Resurrection Row - Anne Perry [24]
Pitt did not look at him. “One strong man could do it, with a little effort,” he argued. “And he wouldn’t need ropes; the coffin was left, only the actual corpse was taken. We could post a constable for a night or two, even a week, but sometime we’d have to take him away—and then he could go and do it again, if that was what he wanted.”
“Oh, God!” Dominic shut his eyes and put his hands over them.
“Or else he’ll do something else,” Pitt added. “If he is determined to make somebody act.”
Dominic lifted his head. “Something else? Such as what, for God’s sake?”
“I don’t know,” Pitt admitted. “If I knew, then perhaps I could prevent it.”
Dominic stood up, the blood high in his face now. “Well, I’ll prevent a postmortem! There are plenty of people in the Park who will put their weight against it. Lord St. Jermyn, for one. And if necessary, we can hire somebody to keep a guard over the grave to see that the body rests in peace and decency. Nobody but a madman disturbs the dead!”
“Nobody but madmen do many things,” Pitt agreed. “I’m sorry about it, but I don’t know how to stop it.”
Dominic shook his head, moving slowly away. “It’s not your fault, and not your responsibility. We’ll have to do something—for Alicia’s sake. Remember me to Charlotte—and Emily, if you ever see her. Goodnight.”
The door closed behind him, and Pitt stared at it, feeling guilty. He had not told him there was no postmortem because he had wanted to see what Dominic would say. And now he knew he felt worse than before. A postmortem might have cleared up forever any suspicion of murder. Perhaps he should have said that. But why had Dominic not seen that himself?
Or was he afraid it would show the very opposite? That there had been murder! Was Dominic guilty himself—or afraid for Alicia? Or only afraid of the scandal and all the dark, corroding suspicions, the old sores opened up that investigation always brings? He could not have forgotten Cater Street.
But if Dominic wanted the matter silenced, there was at least one other who did not. In the morning Pitt received a rather stiff letter from the old lady reminding him that it was his duty to discover who had disturbed Lord Augustus in his grave—and why! If there had been murder done, he was paid by the community to learn of it and avenge it.
He called her an exceedingly uncomplimentary name and put the sheet of paper down. It was ordinary white note-paper—perhaps she kept the deckle-edged for her social acquaintances. The thought flickered through his mind that maybe he should take it to his superiors and let them fight among themselves as to which was the more imperative for their careers and duty—the establishment’s prohibition or the old lady’s social weight.
He was still considering the matter, with the letter in his top drawer, when Alicia came, wrapped in furs to her throat. She caused a few surprised comments in the outer office, and the constable who preceded her to tell Pitt had eyes as round and bulbous as marbles.
“Good morning, ma’am.” Pitt offered her the chair and waved the constable away. “I’m afraid I have nothing new to tell you, or I should have called to say so.”
“No.” She looked everywhere but at Pitt. He wondered whether she was simply avoiding him, or if she had any interest at all in the brownish walls and the austere prints on them, the boxes bulging with files. He waited, leaving her to find her own courage.
At last she looked at him. “Mr. Pitt, I have come to ask you not to continue with the matter of my husband’s grave being disinterred—” That was a ridiculous euphemism, and she realized it, stammering a little awkwardly. “I—I mean—the digging up of his body. I have come to the belief that it was someone deranged, vandals