The Whitechapel Conspiracy - Anne Perry [69]
Charlotte realized with a shiver that he was watching Juno intently, his eyes fixed upon her face so completely he must see even the faintest flicker of breath, the wavering of her gaze for an instant. He watched as an animal watches its prey. He had come to learn how much she knew, if she had found anything, guessed or suspected.
Charlotte willed Juno to tell him nothing, to be bland, innocent, even stupid if necessary. Should she intervene, take matters into her own hands? Or would that tell him she was afraid, which could only be because she knew something? She drew in her breath and let it out again.
“No,” Juno said slowly. “Of course he wouldn’t. I admit, I don’t understand it either.” She allowed herself to relax, deliberately, starting with her hands. She even smiled very slightly. “I always saw them as the best of friends.” She added nothing more, leaving him to pick up the thread.
It was not what he had expected. For a moment uncertainty flashed in his face, then it was gone. His expression eased.
“That is what you saw also?” He smiled back at her, avoiding Charlotte’s gaze. “I wondered if perhaps you had any perception as to what may have gone so tragically wrong … not evidence, of course,” he added hastily, “or you would have spoken of it to the appropriate authorities. Just thoughts, intuition even, born of your understanding of your husband.”
Juno said nothing.
Gleave’s voice was unctuous, but Charlotte saw the flash of doubt again. He had not expected the conversation to go this way. He was not controlling it as he had intended. Juno was obliging him to speak more because she offered less. Now he had to explain his interest.
“I apologize for pursuing it, Mrs. Fetters. The case troubles me still because it seems so … unresolved. I …” He shook his head a little. “I feel as if I failed.”
“I think we all failed to understand, Mr. Gleave,” Juno replied. “I wish I could clarify it for you, but I am afraid I cannot.”
“It must be very troubling for you also.” His voice was full of sympathy. “It is part of grief to wish to understand.”
“You are very kind,” she said simply.
A flare of interest quickened in him, so faint as to be almost indiscernible, but Charlotte knew Juno had made a mistake. She had been careful rather than frank. Should she intervene? Or would that only make it worse? Again she hovered on the edge of speech. What was Gleave? Simply a defense lawyer who had lost a client he felt to be innocent, and perhaps for which his peers held him accountable? Or a member of a powerful and terrible secret society, here to judge how much the widow knew, if there were papers, evidence they needed to destroy?
“I confess,” Juno went on suddenly, “I should like to know why … what …” She shook her head, and her eyes filled with tears. “Why Martin died. And I don’t! It doesn’t make any sense at all.”
Gleave responded the only way possible to him. “I am so sorry, Mrs. Fetters. I did not mean to distress you. It was clumsy of me to have raised the subject at all. Do forgive me.”
She shook her head. “I understand, Mr. Gleave. You had faith in your client. You must be distressed also. There is nothing to forgive. In truth, I would have liked to ask you if you know the reason, but of course even if you did, you would not be free to say so. Now at least you have made it plain you know no more than I do. I am grateful for that. Perhaps now I shall be able to let it go and think of other things.”
“Yes … yes, that would be best,” he agreed, and for the first time he looked fully at Charlotte. His eyes were dark, clever, searching her mind, perhaps warning her also.
“Delighted to have met you, Mrs. Pitt.” He added nothing more, but meanings unsaid hung in the air.
“And you, Mr. Gleave,” she responded charmingly.
As soon as he was gone and the door closed behind him, Juno turned to her. Her face was pale and her body was trembling.
“He wanted to know what we have found,” she said huskily. “That’s why he came … isn’t it?”
“Yes, I think so,” Charlotte agreed. “Which