Resurrection Row - Anne Perry [10]
“No!” She gulped, and the breath caught in her throat. She swallowed hard. “No, of course not.” But she could feel the heat burning up her face. What would other people think? Twice Augustus had been uncovered out of his grave, almost as if someone were unwilling to let him rest—or, more pointedly, unwilling to let her forget him.
Who would do such a thing? The only one she knew was the old lady. She would certainly be annoyed if she thought Alicia could marry again, and so soon, this time for love!
“I have no idea,” she said as calmly as she could. “If Augustus had any enemies, he never spoke of them; and I find it hard to imagine that anyone he was acquainted with, whatever their feelings, would do such a thing as this.”
“Yes.” Pitt nodded. “It is beyond ordinary vengeance, even to us. It’s wretchedly cold in here; you’d better go home and warm yourself, take some food. There’s nothing you can do now. We’ll take care of it, see he’s handled decently. I think your vicar’s already ordered the proper observations.” He walked toward the door, then turned. “I suppose you are quite sure it was your husband, ma’am? You did see his face quite clearly—it wasn’t someone else, perhaps?”
Alicia shook her head. She could see the corpse with its gray-white skin in front of her sharply, more real than the cold walls of the vestry.
“It was Augustus, Mr. Pitt. There is no doubt of that at all.”
“Thank you, ma’am. I’m extremely sorry.” He went out and closed the door behind him.
Outside, Pitt stopped for a moment to glance at the remnants of the congregation, all affecting attitudes of sympathy, or else pretending to be there by chance and about to move; then he strode down the path and out into the street. The business had shaken him far more than the relative seriousness of the crime warranted. Far worse things were going on daily—beatings, extortions, and murders—and yet there was a relentless obscenity about this that disturbed some previously silent portion of his mind, an assumption that death at least was untouchable.
Why on earth should anyone keep on digging up the body of some elderly aristocrat whose death had been perfectly natural?
Or was this a bizarre but unignorable way of saying that it had not? Was it conceivable that Lord Augustus had been murdered, and someone knew it?
After a second disinterment it was a question he could not overlook. They could not simply replace him again—and wait!
There was nothing he could do today; it would be indiscreet. He needed to observe decorum or he would get no cooperation at all from those closest to him, and most likely to know or suspect. Not that he expected much help. No one wanted murder. No one wanted police in the house, investigations and questions.
Added to which, Sunday was his own day off. He wanted to be at home. He was making an engine for Jemima that pulled along on a string. It was proving harder than he had expected to make wheels round, but she was delighted with it anyway and talked to it incessantly in a mixture of sounds quite unintelligible to anyone else, but obviously of great significance to her. It gave him immeasurable happiness.
Late on Monday morning he set out through a fine, thick mist to ride to Gadstone Park and begin the questions. It was not as dismal as might be supposed, because he intended to call first upon Great-Aunt Vespasia. The memory of her in Paragon Walk brought a glow of pleasure to his mind, and he found himself smiling, alone in the hansom cab.
He had chosen his time with care, late enough for her to have finished breakfast but too early for her to have left the house for any morning business she might have.
Surprisingly, the footman informed him that she already had company, but he would acquaint her ladyship with Pitt’s arrival, if he desired.
Pitt felt a surge of disappointment and replied a little tartly