Traitors Gate - Anne Perry [128]
Farnsworth grunted and looked away.
“Then you had better be about it,” he said, then turned to the river again, and the bright light on the water.
“There is another possibility,” Pitt said quietly.
Farnsworth did not look around, but kept his back to the room and to Pitt.
“Yes?”
“That she did in fact visit the Thorne house,” Pitt replied. “We are still looking for her cloak. She was wearing it when she left, but it was not with her body. If we find it, it may tell us something.”
“Depending on where, I suppose,” Farnsworth conceded. “Go on. What if she did visit the Thorne house?”
Farnsworth’s shoulders tightened.
“Then either Thorne murdered her,” Pitt answered, “or he and his wife did together, although I find that harder to believe. I think Mrs. Thorne was genuinely grieved and shocked when I told her.”
“Why on earth would Thorne kill Mrs. Chancellor? You’re not suggesting an affair, are you?” This time there was mockery in Farnsworth’s voice.
“No.” Pitt did not bother to add how unlikely he thought it.
Farnsworth turned to look at him. “Then what?” His eyes widened. “The Colonial Office treason? Thorne?”
“Possibly. But there is another solution, which may not be unconnected….”
“What do you mean, not unconnected?” Farnsworth frowned. “Explain yourself, Pitt. You are talking in circles. Do you mean it is connected, or don’t you?”
Pitt gritted his teeth. “I think the death of Arthur Desmond may have been connected with his beliefs—”
He got no further. Farnsworth’s face darkened and his eyes narrowed. “I thought we had already dismissed that, and put it to rest. Arthur Desmond was a good man who unfortunately, tragically if you like, became senile towards the end of his life and suffered from serious delusions. The kindest thing one can assume is that he accidentally took an overdose of his sleeping draft.”
His lips tightened. “Less kindly, one might conclude that he knew he was losing his mind and had already seriously compromised his reputation and slandered many of his erstwhile friends, and in a moment of lucid realization of just what was happening to him, took his own life.”
He swallowed. “Perhaps I should not say that is an unkind solution. On second thoughts it was a highly honorable thing to do, and most like him.” His eyes met Pitt’s for a moment. “Yes, I’m sure that is the man you knew also. It required a considerable courage. If you have the regard for him that you profess, you will leave it at that and let him rest in peace. By keeping on raking up the matter you are prolonging the pain for his family and seriously misadvising them. I cannot warn you more gravely that you are making a profound mistake. Do I make myself clear?”
“Perfectly,” Pitt agreed, staring back at him, sensing the power of his resolve, and driven to ignore it. “But none of that is relevant to what Mrs. Chancellor may have thought, which is what we are concerned with.”
“You didn’t discuss this farrago of nonsense with Mrs. Chancellor, for God’s sake!” Farnsworth was aghast. He was still standing with his back to the window, his face in his own shadow from the sunlight, throwing its lines and planes into sharp relief.
“No I didn’t,” Pitt replied steadily. “But I am aware that Mrs. Chancellor knew Sir Arthur and thought very highly of him, and that he discussed his beliefs about Africa with her. Lady Vespasia Cumming-Gould told me so.”
Farnsworth pulled a face at the mention of Vespasia’s name again. He was beginning to dislike her intensely.
“And how did she know that, pray? I suppose she is acquainted with Mrs. Chancellor? She is something of a busybody, and I think not to be taken seriously.” The moment he had said that he regretted it. It was a mistake, and he not only saw it in Pitt’s face, but his own social background was sufficient