Anne Perry: Brunswick Gardens

“My husband had taken his breakfast early, as he frequently does when he is working. I imagine Unity-Miss Bellwood-had also. I did not see her at the table, but that was not remarkable. The rest of us ate as usual. I do not think we discussed anything of interest.”

“The rest of us?” he questioned.

“My son, Mallory,” she explained. “My daughters, Clarice and Tryphena, and the curate who is staying with us at present.”

“I see. Please go on.”

“Mallory went into the conservatory to read and study. He finds it an agreeable place, quiet and warm, and no one interrupts him. The maids do not go in there, and the gardener has little to do at this time of year.” She was watching him carefully. She had very clear gray eyes, with dark lashes and high, delicate brows. “Clarice went upstairs. She did not say why. Tryphena came in here to play the pianoforte. I don’t know where the curate went. I was in here also, as was Lizzie, the downstairs maid. I was arranging flowers. When I had finished them I started towards the hall and was almost at the doorway when I heard Unity cry out…” She stopped, her face pinched and white.

“Did you hear what she said, Mrs. Parmenter?” he asked gravely.

She swallowed. He saw her throat jerk.

“Yes,” she whispered. “She said, ‘No, no!’ And something else, and then she screamed and there was a sort of thumping… and silence.” She stared at him, and her face reflected her horror as if she were still hearing it in her head, replaying again and again.

“And the something else?” he asked, although Cornwallis had already told him what the servants had said. He did not expect her to answer, but he had to give her the opportunity.

She showed the loyalty he had expected.

“I… I…” Her eyes dropped. “I am not certain.”

He did not push her. “And what did you see when you entered the hall, Mrs. Parmenter?” he continued.

This time there was no hesitation. “I saw Unity lying at the bottom of the stairs.”

“Was there anyone on the landing above?”

She said nothing, avoiding his eyes again.

“Mrs. Parmenter?”

“I saw a man’s shoulder and back as he went behind the jardiniere and flowers into the passage.”

“Do you know who it was?”

She was very pale, but this time she did not flinch; she met his eyes squarely. “I cannot be sure enough to say, and I will not guess, Superintendent.”

“What was he wearing, Mrs. Parmenter? What did you see, exactly?”

She hesitated, thinking hard. Her unhappiness was profound.

“A dark jacket,” she said at last. “Coattails… I think.”

“Is there any man in the house whom that description would not fit? Do you recall height, build, anything else?”

“No,” she whispered. “No, I don’t. It was only momentary. He was moving very quickly.”

“I see. Thank you, Mrs. Parmenter,” he said gravely. “Can you tell me something about Miss Bellwood? What kind of a young woman was she? Why should anyone wish her harm?”

She looked down with a fractional smile. “Mr. Pitt, that is very hard to answer. I… I dislike to speak ill of someone who has just met with a tragic death, in my house, and so young.”

“Naturally,” he agreed, leaning forward a little. The room was very comfortable, the warmth of the fire filling it. “Everyone does. I regret having to ask you, but I expect you understand that I must know the truth, and if indeed she was pushed, then it is going to be painful-and inevitably ugly. I am sorry, but there is no choice.”

“Yes… yes, of course.” She sniffed. “I apologize for being so foolish. One keeps hoping… it is not very sensible. You want to understand how such a thing could have happened and why.” She remained still for some moments, perhaps searching for words to explain.

The rest of the house was in complete stillness. There was not even a clock audible anywhere. No servants’ footsteps sounded across the hall beyond the door. The maid in the corner seemed like part of the elaborate decoration.

“Unity was very clever,” Vita began at last. “In a scholastic sort of way. She was a brilliant student of languages. Greek and Aramaic seemed as natural to her as English is to you or me. That was how she helped my husband. He is a theologian, you see, quite outstanding in his field, but his ability with translation is only moderate. He knows fully the meaning of a work, if it is religious, but she could grasp the words, the flavor, the poetic instinct. But she also knew quite a lot of secular history.” She frowned. “I suppose that happens if you study a language? You find yourself learning rather a lot about the people who spoke it… through their writings, and so on.”

“I should imagine so,” Pitt agreed. He was quite well read in English literature, but he had no knowledge of the classics. Sir Arthur Desmond, who had owned the estate on which Pitt had grown up, had been good enough to educate Pitt, the gamekeeper’s son, along with his own son, now Sir Matthew Desmond. But his learning had leaned toward the sciences rather than Latin or Greek, and certainly Aramaic had not entered his thoughts. The King James translation of the Bible was more than adequate to meet all religious enquiry. Pitt concealed his impatience with difficulty. Nothing Vita had said so far seemed in any way relevant. And yet it must be very difficult for her to bring herself to the point. He should not be critical of the cost to her of this honesty.

“The Reverend Parmenter was writing a theological book?” he prompted.

“Yes,” she said quietly. “Yes, he has already written two, and a great number of papers which have been highly acclaimed. But this was to be of a much deeper nature than before, and possibly more controversial.” She looked at him closely to make sure he understood. “That is why he needed Unity’s skills in the translation of sources for the work.”

“Was she interested in the subject?” He must be patient with her. This meandering might be the only way she could bring herself to tell the one bitter truth which mattered.

Vita smiled. “Oh, not the theological side of it, Superintendent. Not in the slightest. Unity is… was… very modern in her beliefs. She did not believe in God at all. In fact, she was a great admirer of the work of Mr. Charles Darwin.” A look of deep distaste flickered across her eyes and mouth. “Are you familiar with it? Of course you are. At least you have to be aware of what he propounds on the origins of mankind. There was never a more dangerous and daring idea put forward by anyone since… I don’t know what!” She was concentrating fiercely, turning her body on the chaise longue until she faced him more fully, regardless of the discomfort it must have caused her. “If we are all descended from apes and the Bible is not true at all and there is no God, then why on earth should we go to church or keep any of the Commandments?”

“Because the Commandments are based upon virtue and the best social and moral order we know,” he replied. “Whether they originate with God or with the long-fought-for and refined ideas of men. Whether the Bible is right, or Mr. Darwin is right, I don’t know. There may even be some way in which they may both be. If not, I hope profoundly that it is the Bible. Mr. Darwin leaves us with little more than the belief in progress and human morality steadily ascending.”

“Don’t you believe it will?” she said seriously. “Unity believed it very strongly. She thought we were progressing all the time. Our ideas are getting nobler and freer with every generation. We are becoming more just, more tolerant and altogether more enlightened.”

“Certainly our inventions are improving every decade,” he agreed, measuring his words. “And our scientific knowledge increases almost every year. But I am not at all sure that our kindness does, or our courage, or our sense of responsibility towards each other, and they are far truer marks of civilization.”