The Hyde Park Headsman - Anne Griffin Perry [157]
Pitt smiled. “A trifle farfetched,” he said ruefully. “But I’ve left poor Bailey looking into Carvell’s story about being at the concert. I want better proof than we have, something absolutely irrefutable.”
“Do you doubt it?”
“I don’t know.” He looked tired and confused. “Part of me does. My brain, I suppose.”
A group of excited people next to them raised their glasses in a toast. A woman in peach-colored lace was so exuberant her voice was becoming shrill.
“But not your heart?” Charlotte asked quietly, looking at Pitt.
He smiled. “It’s a trifle absurd to think with your heart. I should prefer instinct—which is probably just a collection of memories below the surface of recollection which form judgments for which we cannot readily produce a reason.”
“Very logical,” she agreed. “But it comes to the same thing. You don’t believe he did it, but you can’t be sure. Emily says that the butler, Scarborough, was an absolute pig. He dismissed that poor maid just because she was singing. The girl was beside herself. And what is so inexcusable is that he would know what losing a position would cost her. She may not be able to get another without a good character. She could starve!” Her voice was getting higher and higher with the distress of it, and her sense of outrage.
Pitt put his hand on her arm. “Didn’t you say Emily was going to offer her a position as housemaid or something?”
“Yes, but that isn’t the point.” She was too outraged to be calm. “Scarborough couldn’t know that. And if Emily hadn’t happened to be there, then she wouldn’t have. The man was still a total pig.”
Pitt frowned, his face creased with thought. “He did it in public?”
She was obliged to move aside for a group of people laughing and talking.
“No—well, more or less,” she answered. “The corner of the room, over by that chair where Victor Garrick was sitting with his cello, waiting to play.”
“Oh. Yes, you are right,” he agreed. “The man was vicious and arbitrary. It doesn’t sound as if blackmail would be beyond him—”
They were interrupted by Emily in a swirl of apple-green silk embroidered with seed pearls.
“Mama still hasn’t come,” she said anxiously. “Do you suppose she is not going to? Really, it is too bad of her. She seems to think of no one but herself these days. I was so sure she would at least come to this, since Jack won.” She waved her hand to decline any more champagne, and the footman moved on.
“There’s time yet,” Pitt said, but with a twisted smile, and no belief in his voice.
Emily gave him a long look but said nothing.
Pitt excused himself and went to talk to Landon Hurlwood, who had been a supporter of Jack’s cause and had come to add his presence to the celebrations. He looked comfortable and relaxed, moving from group to group of people, full of vitality and optimism for the future. Under the chandeliers, the light gleamed on the pewter sheen of his hair.
“He’s been such a help to us,” Emily said, watching him greet Pitt with obvious pleasure. “A nice man. That is the happiest I have seen him look since his wife died, poor creature. She was ill for a long time, you know. Actually I never believed she was as ill as she must have been. She was one of those who made such a cause of it, it seemed she never spoke of anything else. Now it appears I wronged her, because she died of consumption, and I feel fearfully guilty.”
“So you should,” Charlotte agreed.
Emily glanced at her sharply. “You were not supposed to agree with me! Dead or not, she was still a most trying woman.”
“I expect he was fond of her, and she may not have been so tedious before she was ill,” Charlotte pointed out.
“You are being contrary,” Emily criticized, then suddenly became serious again. “Are you worried about Thomas? Surely they cannot expect him to solve every crime. There are bound to be some that are beyond anyone.”
“Of course.” Charlotte became serious also. “But