Rutland Place - Anne Perry [44]
Then he brightened. “I’ll tell you what—I shall ask Eloise. She will confide in me if there is anything—that I promise you—and I shall report it to you if it has any bearing whatsoever on Mina’s death. Will you accept that? I’m sure you would not wish to distress anyone more than is absolutely necessary.”
Pitt was torn. He remembered all the white, stricken faces he had ever seen of people who had encountered death, especially sudden and violent death. Those faces came back to him each time it occurred again: the surprise, the hurt, the slow acceptance that one cannot evade truth as the shock wears off and the reality remains, like growing cold, creeping deeper and deeper.
But he could not afford to let Tormod Lagarde make his judgments for him.
“No, I’m afraid that won’t do.”
He saw Tormod’s face change, the mouth set hard and the eyes chill.
“I’m quite happy that you should be present,” Pitt continued without changing his own expression or his voice. A smile remained fixed on his lips. “In fact, if you prefer to ask her yourself, I’m quite agreeable. I understand your concern that she should not be harassed or reminded of other tragedies. But since I know facts that you cannot know about Mrs. Spencer-Brown’s death, I must hear Miss Lagarde’s answers for myself, and not as you interpret them to me with the best intention in the world.”
Tormod met his eyes, stared at him for a few moments in surprise, then took a step backward and, with a swing of his arm, reached for the bell rope.
“Ask Miss Lagarde to come into the morning room, will you Bevan?” he said when the butler appeared.
“Thank you,” Pitt said, acknowledging the concession.
Tormod did not reply, turning instead to look out of the window at the gray drizzle that was beginning to thicken the air and dull the outlines of the houses across the Place. The laurel leaves outside hung glistening drops from their points.
When Eloise arrived, she was pale but perfectly composed. She kept her shawl close around her, and met Pitt’s gaze candidly.
As soon as the door opened, Tormod went to her, putting his arm around her shoulders.
“Eloise, darling. Inspector Pitt has to ask you some questions about poor Mina. I’m sure you understand that since we were the last people to see her, he feels we may know something of her state of mind just before she died.”
“Of course,” Eloise said calmly. She sat down on the sofa and regarded Pitt steadily, only the bare interest of courtesy in her face. The reality of death was seemingly greater than any curiosity.
“There’s no need to be afraid,” Tormod said to her gently.
“Afraid?” She seemed surprised. “I’m not afraid.” She lifted her head to look at Pitt. “But I don’t think I can tell you anything that is of value.”
Tormod glanced at him warningly, then back at Eloise.
“Do you remember I left you for a while?” he asked her, his voice very soft, almost as if encouraging a child. “You had been speaking of little things until then—fashion and gossip. Did she confide any other matter to you when you were alone? Anything of the heart? A love, or a fear? Perhaps someone she was becoming fond of?”
Eloise’s mouth moved in a fraction of a smile. “If you mean did she love someone other than her husband,” she said without expression in her voice, “I have no reason to think so. She certainly did not speak of it to me—then or at any other time. I’m not sure if she believed in love of the storybook kind. She believed in passions—lust and pity, and loneliness—but they are quite different things, not really love. They pass when the hunger is satisfied, or the need for pity removed—or when one grows exhausted with loneliness. These things are not love.”
“Eloise!” Tormod’s arm tightened around her and his hand held the flesh of her arm so hard it made white marks on her skin that Pitt could see even through the muslin of her dress. “I’m so sorry!” His voice was soft, a whisper. “I had no idea Mina would speak of such things to you or I would never have left you alone with her.” He swung around to stare at Pitt.