The Hyde Park Headsman - Anne Griffin Perry [63]
He turned away and looked in the wardrobe. There were rows of suits, and in the drawers at least twenty shirts, most of them for ordinary daytime wear. He continued to look at the rest of the room. There were a few mementos, a photograph of Dulcie in a silver frame. She was dressed in riding habit, not found as one might wear in Rotten Row, but with the timeless elegance of a countrywoman who rode to hounds. She was smiling out at the camera, confident and happy. There was a pleasing blur of trees behind her. In a chest of drawers there were personal linen, handkerchiefs, and socks, the items one might expect.
He had not found a diary either in the study or here. The pair to the silver-backed brush was absent. There were no evening studs for the shirts.
He reviewed everything carefully, closed the drawers, and went down the stairs to knock on the withdrawing room door.
“Come in, Superintendent,” she invited.
“Did your husband have dressing rooms at the conceit hall, Mrs. Arledge?” he asked, closing the doors behind him. He loathed this. Already there was a dark premonition in his mind and he was angry and hurt on her behalf.
“Oh, no, Superintendent.” She smiled at him very slightly, a shadow in her eyes in spite of the calm still in her voice. “You see, he conducted in many different places. In fact, it was seldom the same hall two weeks in a row.”
“Then where did he change into his evening clothes?” he said quietly.
“Why here, of course. He was most meticulous about his appearance. One has to be when one is watched by a whole audience.” Her voice dropped to little more than a whisper. “Aidan always used to say it was a terrible discourtesy to be improperly dressed, as if you did not consider your audience worthy of your best effort.”
“I see.”
“Why do you ask, Superintendent?” She looked at him with a deepening frown, her eyes searching his face.
He avoided a direct answer.
“If there were a late performance, did your husband always come home, or did he perhaps stay with friends, other musicians, maybe?”
“Well—I think he may have once or twice.” Now she was hesitant, her expression touched with anxiety, even the beginning of fear. “As I mentioned before, I did not always wait up for him.” She bit her lip. “You may think that less than dutiful of me, but I do not find it easy to keep late hours, and Aidan would be very tired when he came in, and simply wish to retire straightaway. He asked me not to trouble myself by waiting up. That is why I did not …” Now she was controlling herself only with an effort. “That is how I did not miss him that night.”
He felt a pity for her so sharp it caught his breath. His mind was full of confusion. How could a man as sensitive as the one suggested by the letters in his study have betrayed a woman like this?
“I understand, ma’am. It seems very sensible to me,” he said gently. “I do not expect my wife to wait up for me when I am late. Indeed I should feel extremely guilty if she did.”
She smiled at him, but the fear in her eyes did not lessen, indeed if anything it increased. “How very sympathetic of you. Thank you so much for saying so.”
“Was Mr. Arledge conducting a performance that evening?”
“No—no.” She shook her head. “He spent the evening at home, working on a score, one he said was very difficult. I rather think that is why he wished to go for a walk, in order to clear his head before retiring.”
“Does he have a valet, ma’am?”
“Oh yes, indeed. Do you wish to speak with him?”
“If you please.”
She rose to her feet.
“Is there something wrong, Superintendent? Did you find something—something to do with the Winthrops?”
“No, not at all.”
She turned away.
“I see. You prefer not to tell me. I beg your pardon for having asked. I am not—not used …”
He wished intensely that there was something gentle and comforting he could say, something even remotely true that would ease the present pain in