Highgate Rise - Anne Perry [85]
They were almost at the Worlinghams’ house and nothing more was said until they were in the morning room by the fire. Angeline was sitting upright in the large armchair and Celeste was standing behind her.
“I’m sure I don’t know what we can tell you, Mr. Pitt,” Celeste said quietly. She looked older than the last time he had seen her; there were lines of strain around her eyes and mouth and her hair was pulled back more severely in an unflattering fashion. But it made the strength of her face more apparent. Angeline, on the other hand, looked pale and puffy, and the softer shape of her jaw, sagging a little, showed her irresolution. There were signs of weeping in the redness of her eyelids, and she looked tremulous enough to weep again now.
“We were asleep,” Angeline added. “This is terrible! What is happening to us? Who would do these things?”
“Perhaps if we learn why, we will also know who.” Pitt guided them towards the subject he wanted.
“Why?” Angeline blinked. “We don’t know!”
“You may, Miss Worlingham—without realizing it. There is money involved, inheritances …”
“Our money?” Celeste said the word unconsciously.
“Your brother Theophilus’s money, to be exact,” Pitt corrected her. “But yes, Worlingham money. I know it is intrusive, but it is necessary that we know; can you tell us all you remember of your brother’s death, Miss Worlingham?” He looked from one to the other of them, making sure they knew he included them both.
“It was very sudden,” Celeste’s features hardened, her mouth forming a thin, judgmental line. “I am afraid I agree with Angeline: Stephen did not care for him as we would have wished. Theophilus was in the most excellent health.”
“If you had known him,” Angeline added, “you would have been as shocked as we were. He was such a—” She searched her memory for the vision of him as he had been. “He was so vigorous.” She smiled tearfully. “He was so alive. He always knew what to do. He was so decisive, you know, a natural leader, like Papa. He believed in health in the mind and a lot of exercise and fresh air for the body—for men, of course. Not ladies. Theophilus always knew the right answer, and what one should believe. He was not Papa’s equal, of course, but still I never knew him when he was mistaken about anything that mattered.” She sniffed hard and reached for a wholly inadequate wisp of a handkerchief. “We always doubted the manner of his death, one may as well say so now. It was not natural, not for Theophilus.”
“What was the cause, Miss Worlingham?”
“Stephen said it was apoplexy,” Celeste answered coldly. “But of course we have only his word for that.”
“Who found him?” Pitt pressed, although he already knew.
“Clemency.” Celeste’s eyes opened wide. “Do you believe Stephen killed him, and then when he realized that Clemency knew what he had done, he killed her also? And then poor Mr. Lindsay. Dear heaven.” She shivered convulsively. “How evil—how monstrously evil. He shall not come into this house again—not set foot over the step!”
“Of course not, dear.” Angeline sniffed noisily. “Mr. Pitt will arrest him, and he will be put in prison.”
“Hanged,” Celeste corrected grimly.
“Oh dear.” Angeline was horrified. “How dreadful—thank heaven Papa did not live to see it. Someone in our family hanged.” She began to weep, her shoulders bent, her body huddled in frightened misery.
“Stephen Shaw is not in our family!” Celeste snapped. “He is not and never was a Worlingham. It is Clemency’s misfortune that she married him, but she became a Shaw—he is not one of us.”
“It is still dreadful. We have never had such shame anywhere near us, even by marriage,” Angeline protested. “The name of Worlingham has been synonymous with honor and dignity of the highest order. Just imagine what poor Papa would have felt if the slightest spot of dishonor had touched his name. He never did anything in his entire life to merit an ugly word. And now his son has been murdered—and his granddaughter