Farriers' Lane - Anne Perry [76]
“He married Kathleen Blaine,” Charlotte pointed out. “Perhaps he was in love with her then.”
“Perhaps. It is not impossible.”
“Did she have money?”
“How very practical of you!” Tamar’s eyebrows rose. “Yes, I believe so, or at least very good expectations. I think she is an only child, and old Prosper Harrimore is wealthy—by our standards.”
“Did Mr. O’Neil have money?”
“Good heavens, no, only enough to support a handsome style of life for a short while.” She walked back to the sofa and sat down again facing Charlotte. “He rented his rooms and owed his tailor and his wine merchant—like most good-looking and idle young men.”
“So he gained considerably by his friend’s death?”
Tamar hesitated only a moment. “Yes—that is true, if ugly, and perhaps not relevant. But I don’t know who else, unless it was a complete stranger—a robber …” She left it unfinished, knowing how unlikely that was.
“Who crucified his victims?” Charlotte said skeptically.
“No—that was obscene,” Tamar admitted. “I don’t know. I don’t know why O’Neil should do such a thing, except to try to put the blame on someone Jewish.”
“Do you know Devlin O’Neil?”
“Not now. Why?”
“Well, the best way we might learn something more about it would be through him.”
“He would hardly tell us something that incriminated him.”
“Not intentionally, of course,” Charlotte agreed. “But we can only learn the truth from those who know it.”
There was a sudden lift in Tamar’s face, a spark of hope in her dark eyes.
“You would be prepared to do that?”
“Of course,” Charlotte said without giving it a minute’s thought.
“Then we shall get Clio to take you. She still knows Kathleen, and it would not be difficult.”
“Not we, I think,” Charlotte corrected quickly. “It must be done as if by chance. They should not know I have any interest in the case.”
“Oh—yes, of course. That was stupid of me. I’ll introduce you to Clio. She is not in this morning, but next time—soon. She’ll take you.”
“Excellent! Explain to her what we need, and why, and I will do all I can.”
When Charlotte began to discuss the case frankly with Tamar, Caroline realized that her presence was unnecessary, and very quietly she turned and walked over to the door, opened it and went out. She was down the stairs and in the hallway outside Joshua Fielding’s room with her hand raised to knock before she realized how forward she was being, how indelicate and unlike everything she had been taught, and had tried to teach her own daughters. Had Charlotte behaved this way she would have been horrified, and told her so.
Self-consciousness overcame her and she stepped back again. It would look odd, foolish, but she would have to go back upstairs and hope no one would ask her for an explanation. She turned and was halfway across to the stairs upwards when Miranda Passmore came running up from the floor beneath.
“Hallo, Mrs. Ellison! Is Mr. Fielding not in? I thought he was, in fact I was sure. Here, let me knock again.” And without waiting for an answer, and misunderstanding Caroline’s gasp, she crossed the landing and rapped sharply on Joshua’s door.
There was a moment of desperate silence. Caroline drew in her breath to protest.
The door swung open and Joshua Fielding stood in the entrance smiling, looking first at Caroline, then at Miranda.
“Oh Joshua, I thought you were there,” Miranda said cheerfully. “Mrs. Ellison called to see you, but she could not make you hear.” She smiled and ran on up the stairs and disappeared.
“I’m sorry I didn’t hear you,” Joshua apologized.
“Oh, you wouldn’t,” Caroline said quickly. “I didn’t knock.”
He looked puzzled.
“I—I came with my daughter, to see Miss Macaulay—about—about Judge Stafford’s death. I thought …” She stopped, aware she was speaking too much, explaining where he had not asked.
“It is good of you to become involved in the matter.