrested before this happened? How could she tell him that it was not his fault without sounding both insincere and patronizing?
He was looking at her with that strange kind of triumph again, as if snatching some shred of victory out of the disaster. “They won’t hang him, which is a pity,” he went on. “They