Farriers' Lane - Anne Perry [123]
But he had said it, and the irony of it was in his eyes. The thought had been in his mind, and found its way to his lips.
Pitt rose to his feet. “Thank you, Mr. Pryce. You have been most candid. I appreciate it.”
Pryce’s face reflected self-disgust.
“You mean I have allowed you to see that I am both shallow in my defense of Mrs. Stafford and that I am afraid for her? I still do not believe she had any part in her husband’s death, and I will defend her to the limit of my ability.”
“If she did, Mr. Pryce, then the limit of your ability will be very rapidly reached,” Pitt answered, going to the door. “Thank you for your time.”
“Pitt!”
Pitt turned, his face questioning.
Pryce swallowed hard and licked his lips. “She is a very emotional woman, but I really don’t—I don’t …” He stopped, honesty preventing him from making a plea for her after what he had already confessed.
“Good day,” Pitt said quietly, and went out into the cold corridor.
“No sir, I doubt it,” he said later in the day to Micah Drummond.
Drummond stood in front of the fire in his office, his feet spread a little, his hands behind his back. He regarded Pitt with a frown.
“Why not? Why not now, more than before?”
Pitt was sitting far back in the best chair, his legs sprawled comfortably.
“Because when I saw her, to begin with she defended him,” he replied. “She was sure he could not possibly have done it. I don’t think she had really considered him. Her emotions would not permit it. Then when I told her the unlikelihood of Aaron Godman being innocent, and there being any motive for anyone in the Farriers’ Lane case wanting to kill the judge, she could no longer avoid the inevitable thought that it was either herself or Pryce.” He looked at Drummond. “Her immediate fear was that it was Pryce. I saw it in her face the moment she first thought it.”
Drummond looked down at the carpet thoughtfully.
“Is she not clever enough to lead you to think precisely that?”
“I don’t believe even Tamar Macaulay could act well enough to look as she did,” Pitt said honestly. “Acting is broad gestures, movements of the hands and body, tones of voice, inflections; not even the most brilliant can make the blood drain from the face.”
“Then perhaps it was Pryce?” Drummond said, almost hopefully. “Maybe he grew impatient waiting. An affaire was not enough for him, he wanted marriage.” He shrugged. “Or he grew nervous of a continued illicit relationship. She might have been growing indiscreet, or pressing him for more attentions?”
“So he resorted to murder?” Pitt said with a touch of sarcasm. “Pryce does not seem like a hysterical man to me. Unwise in his passions, ungoverned, selfish, allowing an obsession with a woman to destroy his moral judgment, certainly; but not to the degree where he would throw everything away and gain nothing. He knows the law better than to imagine he could succeed.”
“Why not?” Drummond interrupted. “Is it such a long step from adultery and the betrayal of a man who trusted him, who was his friend, to killing that man?”
“Yes, I think it is,” Pitt argued, leaning forward. “But quite apart from that, Pryce is a barrister. Adultery is a sin, but it is not a crime. Society may shun you for a while if you are too blatant about it. They hang you for murder. Pryce has seen that happen too often to ignore it.”
Drummond dug his hands deep into his pockets and said nothing. His mind was not engaged in it as Pitt’s was, and Pitt knew it. He had come because it was his duty, and he needed Drummond’s authority to pursue the Farriers’ Lane case.
“Added to that,” he went on, “when I went to him and pressed the point that he was the most obvious person to suspect, he became frightened and directed me towards her.”
For the first time Drummond’s expression betrayed a deep emotion. His lips curled in disgust and his eyes were full of pain.
“What a tragic spectacle,” he said very quietly. “Two people who were in love, trying to deflect suspicion from themselves by each placing it on the other. It proves their supposed love was no deeper than infatuation, come