The Hyde Park Headsman - Anne Griffin Perry [116]
She relaxed a little. “No, of course you are right,” she said with a smile of gratitude. “Perhaps it was a foolish thing to say. I am sorry. I just find—oh dear—please excuse me, Mr. Pitt, I fear my mind is all at sixes and sevens. The Requiem is weighing very heavily with me. It is in two days’ time, and I still hardly know what to do.”
Pitt wished he could help, but the police would be inappropriate even as a presence, let alone assisting.
“Surely he had many friends who would be privileged to help in any way at all?” he asked earnestly.
“Oh yes, yes naturally,” she agreed. “Lady Lismore is being marvelous. She is a pillar of strength. Sir James knows all the people who should be invited. And Mr. Alberd, too. He will deliver an address. He is very well respected, you know?”
“I imagine it will still be a harrowing time for you, though,” he said gently, imagining the grief she would feel, the overwhelming emotion as she heard his beloved music and his friends paying tribute, still blindly ignorant of the terrible secret which might all too soon be in every newspaper and billboard.
She swallowed with difficulty, as if there were an obstruction in her throat. “Yes, I am afraid so. So many thoughts keep whirling through my mind.” She looked at him with sudden candor. “I am ashamed of many of them, Superintendent, and yet no matter how hard I try, I don’t seem to be able to control them.” She rose to her feet and walked over towards the window. She spoke with her back to him. “I am ashamed of myself for my weakness, but I am dreading it. I do not know who the man is whom Aidan—I cannot bring myself to use the word loved—and I shall end in looking at everyone and wondering.” She turned back to face him. “That is very wrong, isn’t it?” She said nothing of the storm of ridicule and contempt which would break when someone was arrested and it became public, but the knowledge was silent between them.
“But very understandable, Mrs. Arledge,” he said softly. “I think we might all of us feel the same.”
“Do you think so?” she asked. The slightest of smiles touched her mouth. Bailey had been right, she had the sort of face that became more pleasing the longer one knew her. “You are most comforting. Will you be present, Mr. Pitt? I should like it very much if you were, as a friend—as my friend, if you feel you are able?”
“Most certainly I shall attend, Mrs. Arledge.” He felt guilty as he said it, and yet deeply complimented. He was obliged by the case to be there. Perhaps she understood that. He thought she was quite capable of asking him simply to make him feel less intrusive, and yet the warmth inside him was not lessened by the knowledge.
“There is to be a small reception afterwards,” she continued. “I shall not hold it here, I really don’t feel able.” She was staring at the flowers on the table. “Sir James suggested we should have it at the home of one of Aidan’s friends who both admired his work and was fond of him. That would be convenient for everyone, and much less distressing for me. I shall not be responsible in the same way, and if I wish to leave earlier, I may do so, and return home to be alone with my thoughts and memories.” A small, rueful smile crossed her face and vanished. “Although I am not sure that is entirely what I wish.”
There was nothing for him to say that was not trite.
“It is to be at the home of Mr. Jerome Carvell, in Green Street,” she continued. “Do you know that?”
For a moment he was robbed of words.
“I am familiar with Green Street,” he replied at last, his breath catching in his throat so that he spoke with difficulty. He hoped profoundly that she saw nothing in his face. “I expect that will be very suitable,” he went on. “And as you say, relieve you of the main responsibility.” Did his answer sound as meaningless as he felt it?
She forced a smile. “They will take care of refreshments, and of course we shall have music at the Requiem itself. They have attended to all of that