Half Moon Street - Anne Perry [52]
Or on the other hand, she might have sold them back to the people Cathcart had blackmailed, and any written record would be worthless.
Or she might simply have collected more blackmail money. Probably he would never be able to prove any of those possibilities.
“Miss Monderell,” he said gravely, “you were close to Cathcart, perhaps he trusted you with intimate knowledge of his business, even of his clients. He was murdered by someone who hated him in a very personal way and with an intensity beyond their ability to control.”
The color drained from her face.
“Be careful, Miss Monderell.” He lowered his voice even further. “If you have any knowledge about his death, any at all, you would be very unwise not to tell me what it is . . . as fully as you are able. I don’t want to be investigating your death next week . . . or the week after.”
She stared at him in silence, her bosom rising and falling as she strove to control her breathing.
He stood up. “Thank you for your hospitality.”
“I don’t know anything about his death.” She looked up at Pitt.
He would have liked to believe her, but he did not.
CHAPTER SIX
While Pitt was trying to learn more about Delbert Cathcart’s life, Caroline had invited Samuel Ellison to call again, and was delighted when he accepted. This much was obvious to Mariah as Caroline came into the room with Samuel almost at her heels. She looked pleased with herself.
“Good afternoon, ma’am,” Samuel said to the old lady, inclining his head a little. “I’m glad to see you looking well. It’s very kind of you to receive me again so soon.”
It was soon, far too soon, in the old lady’s opinion, although it would be unacceptable to say so. However, she could not let her displeasure go entirely unmarked.
“Good afternoon, Mr. Ellison,” she replied coolly, looking him up and down with a flutter inside she could not suppress. He was so like her own son, Edward, it was almost as if his ghost had returned to her. Perhaps more disconcerting at the moment, he was also markedly like his father. He could not know that, but she did. It was as if parallel with this autumn afternoon in 1891 there were hundreds of other afternoons in other years when Edmund Ellison had walked in, courteous as this man, sounding as he did now, with heaven knew what going on in his mind.
“I daresay you wish to make the most of whatever time you have in London,” she continued. She must leave him in no doubt that he could not keep coming here. “There must be many calls upon it. And then you will go back to America. No doubt you have obligations there.”
“Not an obligation in the world,” he said airily.
“Please sit down,” Caroline invited. “Tea will be served in half an hour or so.”
He took the chair she indicated, crossing his legs comfortably and reclining. The old lady thought he looked offensively at ease.
“It is unfortunate you could not have come when Mr. Fielding was at home,” she said sharply. She wished to make Caroline sensible of a certain disloyalty to her husband in inviting Samuel, who was far nearer her own age and much too obviously found her attractive, at an hour when Joshua was out doing whatever it was he did. She did not know what he occupied his time with, and had never thought to ask. It was probably something she would prefer not to know. Men should keep their indiscretions to themselves, and a woman with the least sense did not ask. “I am sure he also would have liked to see you,” she added, to prevent its being obvious she was not pleased to see him. Criticizing Caroline was one thing; she did not wish to appear rude, if it could be avoided.
“I had hoped he would be,” Samuel replied with a quick smile. “I thought the afternoon quite a good time. It seems I misjudged.”
There was a slight flush on Caroline’s cheek. “Usually it is. He has gone to see a friend who is writing a play and wants his advice on stage directions.”
Samuel’s face lit