Silence in Hanover Close - Anne Perry [150]
“You murdered her,” he repeated steadily. “You dressed that poor damn woman in that dress so you could blame that wretched policeman! How did you find the woman? Who was she? Some maid you’d dismissed, and still knew where to find?”
Loretta stared at him dumbly. It was the truth and it was painted on her face too clearly to be worth denying.
“And Dulcie?” he went on. “You pushed her out of the window. Why? What did she know—or see?”
“Don’t you know?” She started to laugh hysterically. “Oh dear, Garrard—don’t you know?” Tears streamed down her face, her voice getting wilder and higher every moment.
Jack stood up and moved towards her. “Asherson!” he said sharply.
In a daze Felix rose and came to help. Between them they half lifted her from her chair and took her from the room.
Vespasia stood also, stiffly, her face pale. “I am going to telephone the police. Superintendent Ballarat, I believe it is. And the home secretary.” She looked round the table at them. “I apologize for such an—an unfortunate dinner party, but you see, Thomas Pitt is a friend of mine. I cannot sit by and see him hanged for a murder he did not commit. Please excuse me.” Head high, back like a ramrod, she swept out of the room to exert all her influence, to call on old friendships and have Pitt released, now, tonight.
In the silence behind her no one moved.
But it was not over. There was still Cerise, the real Cerise. And who had murdered Robert York, and why? Had that also been Loretta? Charlotte believed not.
On shaking legs she rose too. “Ladies, I think we should retire. I cannot imagine anyone feels like eating anymore. I certainly don’t.”
Obediently they pushed back their chairs and straggled through to the withdrawing room. Adeline and Harriet went together, leaning a little on each other, as though physical proximity could give them strength. Sonia Asherson hugged her hurt to herself, tight-lipped.
Lastly Charlotte followed at Veronica’s elbow. In the hallway she drew her aside into the library. Veronica looked round, startled, as though the book-lined shelves unnerved her.
Charlotte stood against the door, blocking it.
“There’s still Cerise,” she said quietly. “The real Cerise. The woman Garrard loved. That’s you, isn’t it!”
“Me?” Veronica’s eyes widened. “Me! Oh God! How wrong you are! But why? Why do you care? Why have you done all this? Who are you?”
“Charlotte Pitt.”
“Charlotte—Pitt? You mean—you mean that policeman is your—”
“My husband. And I’m not going to let him hang for murdering that woman.”
“He won’t,” Veronica said harshly. “Loretta did it. We all heard her say so. You don’t have to worry.”
“It isn’t finished.” Charlotte turned the key in the lock. “There’s still the real Cerise, and whoever murdered your husband. I don’t think that was Loretta. I think it was you— and Loretta knew it. She protected you because of her own blackmailing of Garrard, even though you killed her son. That’s why you hated each other, and yet neither of you could afford to betray the other!”
“How—I ...” Veronica shook her head slowly, incredulous.
“There’s no purpose in denying it.” Charlotte could not afford pity now. This was Cerise; she might not be a spy after all, but she was a ruthless, passionate woman, and a murderess. “Was it to marry Julian? Did you get tired of Robert and murder him, so you could marry Julian?”
“No!” Veronica was so ashen Charlotte was half afraid she was going to faint. And yet she was Cerise—Cerise with the flair, the panache, the courage.
“I’m sorry, but I cannot believe you.”
“I am not Cerise!” Veronica put her hands over her face and turned away, crumpling in a heap onto the sofa. “Oh God! I suppose I’d better tell you the truth. It isn’t what you think at all!”
Charlotte sat carefully on the edge of a chair, waiting.
“I loved Robert. You’ll never believe how much, not now. But when we were married, I thought I had everything a woman could want. He was—he was so handsome, so charming and sensitive. He seemed to understand me. He was a companion, more than any other