Paragon Walk - Anne Perry [68]
His thoughts were interrupted by a discreet cough a few yards away from him, the other side of the roses. He looked up. An elderly and forlorn butler was standing uncomfortably on the path, staring at him.
“Did you want me?” Pitt inquired, affecting not to realize he was standing on the manicured grass.
“Yes, sir. If you please, Mrs. Nash would be obliged if you would call upon her, sir.”
“Mrs. Nash?” his mind flew back to Jessamyn.
“Yes, sir.” The butler cleared his throat. “Mrs. Afton Nash, that is, sir.”
Phoebe!
“Yes, of course,” Pitt replied immediately. “Is Mrs. Nash at home?”
“Yes, sir. If you would care to accompany me?”
Pitt followed him back across the roadway and along the footpath to Afton Nash’s house. The front door opened before they reached it, and they were ushered in. Phoebe was in a small morning room toward the back. A long window looked onto the grass.
“Mr. Pitt!” she seemed almost startled, a little breathless. “How good of you to come! Hobson, send Nellie in with the tray. You will take tea, won’t you? Yes of course. Please, do sit down.”
The butler disappeared, and Pitt sat obediently, thanking her.
“It’s still so dreadfully hot!” She flapped her hands. “I don’t care for the winter, but right now I almost feel I should welcome it!”
“I dare say it will rain soon and be pleasanter.” He did not know how to set her at ease. She was not really listening to him, and she had not looked at him once.
“Oh, I do hope so.” She sat down and stood up again. “This is very trying. Do you not find?”
“You wanted to see me about something, Mrs. Nash?” She was obviously not going to come to the point herself.
“I? Well.” She coughed and took some few moments over it. “Have you found trace of poor Fulbert yet?”
“No, ma’am.”
“Oh dear.”
“Do you know something, ma’am?” It appeared she was not going to speak without being pressed.
“Oh, no! No, of course not! If I did, I should have told you!”
“But you did call me here to tell me something,” he pointed out.
She looked flustered.
“Yes, yes, I admit—but not as to where poor Fulbert is, I swear.”
“Then what, Mrs. Nash?” He wanted to be gentle, but it was urgent. If she knew something, then he needed to hear it. He was stumbling around in the dark as much now as when he had first seen Fanny’s body in the morgue. “You must tell me!”
She froze. Her hands went to her neck and the rather large crucifix hanging there. Her fingers wound on round it, her nails digging into her palms.
“There is something terrible and evil here, Mr. Pitt, something truly appalling!”
Was she imagining it, whipping herself into a hysteria? Did she know anything at all, or was it just vague fears in a frightened and silly mind? He looked at her, her face, her hands.
“What sort of evil, Mrs. Nash?” he asked quietly. Whether the cause was real or imaginary, he would swear the fear was genuine enough. “Have you seen something?”
She crossed herself.
“Oh, dear God!”
“What have you seen?” he insisted. Was it Afton Nash, and she knew it, but, because he was her husband, she could not bring herself to betray him? Or had it been Fulbert, incestuous rapist and suicide, and she knew that?
He stood up and put his hand toward her, not to touch her, but in a half-gesture of support.
“What have you seen?” he repeated.
She started to shake, first her head, in little twitches from side to side, then her shoulders, finally her whole body. She made little whimpering sounds, like a child.
“So foolish!” she said furiously between her teeth. “So very foolish. And now it’s all real, God help us!”
“What is real, Mrs. Nash?” he said urgently. “What is it you know?”
“Oh!” she lifted up her head and stared at him. “Nothing! I think I have lost my wits! We will never win against it. We are lost, and it is our own fault. Go away, and leave us alone. You are a decent man, in your own station. Just go away. Pray, if you want to, but go now, before it reaches out and touches you! Don’t say I didn’t warn you!”
“You haven’t warned me. You haven’t told me what to