The Hyde Park Headsman - Anne Griffin Perry [117]
“Yes.” His mind immediately conjured a picture of Victor Garrick playing after Oakley Winthrop’s funeral. “Who will play? Do you know yet?”
She turned away from the flowers.
“Some young man Aidan was fond of, someone I believe he helped and encouraged,” she replied, looking at him with quickened interest. “Do you care for the cello, Mr. Pitt?”
“Yes.” It was more or less true. He enjoyed it profoundly on the rare occasions when he had the opportunity to listen.
“I believe the young man is most gifted. He is an amateur, but has both technique and extraordinary emotion, so Sir James tells me. And he had a regard for Aidan, because of the time Aidan devoted to helping him.”
“Indeed? What is his name?”
“Vincent Garrick. Yes, I think that is right. No—no it was not Vincent—Victor. Yes, I am sure that is right.”
“Did Mr. Arledge know him well?” Pitt kept the sudden sharpness out of his voice as well as he could, but she stiffened. He could see the line of her shoulder taut against the thick silk of her gown.
“Do you know him, Mr. Pitt? Does it mean something?” she demanded. “Why do you ask me?”
“It may mean very little, ma’am. Victor Garrick was Captain Winthrop’s godson.”
“Captain Winthrop’s godson?” She looked confused, and then disappointed. “Perhaps it was absurd, but I was hoping, from your sudden attention, that there was some—some clue?”
“Did Mr. Arledge know Victor Garrick well?” he asked again.
Her eyes did not leave his face.
“I am afraid I have no idea. You could ask Sir James. He would know. He actually encouraged the young musicians rather more than Aidan did. In fact, to be honest, Superintendent, I fear it may have been Sir James’s suggestion because Mr. Garrick is something of a protégé of his.”
“I see.” Pitt was stupidly disappointed. Still he would go again to Sir James Lismore and pursue the connection, no matter how remote. And most certainly he would attend the Requiem. “Thank you, Mrs. Arledge. You have been most patient with me, and most gracious.” It was an understatement. No bereaved person had earned his admiration more.
“You will tell me, Superintendent, when you find something, won’t you?” she said with eagerness lighting her face.
“Of course,” he said quickly. “As soon as there is anything that is more than speculation and idea.” He rose to his feet.
She rose also and walked with him to the hallway and the front entrance, thanking him again. He took his leave and set out to find a hansom immediately and go to the home of Sir James Lismore. But her face was still in his mind’s eye and a confusion of emotions was raised by Aidan Arledge. He pitied him because he had met a violent and untimely death, and because he had loved where he could not fulfill himself, and yet also felt an anger he could not quell for his having betrayed such a remarkable woman and left her with nothing but dignity and grief.
“Victor Garrick?” Sir James said with surprise. He was a very ordinary-looking man of medium height, and his hair receded so far it was barely visible as one faced him. But there was a quality of concentration in his eyes that held the attention, and all the lines in his face spoke of intelligence and good nature.
“A young amateur cellist,” Pitt added.
“Oh yes, I know who you mean,” Lismore said quickly. “Most gifted, extraordinary intensity. But why does he concern you, Superintendent?”
“Was he acquainted with the late Aidan Arledge?”
“Certainly. Poor Aidan knew a great number of musicians, both amateur and professional.” He frowned, looking at Pitt more closely. “Surely you cannot suspect one of them of being involved in his death? That is absurd.”
“Not necessarily culpable, Sir James,” Pitt