Silence in Hanover Close - Anne Perry [28]
It was New Year’s Eve and snowing hard. He rode through muffled streets, the wheels of the hansom almost silent in the pall, and stepped out at number 2 Hanover Close a little after three. He had asked the constable on the beat and knew that this was the best opportunity to catch the younger Mrs. York at home, while the elder Mrs. York was out visiting.
This time the door was answered by a pretty young snip of a parlormaid with a crisp lace apron and a cap on her dark head. She eyed Pitt up and down suspiciously, from the tousled hair poking out under his tall hat and his well-cut but ill-used coat, its pockets stuffed with all manner of objects he had thought he might find useful, to Emily’s beautiful boots.
“Yes sir?”
He smiled at her. “I have called to see Mrs. York. She is expecting me within these few days.”
She considered his smile more than the information, which she found hard to believe. “Mrs. York has company at the present, sir, but if you come into the morning room I’ll inform her you are here.”
“Thank you.” He stepped in and handed her one of the cards he had acquired since his last visit. Perhaps it was a trifle presumptuous for a policeman to have a card, but he liked it, and it might justify its expense one day. He had not told Charlotte about it, in case she secretly thought him foolish.
The morning room was unchanged, a banked-up slow fire glowing in the grate. This time Pitt deliberately opened the door to the hall after the maid had gone and stood a little out of the way of it, so that he could overhear any conversation unseen. The visitors were probably irrelevant, but he was curious. There had been no carriages outside, so they must intend staying long enough to be worth sending them round to the mews at the back; that meant more than the half hour or so of a normal afternoon call.
The misunderstanding he hoped for materialized. It was the younger Mrs. York the parlormaid informed, and after nearly ten minutes it was she who came, accompanied by a fair-haired man of about forty with a face not handsome, but of intelligent and compelling cast. They were both civil but extremely guarded.
Veronica York was indeed a beautiful woman, very slender, with delicate shoulders and bosom, and she moved with an unusual grace. Her face was more sensitive than her mother-in-law’s, more finely boned. It appealed to Pitt instinctively. There was a haunting quality in it, and he had the impression that beneath the calm lay an intense passion, poised to break through.
“Mr. Pitt?” she said with obvious doubt. “I hope you do not mind, Mr. Danver has accompanied me. I regret I do not recollect our acquaintance.”
Danver put one arm half round her, as if he would protect her from any attack of discourtesy. But there was no hostility in his face, only caution, and an awareness of her vulnerability.
“I’m sorry,” Pitt apologized immediately. “It was Mrs. Piers York who was expecting me. I should have made myself plainer. But I expect, if you would not mind, you could assist equally well.” He took the silver vase out of his coat pocket and held it up. “It is possible that this is the vase stolen from you some three years ago. If it is, would you be kind enough to assure yourself, and then confirm it to me?”
The blood fled from her face and her eyes widened as if he had held up something appalling and incomprehensible.
Danver tightened his arm round her as though he feared she might faint. Then he turned on Pitt furiously.
“For heaven’s sake, man, have you no pity at all? You walk in here without the least warning and hold up a vase that was stolen the very night Mrs. York’s husband was violently murdered!” He looked at Veronica York, and his voice rose as he saw her anguish deepen. “I shall complain to your superiors about your gross insensitivity!