Anne Perry: Brunswick Gardens

Now the eye was taken with the group of figures at the bottom of the stairs: a young and unhappy doctor putting his instruments back into his case; a second young man standing stiffly, his body tense, as if he wanted to take some action but did not know what. The third was a man a generation older with thinning hair and a grave and anxious expression. The fourth, and last, figure was more than half covered by a blanket, and all Pitt could see of her was the curve of her shoulders and hips as she lay sprawled on the floor.

The older man turned as he heard Pitt’s step.

“Mr. Pitt,” the constable said to this man, his face eager, as if he were bearing good news. “And Sergeant Tellman. The commissioner sent them, sir.”

Corbett shared his constable’s relief and made no pretense about it.

“Oh! Good morning, sir,” he responded. “Dr. Greene here has just finished. Nothing to do for the poor lady, of course. And this is Mr. Mallory Parmenter, the Reverend Parmenter’s son.”

“How do you do, Mr. Parmenter,” Pitt replied, and nodded to the doctor. He looked around at the hallway, then up the stairs.They were steep and uncarpeted. Anyone pushed from the top and falling all the way likely would be injured severely. It did not surprise him that in this instance such a fall should have proved fatal. He moved closer and bent down to look at the body of the young woman, holding back the blanket. She was on her side, her face half turned away from him. He could see she had been extremely handsome in a willful and sensuous fashion. Her features were strong, brows level and her mouth full-lipped. He could easily believe that she had been intelligent, but he saw little gentleness in her.

“Died from the fall,” Corbett said almost under his breath. “About an hour and a half ago.” He pulled a watch out of his waistcoat pocket. “The hall clock struck ten just after. I expect you’ll be speaking to everyone yourself, but I can tell you what we know, if you like?”

“Yes,” Pitt accepted, still looking at the body. “Yes, please.” He noticed her feet. She wore indoor slippers rather than boots, and both of them had come half off in the fall. Carefully he examined the hem of her skirt, all the way around, to see if the stitching had come undone and she could have caught her heel in it and tripped. But it was perfect. On the sole of one of the slippers was a curious dark stain. “What’s that?” he asked.

Corbett looked at it. “Don’t know, sir.” He bent down and touched it experimentally with one finger, then held it to his nose. “Chemical,” he said. “It’s dry on the sole, but there’s still quite a sharp odor, so it’s not been there long.” He stood up and turned to Mallory Parmenter. “Did Miss Bellwood go out this morning, do you know, sir?”

“I don’t know,” Mallory answered quickly. He looked very pale and kept his hands from shaking by knotting them together. “I was studying… in the conservatory.” He shrugged apologetically, as if that needed some explanation. “Quietest place in the house sometimes. And very pleasant. No fire lit in the morning room then, and the maid’s busy, so it was also the warmest. I suppose Unity could have gone out, but I don’t know why. Father would know.”

“Where is Reverend Parmenter?” Pitt enquired.

Mallory looked at him. He was a good-looking young man with smooth, dark hair and regular features which might easily appear either charming or sulky depending upon his expression.

“My father is upstairs in his study,” he replied. “He is naturally deeply distressed by what has happened and preferred to be alone, at least for a while. If you need any assistance I shall be happy to offer it.”

“Thank you, sir,” Corbett acknowledged, “but I don’t think we need to detain you any longer. I’m sure you would like to be with your family.” It was a dismissal, politely phrased.

Mallory hesitated, looking at Pitt. He was obviously unwilling to leave, as if something he should have prevented might happen in his absence. He looked down at the still figure on the floor. “Can’t you cover her up again… or something?” he said helplessly.

“When the superintendent’s seen everything he needs to, we’ll take her away to the mortuary, sir,” Corbett answered him. “But you leave us to get on with it.”

“Yes… yes, I suppose so,” Mallory conceded. He swiveled on his heel and walked across the exquisite floor and disappeared through an ornately carved doorway.

Corbett turned to Pitt. “Sorry, Mr. Pitt. It seems like a very ugly business. You’ll want to speak to the witnesses for yourself. That’ll be Mrs. Parmenter and the maid and the valet.”

“Yes.” Pitt took a last look at Unity Bellwood, fixing in his mind’s eye the way she lay, her face, the thick honey-fair hair, the strong hands, limp now but long-fingered, well cared for. An interesting woman. But he would probably not need to learn a great deal about her, as he had to in most cases. This one seemed regrettably clear, merely tragic, and perhaps difficult to prove before a court. He turned to Tellman, standing a couple of yards behind him. “You had better go and speak to the rest of the staff. See where everybody was and if they saw or heard anything. And see if you can discover what that substance is on her shoe. And be discreet. Very little is certain so far.”

“Yes sir,” Tellman replied with an expression of disgust. He walked away, shoulders stiff, a little bounce in his step as if he were spoiling for a fight. He was a difficult man, but he was observant, patient and never backed away from any conclusion, no matter how he might dislike it.

Pitt turned back to Corbett. “I had better see Mrs. Parmenter.”

“She’s in the withdrawing room, sir. It’s over that way.” Corbett pointed across the hall and under the white pillars to another highly ornate doorway.

“Thank you.” Pitt walked across, his footsteps on the tiny marble pieces sounding loud in the silence of the house. He knocked on the door, and it was opened immediately by a maid.

Inside was a beautiful room, decorated in a very modern style again, with much Chinese and Japanese art, a silk screen covered in embroidered peacock tails dominating the farther corner-even the wallpaper had a muted bamboo design on it. But at the moment all Pitt’s attention was taken by the woman who lay on the black-lacquered chaise longue. It was difficult to tell her height, but she was slender, of medium coloring, and her features were handsome and most unusual. Her enormous eyes were wide set, her cheekbones high and her nose unexpectedly strong. She gave the air that in normal circumstances she would smile easily and laugh at the slightest chance. Now she was very grave and kept her composure only with difficulty.

“I beg your pardon for disturbing you, Mrs. Parmenter,” Pitt apologized, closing the door behind him. “I am Superintendent Pitt, from Bow Street. Assistant Commissioner Cornwallis has asked me to conduct the investigation into the death of Miss Bellwood.” He did not offer any explanation. It seemed like an admission that they were prepared to conceal something., or to prejudge the depth and the outcome of the tragedy.

“Of course,” she said with the ghost of a smile. “I understand, Superintendent.” She turned a little to face him but did not move from her reclining position. The maid waited discreetly in the corner, perhaps in case her mistress should need further restorative or assistance.

“I imagine you need me to tell you what I know?” Vita Parmenter continued, her voice dropping a little.

Pitt sat down, more to save her staring up at him than for his own comfort. “If you please.”

She had obviously prepared herself, and her mind seemed very clear; there was only the slightest trembling in her hands. She kept her amazing eyes steadily upon his.