Traitors Gate - Anne Perry [124]
However as soon as he entered the hallway he knew that was not to be. Charlotte came out of the parlor, her face grave, a warning in her eyes.
“What is it?” he said with apprehension.
“Matthew is here to see you,” she replied softly, aware of the open door behind her. “He looks very worried, but he wouldn’t tell me anything about it.”
“You asked him?”
“No, of course I didn’t. But I made … listening noises.”
He smiled in spite of himself, touched her gently as he passed and went into the parlor.
Matthew was sitting in Pitt’s favorite chair, staring out of the open French windows across the lawn towards the apple tree. As soon as he felt Pitt’s presence in the room, even though there had been no sound, he turned around and stood up. His face was pale and there were still shadows around his eyes. He looked as if he had suffered a long illness and was only barely well enough to be out of his bed.
“What’s happened?” Pitt demanded, closing the door behind him.
Matthew seemed startled, as though the directness of the question had been unexpected.
“Nothing, at least nothing new. I … I wondered if you had been able to learn anything more about Father’s death.” He opened his eyes wide and stared at Pitt questioningly.
Pitt felt guilty, even though he had every reason for having been unable to even think of the matter.
“No, I … I am afraid not. The assistant commissioner has given me the murder of Susannah Chancellor, and it has driven—”
“I understand. Of course I do,” Matthew interrupted. “You don’t need to explain it to me, Thomas. I am not a child.” He walked towards the French doors as if he meant to go outside into the evening air. “I just … wondered.”
“Is that what you came for?” Pitt asked doubtfully. He joined Matthew in the doorway.
“Of course.” Matthew stepped across the threshold and out onto the paved terrace.
Pitt followed, and together they walked very slowly over the grass towards the apple tree and the shaded section of the wall. There was deep green moss on the stones, rich as velvet, and low down near the ground a creeping plant with yellow starlike flowers.
“What else has happened?” Pitt repeated. “You look dreadful.”
“I had a crack on the head.” Matthew pulled a face and winced. “You were there.”
“Is it worse? Have you had the doctor back?”
“No, no it’s getting better. It’s just slow. This is a fearful business about Chancellor’s wife.” He frowned and took another step across the soft grass. It was thick within the shade of the tree and spongy under the feet. The white drift of the apple blossom was faintly sweet in the air, a clean, uncloying smell. “Have you any idea what happened?”
“Not yet. Why? Do you know anything?”
“Me?” This time Matthew looked genuinely surprised. “Nothing at all. I just think it’s a dreadful stroke of fate for a man so brilliant, and whose personal life was so unusually happy. There are many politicians who could have lost their wives and been little the worse for it at heart, but not Chancellor.”
Pitt stared at him. The remark was curiously uncharacteristic, as if only half his mind were on his words. Pitt was becoming more and more certain that there was in fact something troubling him.
“Did you know Chancellor well?” he asked aloud.
“Moderately,” Matthew replied, continuing to walk, and not looking at Pitt. “He’s one of the most accessible men of high rank. Agreeable to talk to. He comes from a fairly ordinary family. Welsh, I believe, at least originally. They may have been in the Home Counties a while now. It wasn’t political, was it?” He turned to Pitt, curiosity and puzzlement in his face. “I mean,