Cardington Crescent - Anne Perry [93]
“Good morning, Mr. Stripe,” she said with a little sniff. “If you’ve come to look at this coffee, you’re welcome, I’m sure, but there’s no point. It’s all new in—”
Stripe brought his mind to attention. “No, I didn’t,” he said more firmly than he would have believed. “We’ve got some new evidence.”
She was interested in spite of herself, and frightened. She liked to tell herself she was independent, but in truth she had a strong loyalty to the household, especially Tassie, and she would have gone to great lengths to prevent any of them being hurt, especially by outsiders. She stood still, staring up at Stripe, her mind racing over what he might say and how she should answer.
She gulped. “Have you?”
He wished he could comfort her, reassure her, but he dared not—not yet.
“I’m going to ’ave to go away to look into it.”
“Oh!” She looked startled, then disappointed. Then as she saw the pleasure in his face and realized she had betrayed herself, she straightened so stiffly her back was like a ramrod, and her chin so high her neck hurt. “Indeed, an’ I suppose that’s your duty, Mr. Stripe.” She did not trust herself to go on. It was ridiculous to be upset over a policeman, of all things!
“I may be quite a time,” he went on. “Might even find the solution—and not come back again.”
“I hope you do. We don’t want terrible things like this happening and no one caught.” She moved as if to turn back to the cake tin and the rows of tea caddies, but changed her mind. She was confused, not certain whether she was angry with him or not.
Pitt’s admonition was ringing in his ears. Time was sliding by. All must be won or lost now. He screwed up his courage and plunged in, staring at the Chinese flower design on the jar behind her. “So I came to say as I’d like it very much if I could call on you, personal, like.”
She drew in her breath quickly, but since he was not looking at her he could not judge the reason.
“Perhaps you’d come with me for a walk in the park, when the band’s playing? It can be ...” He hesitated again and met her eyes at last. “Most pleasant,” he finished, cheeks hot.
“Thank you, Mr. Stripe,” she said quickly. Half of her told herself she was crazy, walking out with a policeman! What on earth would her father have said? The other half was tingling with delight—it was what she had wanted most in the world for about three days. She swallowed hard. “That sounds very agreeable.”
He beamed with relief, then, collecting his composure, remembered a little dignity and stood to attention.
“Thank you, Miss Taylor. If my duties take me away I’ll write you a letter and”—in a wave of triumph—“I’ll call for you at three o’clock on Sunday afternoon!” And he left before she could demur.
She waited only until his footsteps had died away. Then she jammed the rest of the tea she was sorting all into one jar, and ran upstairs to tell Tassie, a remarkable amount of whose own secrets she herself shared.
Charlotte sat on the edge of her bed struggling with her growing desire to escape going down to dinner altogether. Pitt had gone with the address book to pursue the names in it and she felt a chill without him. Facing Eustace across the table would be appalling. He must surely know beyond question that she had shown the diary to Pitt, and that Pitt must be weighing whether to make it public.
And what of William? His own father, who so clearly despised him, with the wife to whom he had written such love letters! It would be unbearable. It was that which hardened in her mind the already half-made decision not to tell Emily. Let no one know who did not have to. It was not certain beyond any other possibility that Eustace had murdered George in a passion of jealousy; after all, he could hardly imagine any claim on Sybilla. If he was driven by jealousy it could only be if she had refused him in George’s favor.
Then a coldness drenched her, much stronger, more sure in its grasp. Of course. Sybilla dared not look to William for protection, both because she would not wish him ever to know of her first weakness—lunacy, as she