Farriers' Lane - Anne Perry [90]
But when he arrived in Curzon Street at Judge Oswyn’s house he was informed by the parlormaid who answered the door that the judge was traveling on business, and was not expected home until the following week, and Mrs. Oswyn was calling upon acquaintances. However, she was due to dine out this evening, so no doubt would be home before long, and if Mr. Pitt cared to wait, he might do so in the morning room.
Pitt did care to wait. He had nothing else to pursue of greater importance, and spent an agreeable forty-five minutes with a pot of tea in the comfortable morning room, until he was summoned again and conducted to the soft sepia-and-gold withdrawing room where Mrs. Oswyn eyed him with mild interest. She was a faded woman with fair brown hair, a plump figure, a face which had probably been pretty in her youth and was now lit by an amiability of character which had mellowed it until it held a gentleness which was remarkable.
“My maid tells me you are engaged in enquiring into the death of Mr. Justice Stafford?” she said with arched eyebrows raised. “I cannot think of any way in which I might assist you, but I am perfectly ready to try. Please be seated, Mr. Pitt. What is it you think I might tell you? I knew him, of course. My husband sat on the court of appeal with him on many occasions, so we were socially acquainted with both Mr. Stafford and his wife, poor creature.”
He looked at her expression and thought he saw in it a pity which was more profound than the mere words which anyone might have said of a woman who was so recently widowed.
“You feel for her deeply?” he asked, meeting her eyes.
She waited some moments before replying, perhaps judging how much he already knew. She made up her mind.
“I do. Guilt is a most painful feeling, especially so when it is too late to make amends.”
He was startled, not only at the thought, but at her extraordinary frankness.
“You think she was in some way responsible for his death?” He tried to retain his composure.
She looked amazed and a little abashed. “Good gracious, no! Most certainly not! I do beg your pardon if I allowed that impression. She was obsessed with Adolphus, and he was with her, but she was not in the slightest way responsible for Samuel’s death. Whatever makes you think such a fearful thing?”
“Someone is responsible, Mrs. Oswyn.”
“Of course,” she agreed, folding her hands in her lap. “One cannot pretend murder does not happen, much as one would like to. But it would not be poor Juniper who did such a frightful thing. No, no, not at all! She is guilty of having been unfaithful to him, of feeling an unlawful passion, a lust, if you will, and of indulging it instead of mastering it. That is guilt enough.”
“Was Mr. Stafford aware of her indulgence?”
“Oh, I think he knew perfectly well there was something.” She regarded him steadily. “After all, one cannot be completely blind, even though there are times when one would prefer to, for one’s own comfort. But he chose not to look at it too closely. It would have done no good.” She regarded Pitt steadily out of round, soft eyes. “He would not see what was better unseen; and when it was all over, it would have been so much easier to forgive and forget if he had never known the details. Very wise man, Samuel.” She shook her head a little. “Now Juniper, poor woman, will never find that forgiveness, and when this dies—as I daresay it will, these passions usually do—then she will be left with nothing but the guilt. It is all very sad. I told her so—but when one is in love with such obsessive emotion, such a hunger, one does not listen.”
Pitt was taken by surprise. There was a naïveté in her face, almost an innocence, and yet she spoke of violence and adultery as a child might speak of things whose names it had heard, but whose meaning it did not grasp. Her perception of character in spite of her innocence startled him, as did her ability to pity.
“Yes,” he said slowly. “Yes, she will feel a grief