Anne Perry - Brunswick Gardens

“That’s convenient.” She perched on the edge of the chair opposite the fire. “I don’t suppose fainting people are much use to you.” She shook her head a little. “I’m sorry. That has nothing to do with anything, has it? I didn’t like Unity particularly, but I do care very much about my father. I really don’t believe he would have pushed her, no matter how much she annoyed him, at least not intentionally. They may have struggled. Could she have pushed him and slipped?” She looked up at him hopefully. “Perhaps if he stepped aside or tried to push her away? That’s possible, isn’t it? That would be an accident. And anyone can have an accident.”

He sat down opposite her. “That is not what he said, Miss Parmenter. He said he did not leave his study at all. And your mother’s maid and the valet both heard Miss Bellwood call out ‘No, no, Reverend!’ So did your sister.”

She said nothing. Her face reflected her misery and confusion, and equally her complete refusal to believe her father responsible for anything more than mischance.

“Would he have been involved in an accident like that and then lied rather than own to it?” Pitt asked, hoping she would say yes. It would answer all the evidence and still not be murder.

She thought about it for several seconds, then lifted her chin and met his eyes squarely. “Yes. Yes, he would.”

He could tell that she was lying. It was precisely what Tryphena had said. She was putting her personal feelings for her father before truth. And he thought he might well have done the same thing were he ever to be in a similar dilemma.

“Thank you, Miss Parmenter,” he acknowledged. “I am sorry I have had to trouble you. I believe there is also a curate living in the house, is that so?”

She tensed slightly. “Yes. Do you want to see him? I don’t suppose he can help either, but you have to go through the motions, don’t you? I’ll fetch him.” She stood up and went to the door, and then turned as he rose also. “What are you going to do, Superintendent? You can’t arrest my father, can you, without proof or a confession?”

“No, I can’t.”

“And you don’t have either, do you.” That was a challenge, a statement she desperately wanted to be true.

“Not so far.”

“Good! I’ll get the curate for you.” She went out with quick, light steps, and Pitt was left alone to turn over in his mind the peculiar situation in which he found himself. It seemed, from Tryphena’s evidence, and that of the maid and the valet, as if Unity Bellwood had quarreled violently with Ramsay Parmenter, and after being highly abusive, stormed out of the room in temper. He had followed her, continuing the quarrel, and there had been some sort of struggle at the top of the stairs. She had called out, and then had fallen with such impetus she had pitched right to the bottom and broken her neck. It was absurd to enter into a physical struggle over issues of theories of God and the origin of man. It was the last way on earth to prove either argument true. Any bodily conflict between a middle-aged clergyman and a young female scholar was unseemly and held elements of farce. Clarice, the one person who disbelieved it, was certainly right.

And yet it seemed undeniably what had happened.

He did not hold any hope that the young curate would be any use whatever. He would probably support Ramsay Parmenter, out of professional and religious loyalty, and disclaim any knowledge of the whole matter.

The door opened and a startlingly handsome man came in. He was slender, almost Pitt’s height, dark haired with fine aquiline features and a mouth of humor and sensitivity. He was wearing a clerical collar.

“Hello, Thomas,” he said quietly, closing the door behind him.

Pitt was so stunned for a moment he could not find speech. The man was Dominic Corde, the widower of Pitt’s wife’s sister, who had been murdered nearly ten years before, when Charlotte and Pitt had first met. If Dominic had not remarried, then presumably they were still brothers-in-law.

Dominic walked over to the chair by the fireplace and sat down. He looked noticeably older than when Pitt had last seen him. He must be at least forty now. There were fine lines around his brow and around his eyes. The furrows from nose to mouth were deeper, and there were a few gray hairs at his temples. The brashness and the smoothness of youth were gone. Pitt thought, with some reluctance, that it became him. He had not entirely forgotten that when he and Charlotte had met, Charlotte had been in love with Dominic.

“I can’t believe it,” Dominic said gravely, watching Pitt. “Ramsay Parmenter is a serious and compassionate man dedicated to learning and a life in the church. Unity Bellwood could be enough to try the patience of a saint, at times, but it is outside reality to imagine that Reverend Parmenter would deliberately have pushed her downstairs. There has to be some other explanation.”

“Accident?” Pitt asked, finding his tongue at last but still standing. “How well do you know him?” What he meant, what was racing through his head, was: What on earth are you doing here in this house, taking holy orders? You, of all people! You who were married to Sarah and seduced maids and at the very least flirted inexcusably with other young women.

Dominic almost smiled, but the smile died on his lips before it was real.

“Ramsay Parmenter helped me when I was close to despair,” he said earnestly. “His strength and patience, his calm belief and endless kindness, brought me back from the brink of self-destruction and set me on the best path possible. For the first time I can remember, I am looking towards a future with purpose and use to others. Ramsay Parmenter taught me that-and by example, not word.”

He looked up at Pitt.

“I know it is your job to learn what happened here this morning, and you are honor-bound to do that, wherever it leads you. But you want the truth, and that will not include Ramsay Parmenter indulging in violence against another person, even Unity, no matter how far she provoked him.” He leaned forward a little, his face creased with urgency. “Think about it, Thomas! If you are a rational man and are trying to persuade someone of the reality and the purpose and the beauty of God, the very last thing you would do is attack them. It makes no conceivable sense.”

“Religious emotion very seldom makes sense,” Pitt reminded him, sitting in the opposite chair. “Didn’t you have to study that before you were allowed to wear that collar?”

Dominic flushed very slightly. “Yes, of course I did. But this is 1891, not the sixteenth century. We are in an age of reason, and Ramsay Parmenter is one of the most reasonable men I have ever known. When you have spoken with him more, you will know that, too. I cannot tell you anything about what happened. I was in my bedroom reading, preparing to go out and visit parishioners.”

“Did you hear Miss Bellwood call out?”

“No. My door was closed, and my room is in the other wing of the house.”

“Mrs. Whickham seems to believe her father could be guilty. And both the maid and the valet heard Unity call out his name,” Pitt pointed out.

Dominic sighed. “Tryphena will be much distressed at Unity’s death,” he said sadly. “They were very fond of each other. She admired Unity enormously. In fact, I think she adopted quite a few of Unity’s beliefs.” He took a deep breath. “The servants I cannot explain. I can only say that they must be mistaken. I don’t know how.” He was obviously confused by their evidence. He searched for something to explain it away and found nothing. He looked deeply unhappy.

Pitt could understand torn loyalties, the sense of shock at sudden death. It left most people physically shaken, emotionally raw, and mentally lacking the ability to think with their normal ease or to follow reason.