Farriers' Lane - Anne Perry [68]
She saw Vespasia’s erect back and elegant head. She could imagine her voice saying, “And what is amusing you, pray?” But no words came. Instead there was only the warm color in Vespasia’s cheeks.
“Thank you very much, Aunt Vespasia,” Charlotte said gently. “I am grateful to you for having asked about it, even though it does seem there is really nothing more to learn.”
“Yes, there is,” Vespasia argued, gathering her attention again. “Not a great deal, and perhaps not indicative, but Judge Quade said he was quite certain that Aaron Godman had been beaten while in custody. When he appeared at his trial he was suffering bruises and lacerations which were too recent to have occurred at the time of the murder. And he was unharmed immediately prior to his arrest.”
“Oh dear. How ugly. You think the jailers beat him while he was in prison?”
“Perhaps. Or the police when they arrested him,” Vespasia replied, watching Charlotte’s face with anxiety. “I am sorry, but it is not impossible.”
“You mean he fought them?”
“No, my dear, I do not The policeman concerned was totally unharmed.”
“Oh.” Charlotte took a deep breath. “But that doesn’t prove anything, does it? Except that, as you say, feelings were ugly, and very high. Aunt Vespasia …”
Vespasia waited.
“Do you think Mr. Quade is really saying, in a euphemistic sort of way, that he believes the police were so desperate to get a conviction, and satisfy the public’s desire, that they would knowingly have charged the wrong man?”
“No,” Vespasia said very definitely. “No. He was disturbed by the manner of the investigation, the haste of it and the emotion, and the indifference of the defense counsel, but he believed the evidence was true, and the verdict correct.”
“Oh—I see.” Charlotte sighed. “Then it seems that after all Judge Stafford was merely trying to prove once and for all that the matter was ended, and surely no one would have killed him for that. It must be his wife after all—or Mr. Pryce.”
“I regret that it does seem so.”
Charlotte looked at her. Was there a hesitation?
“Yes?”
“It is just conceivable that someone has something to hide of an ugliness so great that they feared Mr. Stafford’s investigation, not knowing its nature, or even if they did know it.” Her frown deepened. “And in case he was too thorough, they killed him. I admit it does not seem probable …”
“No,” Charlotte replied, the lift in her voice belying the word. “But not impossible. Not really. I think we might pursue that, don’t you? I mean …” She stopped. She had taken too much for granted. “Could we?” she asked tentatively.
“Oh, I don’t see why not.” Vespasia smiled with both amusement and pleasure. “I don’t see why not, at all. I have no idea how …” Her fine eyebrows arched enquiringly.
“Nor do I,” Charlotte admitted. “But I shall most certainly give the matter much thought.”
“I wondered if you might,” Vespasia murmured. “If I can be of any assistance, I shall be happy to.”
“I wondered if you might,” Charlotte said with a grin.
Charlotte was torn whether or not to tell Pitt of her visit to Great-Aunt Vespasia. If she did he would be bound to ask why she was so concerned in the matter. It would not take him long to deduce that it was because of Caroline’s regard for Joshua Fielding, and his possible implication in both the murder of Kingsley Blaine and thus also of Judge Stafford. She could always try to convince him that it was because Caroline had been present in the theater and so was intricately involved in the emotion of the crime. But she knew Pitt would see beyond that very quickly, and he might think her foolish, an older woman, recently widowed and alone, falling victim to a fancy for a younger man, a glamorous man utterly out of her own class and experience, offering her a last glimpse of youth.
And put like that it was absurd, and not a little pathetic. Pitt would feel no unkindness, no criticism, but perhaps a gentle, wry sort of