Silence in Hanover Close - Anne Perry [93]
He stopped; he was outside the Danvers’ house already. The air was damp, raw in the throat, with the sour smell of too many fires jetting smoke out into the leaden sky. He could not stand around like a vagrant. Someone held a thread that eventually wound back to murder. If he picked at it, teased it, he thought he might find an end lying with Adeline Danver.
She received him civilly, but with undisguised surprise. He had formed a very clear picture of her in his mind from Charlotte’s description; nevertheless he was taken aback by the sharp intelligence in her rather round eyes under their wispy brows. She was a plainer woman than Charlotte had implied: her nose was tip-tilted and narrow, her chin very receding. It was only when she spoke in a voice of remarkable timbre and diction that he saw her beauty.
“Good afternoon, Inspector. I have no idea how I might be of assistance, but of course I shall try. Please do be seated. I don’t believe I have ever met a policeman before.” She regarded him with open curiosity, as if he were some exotic species of creature imported for her entertainment.
For the first time in years Pitt felt self-conscious; he seemed all hands and feet and coattails. He sat down gingerly, trying to arrange himself with some neatness, and failing.
“Thank you, ma’am.”
“Not at all.” Her eyes never wavered from his face. “I assume it is about poor Robert York’s death? That is the only crime with which I have even the remotest connection—and believe the, it is remote. But I knew him, of course, although there are many others who knew him far better.” She smiled very slightly. “I suppose I have the advantage of being an observer of life, rather than a player, so perhaps I have seen something that others may have missed.”
He felt transparent, guilty of great insensitivity. “Not at all, Miss Danver.” He smiled very faintly. He was not at all sure he should try to be charming—he might end up making a complete fool of himself. “I approach you because I have a very specific question in mind, and you are the person in the house least likely to have any involvement with this event, and therefore to be embarrassed by it, or distressed.”
“You take trouble to be tactful,” she said with a slight nod of approval. “Thank you for not insulting my intelligence with an idle courtesy. What event do you imagine I may know of? I confess I cannot think what it might be.”
“Have you ever seen in this house, alone and not as an ordinary guest, a woman of striking appearance, tall, slender and very dark, wearing a gown of a vivid and unusual shade of magenta or cerise?”
Adeline sat motionless. She might not have been breathing but for the faintest stir of the fichu over her thin, almost bosomless chest.
Pitt waited, staring back at her bright brown eyes. Now there was no possibility of evasion between them. Either she would lie outright, brazenly, or she would tell him the truth.
Outside in the hall a clock struck eleven. The chimes seemed endless, until eventually the last one died away.
“Yes, Mr. Pitt,” she said. “I have seen such a woman. But there is no point whatsoever in your asking me who she is, because I do not know. I have seen her twice in this house, and to the best of my knowledge, I have never seen her anywhere else, either before or since.”
“Thank you,” he said gravely. “Was she wearing the same clothes on both occasions?”
“No, but it was a very similar shade, one darker than the other, as I recollect. But it was at night, and gaslight can be misleading.”
“Can you describe her for me, all that you do remember?”
“Who is she, Inspector?”
The use of his title set a distance between them again, warning him not to take her for granted.