Southampton Row - Anne Perry [79]
He turned to Pitt with surprise.
Pitt smiled at him. “An accomplished performance,” he said sincerely. He did not add any facile words about winning. As close to Jack as he was, he could see the exhaustion in his eyes and the grime in the fine lines of his skin. It was dusk and the street lamps were glowing. They must have passed the lamplighter without noticing him.
“Are you here for moral support?” Jack asked dubiously.
“No,” Pitt admitted. “I need to know more about Mrs. Serracold.”
Jack looked at him in surprise.
“Have you eaten?” Pitt asked.
“Not yet. Do you think Rose could be involved in this wretched murder?” He stopped, turning to face Pitt. “I’ve known her for a couple of years, Thomas. She’s eccentric, certainly, and has some idealistic beliefs which are highly impractical, but that’s a very different thing from killing anyone.” He pushed his hands into his pockets, which was uncharacteristic in him; he cared too much about the cut of his suits to so misuse them. “I don’t know what on earth possessed her to go to this medium now, of all times.” He winced. “I can imagine how the press would ridicule it. But honestly, Voisey’s making pretty heavy inroads into the Liberal position. I started off believing Aubrey would get in as long as he didn’t do anything totally stupid. Now I’m afraid Voisey’s winning is not as impossible as it seemed even a couple of days ago.” He continued walking, looking straight ahead of him. They were both dimly aware of supporters, out of uniform, twenty yards behind.
“Rose Serracold,” Pitt reminded him. “Her family?”
“Her mother was a society beauty, as far as I know,” Jack replied. “Her father was from a good family. I did know who, but I forget. I think he died quite young, but it was illness, nothing suspicious, if that’s what you’re thinking.”
Pitt was reaching after every possibility. “A lot of money?”
They crossed the alley and turned left, feet echoing on the cobbles.
“I don’t think so,” Jack answered. “No. Aubrey has the money.”
“Any connection with Voisey?” Pitt asked, trying to keep his voice light, free from the emotion that surged up in him at even the mention of his name.
Jack glanced at him, then away again. “Rose, you mean? If she has, then she’s lying, at least by implication. She wants Aubrey to win. Surely if she knew anything about him at all, she would say so?”
“And General Kingsley?”
Jack was puzzled. “General Kingsley? You mean the fellow who wrote that harsh piece in the newspaper about Aubrey?”
“Several harsh pieces,” Pitt corrected. “Yes. Has he any personal enmity against Serracold?”
“None that Aubrey knows of, unless he’s concealing something as well, and I’d swear he isn’t. He’s actually quite transparent. He was pretty shaken by it. He’s not used to personal attack.”
“Could Rose know him?”
They were halfway along a stretch of narrow pavement outside a warehouse wall. The single street lamp lit only a few yards on either side, cobbles and a dry gutter.
Jack stopped again, his brows drawn together, his eyes narrow. “I presume that is a euphemism for having an affair?”
“Probably, but I mean any kind of knowing,” Pitt said with rising urgency. “Jack, I have to find out who killed Maude Lamont, preferably show beyond any doubt at all that it was not Rose. Mocking her for attending séances will be nothing compared with what Voisey will see that the newspapers do to her if any secret emerges which suggests she committed murder to hide it.”
They were still under the light. Pitt saw Jack wince, and he seemed almost to shrink into himself. His shoulders drooped and the color ebbed from his face.
“It’s a hell of a mess, Thomas,” he said wearily. “The more I know of it the less I understand, and I can explain almost nothing at all to people like those.” He jerked a hand backwards to indicate the crowd near the dockside, now out of sight beyond the jutting mass of the warehouse.
Pitt did not ask him to explain; he knew