Silence in Hanover Close - Anne Perry [92]
“I, er . . .” Without thinking Charlotte moved to block the path. “I’m sure they’ll come in a few moments.”
Adeline’s gaze was steady and skeptical.
“I wondered if it was bougainvillea,” Charlotte said abruptly. “Such a wonderful shade of cerise. Is that not the color you said you saw Veronica wearing one night?”
Adeline looked startled. “That was not Veronica.” For once she dropped her usually clear, fine voice, perhaps her most attractive feature. “I’m perfectly sure of that.”
“Oh, I must have misunderstood you. I assumed ...” Her words trailed away; she did not know how to finish. She had been trying to surprise something out of Adeline, while preventing her from going into the conservatory and seeing that wildly immodest embrace. And it was not only for Veronica she wished it, but for Adeline herself. Perhaps no one had ever held her so, or would do now.
“Oh no,” Adeline said with a tiny shake of her head. “Her walk was quite unlike Veronica’s. You can tell a great deal about a woman by the way she walks, and her walk was unique. There was a grace in it, a daring. She was a woman who had power and knew it—and yet, I think, she had much to be afraid of. If she were to allow herself to be afraid.”
“Oh,” Charlotte faltered. “Then—who?”
Adeline’s face reflected wisdom, pain, and the merest shadow of humor. “I do not know, Miss Barnaby, and I do not ask. There are many old loves, and old hates, that are better left unspoken.”
“You surprise me!” Charlotte’s words were suddenly sharp, almost accusatory. “I had thought you were more candid than that.”
Adeline’s plain, sensitive mouth tightened. “The time for candor is past. You have no idea what pain may lie behind these things. A little blindness can allow them to ease, where to speak may make answer inevitable.” She inclined her head towards the interior of the conservatory. “Now you have done your good turn for the day, Miss Barnaby. Either you will call Veronica, or I shall.”
“I will,” Charlotte said obediently, her mind in a whirl. Had Cerise been a lover of Julian’s? Did Veronica know, or guess; was that the ghost she was fighting—an old mistress? Was that why she allowed herself such abandon before an engagement was even announced, let alone a marriage?
If so, then who had killed Robert York, and why?
They were back to treason. Could it possibly be that Veronica herself was hunting her husband’s murderer? Could it be Julian who had killed Robert, and did she know it? Was that the terror consuming her—and what lay between her and Loretta?
“Veronica!” Charlotte said aloud. “Miss Danver says that tea will be served in a few minutes. Veronica!”
8
PITT CHOSE TO WALK to Mayfair. It was not a pleasant day; a flat, gray sky closed over the city like a heavy lid and the wind scythed across the park, stinging his skin above his muffler. It crept into the space round his ears and its coldness hurt, making his body tighten against it. Carriages rattled along Park Lane but he saw no one on foot. It was too cold for pleasure; the street vendors knew there would be no business for them here where residents could afford to ride.
He walked because he was going to the Danvers’, and he was putting off arriving there as long as he could. Dulcie was dead, so there was no one left to ask about Cerise except Adeline Danver. Part of the chill inside him was guilt—Dulcie’s bright, frank face came back to his mind far too easily. If only he had taken the precaution of closing the library door before allowing her to speak! He still did not know which of her two remarks had caused her death—the mention of Cerise, or of the missing necklace. But Pitt’s investigation of Piers York’s affairs had proved him to be more than financially secure, and in spite of his remark to Dulcie, he did not seem to have claimed for the gems.
All inquiries into other friends of Robert York who might