Anne Perry - Dorchester Terrace

Nerissa breathed out slowly. “Then it seems she was right to fear it, since that was exactly what happened.”

“Really?” he said with a disbelief she could not miss. “And when it did, Adriana killed her, then waited several days before going home and killing herself? Why, for God’s sake?”

Nerissa started to shake her head.

Pitt leaned forward a little, his voice urgent now. “It was her husband who betrayed her father, not Serafina. So surely if Adriana was going to kill anyone, it would have been him? Except she didn’t know, Miss Freemarsh. Serafina kept her secrets and died with them, before she could tell anyone else-except perhaps Mr . Blantyre. He spent time with her, didn’t he? He came here telling you it was to see you, as your lover, but he sat with her, so it would look respectable. Only it was really the other way around; he came to see Serafina, not you, to find out how far her mind had disintegrated, and what of the past she might betray to Adriana.”

“No!” she cried out. “No! That’s horrible!” She made a swift movement with her hand, as if to sweep the suggestion away.

“Yes, it is,” he agreed. “But we are speaking of a man who believes in the value of the Austrian Empire above all else. He betrayed his friend Lazar Dragovic, to his torture and death. He married Dragovic’s daughter, perhaps from guilt, perhaps because she was beautiful and vulnerable. Maybe he felt safer, knowing where she was. And it would give him standing in the community of those who still seek to throw off the Austrian yoke. Heaven knows, the whole Balkan Peninsula is teeming with them.”

“That’s …” she began, but could not finish the sentence.

“Logical,” he said. “Yes, it is. And you are just one more of his victims, both emotionally and morally.”

She stiffened but the tears were sliding down her face. “I have done nothing …” She stopped again.

“I am prepared to accept that you did not know beforehand that Blantyre would kill Serafina, and perhaps not immediately after,” he said more gently. “You may have willfully refused to think about Adriana’s death, or to work out for yourself what the truth had to be. At the moment I can see no purpose in charging you as an accessory. But if you do not cooperate now, that will change.”

“Co … cooperate? How?” She started to deny her complicity, even her knowledge, but the words died on her tongue. She had known-or at least guessed-but refused to allow the thoughts to complete themselves in her mind. She knew that Pitt could see as much in her eyes.

“Tell me who was in the house the day Serafina Montserrat was killed, and the day before as well.”

“The … day before?” Her hands twisted around each other in her lap.

“Yes. And please don’t make any mistakes or omissions. If you do, and we discover them afterward, it will point very powerfully to guilt on your part-and probably to whoever you are attempting to protect.”

She was trembling now.

“You have no choice, Miss Freemarsh, if you wish to save yourself. And I will, naturally, be speaking to at least some of the staff again.”

It was several seconds before she spoke.

He waited for her in silence.

“Mr. Blantyre was here the day Aunt Serafina died,” she said at last. “He came often. I don’t remember all the days. Two or three times a week. He spent some time with me … and some with her.”

“And he was definitely here the day she died?” he persisted.

“Yes.”

“Did he see her alone, before Mrs. Blantyre was here?”

“Yes.” Her voice was barely audible.

“What reason did he give?” he pressed her.

“What you said. For the … sake of appearance.”

“Anyone else?” He was not even certain why he asked, except that he sensed a reluctance in her. “I would prefer to have it from you rather than from the staff. Allow yourself that dignity, Miss Freemarsh. You have little enough left. And by the way, I would not let your staff go, if I were you. Employed here, they have an interest in maintaining some discretion. If they leave, it will make a great many people wonder why, and they will most certainly talk, no matter what threats you make. You are not in a good position to do anything other than maintain silence yourself. If you are not prosecuted for anything, you will be in a comfortable financial situation, and free to conduct yourself as you please.”

Her eyes widened a little.

“Who else was here?” he pressed.

“Lord Tregarron.” It was little more than a whisper.

“Why?”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Why was Lord Tregarron here? To see you, or to see Mrs. Montserrat? I assume it was both, or you would not have been so reluctant to say so.”

She cleared her throat. “Yes.”

“Why did he wish to see Mrs. Montserrat? Were they friends?”

She hesitated.

He did not ask again.

“No,” she said at last, speaking in gasps as if it caused her an almost physical pain. “His calling on her was … an excuse. I’m not certain if he was interested in me-he pretended to be-or in Aunt Serafina and her recollections.”

“He spent time talking to her?”

“Not … much. I …” She breathed in and out several times, struggling to control her emotions. “I had the feeling that he did not like her, but that he wished to hide it. But not merely from good manners, or to spare my feelings because she was my aunt.”

“Thank you,” he said sincerely. “Did he express any interest in Mr. or Mrs. Blantyre?”

“Not … more than I would expect …” She trailed off again.

“I understand. Thank you, Miss Freemarsh. I think that is all, at least for the time being. I would like to speak to Miss Tucker now.”

Tucker confirmed all that Nerissa had said, including several visits from Tregarron, over the period of the last four or five weeks.

Pitt thanked her and left. He walked back to Lisson Grove with his mind in turmoil. The heart of this case was no longer anything to do with Serafina’s death, or Adriana, but two other matters.

The first and most urgent was the question of Evan Blantyre’s loyalties. Had he given Pitt the information regarding Duke Alois out of loyalty to the Austrian Empire, which it seemed he had never lost, in spite of working for the British government? If that was so, and his betrayal of Lazar Dragovic, and the later murders of Serafina and Adriana, were to preserve the unity at the heart of Europe, then his information would be safe for Pitt to rely on. He could deal with Blantyre’s prosecution and conviction after Duke Alois had come and gone.

If, on the other hand, Blantyre had some other purpose, his information about Duke Alois was very far from reliable.

And then the other obvious question arose: After Duke Alois left, what was Pitt going to do about Blantyre? What could he do? What evidence was there? He had no doubt now that Blantyre had killed Serafina and Adriana, but he doubted that there was sufficient proof to convict a man of such prominence and high reputation.

But that would have to wait. It was two days until the duke crossed the Channel and landed in England. Murder, however tragic, would pale beside the effects of a political assassination in London.

Pitt checked in with Stoker at Lisson Grove. Then, after one or two items of urgent business, he left again and took a hansom to Blantyre’s office. In spite of his bereavement, Blantyre had chosen to continue working. Duke Alois’s visit could not be put off; there were arrangements to make and details to be attended to, and Blantyre, with his intimate and affectionate knowledge of Austria, was the best man for the job.

“Anything further?” Blantyre asked as he sat down in his large chair close to the fire. He poured whisky for both of them without bothering to ask. In spite of it being the middle of March, it was a bitter day outside, and they were both tired and cold.