Farriers' Lane - Anne Perry [84]
“Why was that, sir?” Pitt sat up a little straighter.
“He went to the smoking room,” Livesey said, shaking his head a little and smiling. “A very public place, Mr. Pitt. The area where gentlemen may retire together to smoke, if they wish to, or to escape feminine company for a few minutes, and possibly to gossip with one another, or transact a little business, if they find it appropriate. There were a great many people there, some of whom I found tedious, and I did not wish to spoil my evening. I looked in, but did not remain.”
“Did you notice if Mr. Pryce was there?”
Livesey’s face darkened. “I follow your thoughts, Mr. Pitt. Most regrettable, but I fear now beyond the point where a man of any sense could avoid them. Yes, he was there, and he spoke with Stafford. That much I saw. But I cannot say that I observed any opportunity for him to have touched the flask.” His steady eyes did not leave Pitt’s face. “Personally, I did not see Stafford drink from it. I doubt he necessarily took it out during the interval at all. I think it more likely he drank from it quietly, in the darkness and the privacy of his own box. That is what I should do, rather than be seen to drink from my own flask in a public place, where refreshment could be purchased.” He regarded Pitt with a sad smile, a comment on the weakness of a man not unlike himself, and for whom he felt a certain pity now. “Do you understand?”
“Yes,” Pitt conceded, sipping his own tea also. It made excellent sense. He had never carried a flask—it was an utterly alien thought—but if he had done so, he would have drunk from it discreetly, in the privacy of a theater box, not in the public smoking room. “How was his manner?”
“Thoughtful,” Livesey replied after a moment’s consideration, as if reliving a memory. He frowned. “Somewhat preoccupied. I think Pryce would say the same, if he were in a temper to have noticed.”
Pitt hesitated, considering whether to be obscure or direct: He settled for candor.
“You think he might have poisoned Stafford?”
Livesey drew in a sharp breath and let it out slowly. “I regret it, but it seems a distinct possibility,” he replied, watching Pitt through half-closed eyes. “If it is beyond doubt that someone did.” He drank a little from his tea again.
“Yes, it is beyond doubt—at least reasonable doubt,” Pitt answered. “It is not a dose any man would take either to dull pain or treat any disease, nor for the mind to escape the trials and disappointments of reality. Nor would one take opium by accident.” He took a little of his own tea, not quite sure if he really liked it. The thick curtains muffled the sounds of the street. He could hear the clock ticking on the bookcase.
“The only alternative is suicide,” he went on. “Can you think of any reason whatever why Judge Stafford should take his own life—publicly, in his box in the theater, leaving no note and at such distress to his wife? It would be an extraordinary way to do such a thing—even supposing he wished to.”
“Of course,” Livesey agreed, pulling a small face. “I’m sorry. I was trying to avoid what is unavoidable. Of course he was killed. I am exceedingly grateful it is not my task to find out by whom, but I shall naturally do what I can to assist you.”
He shifted his weight a trifle in his seat and regarded Pitt across folded hands. “No, Samuel Stafford’s manner seemed to me to be unexceptional. He was courteous but detached. Which was his natural way.” He pursed his lips. “I found nothing unusual in him, certainly no sense of strain or impending disaster. I cannot believe he feared death, or expected it, and least of all that he planned it.”
“And you did not see him drink from the flask?”
“No. But as I have said, I did not remain in the