Cardington Crescent - Anne Perry [129]
“That leaves only old Mrs. March,” he said very quietly. “Unless you think it was Tassie, or Great-aunt Vespasia. Which you don’t.”
She knew what he was thinking now—it took only one step in reasoning, an inevitable step. It was Jack or Emily herself. She knew she had not murdered George and Sybilla, but she was growing increasingly afraid he had. Worse than that, she feared he still intended to court her.
He took her hands. He was not rough, but he was far stronger than she, and he did not mean to let go.
“Emily, for heaven’s sake think! There is something in the March family that we don’t know, something dangerous or shameful enough to cause murder, and if we don’t find out what it is, you or I may very well be hanged for it instead!”
Half of her wanted to scream at him to be quiet, but she knew it was true. Giving way to hysterics now would be stupid and destructive—perhaps even fatal. Charlotte had got nowhere, except to discover Tassie’s secret, which as it turned out was irrelevant. Emily would have to save herself. If Jack Radley were innocent, together they might discover something. If he were guilty and she played along with him, perhaps she would trick him into betraying something, however small. It could be survival.
“You are quite right,” she said seriously. “We must think. I shall tell you everything I know, then you will tell me. Between us we may finally deduce the truth.”
He smiled very slightly, not quite believing her.
She made an effort to deny the fear she felt—not only the great and overshadowing knowledge of danger from the law and the enduring judgment of Society, but the inner loneliness and the belying warmth he offered, which it would be so easy to accept. If only the poisonous suspicion in her mind could be crushed. She had to force herself to remember that he was still the most likely murderer. The thought hurt even more than she expected.
“Tassie goes out at night alone, to help deliver babies in the slums,” she said rather abruptly.
If she hoped to startle him she succeeded magnificently. He stared at her while emotions teemed across his face: incredulity, fear, admiration, and lastly, pure delight.
“That’s superb! But how in God’s name do you know?”
“Charlotte followed her.”
He cringed, letting his breath out between his teeth in a little hiss and shutting his eyes.
“I know,” she said quietly. “I expect Thomas was furious.”
“Furious!” his voice rose. “Isn’t that something of an understatement?”
Immediately she was defensive. “Well, if she hadn’t, we’d still be thinking it was Tassie! Charlotte saw her coming upstairs in the middle of the night with bloodstains on her hands and dress! What else should she do? Let it remain a mystery? She knows I didn’t murder anyone—”
“Emily!” He caught her hands.
“—and if we don’t find who it is, I could be arrested and imprisoned—”
“Emily! Stop it!”
“—and tried, and hanged!” she finished harshly. She was shaking in spite of the closeness of him, and the strength of his hands holding hers. “People have been hanged wrongly before.” Memories, stories teemed in her mind. “Charlotte knows that, and so do I!” It was a relief to put it into words, to drag the real terror out of the darkness at the back of her mind and share it with him.
“I know,” he said quietly. “But it is not going to happen to you. Charlotte won’t let it—neither will I. It has to be someone in this house. Vespasia has the courage, if she thought such a thing were necessary. But she would never have killed George, and I don’t think she would have had the physical strength to kill Sybilla—not the way it was done. Sybilla was a young, healthy woman... .” He hesitated, remembering.
“I know,” she said without pulling her hands away from him. “And Aunt Vespasia is not young, and not strong anymore.”
He smiled bleakly. “I wish I could think of a reason why old Mrs. March would have done it,” he said with feeling. “She’s twice Vespasia’s weight. She’d have the power.”
Emily looked at their locked hands. “But why would she?” she