Anne Perry - Rutland Place

He was still standing in the sun when a hansom cab swung around the far corner and clattered down the Place, jolting to a stop in front of the Lagardes' entrance.

Pitt was close enough to see Dr. Mulgrew practically fall out, clutching his bag, and scramble up the steps. The door opened before he got to it, and Mulgrew disappeared inside.

Pitt hesitated. Natural instinct prompted him to wait there a while and see what should happen' next. But then, since there was a man in desperate injury in the house, an emergency call for the doctor was not surprising and probably had nothing whatsoever to do with Mina's death. If Pitt were honest, he would admit that he was using the doctor's arrival as an excuse to put off the next round of questions.

When Pitt got to the Spencer-Browns' Alston was out, which in a way was a relief, although it only postponed what would have to be done another time. He contented himself with talking to the servants again, going over endless recollections, impressions, opinions.

He was still there, sitting in the kitchen accepting with consid shy;erable pleasure the cook's offer of luncheon with the rest of the servants, when the scullery door burst open, a maid ran in, and the smells of stew and puddings were dissipated by the scents of sharp wind and earthy vegetables.

"For goodness' sake, Elsie, close that door!" the cook snapped, "Where were you brought up, girl?"

Elsie kicked at the door with one foot, obeying out of habit.

"Mr, Lagarde's dead, Mrs. Abbotts!" she said, her eyes like saucers. "Just died this morning, so May from over the way says! Seen the doctor come, she did, and go again. A mercy, I says! Poor gentleman. So beautiful, he was. Reckon as he was destined to die. Some of us is. Shall I go and shut the blinds?"

"No, you will not!" the cook said tartly. "He didn't die in this house. Mr. Lagarde's passing is not our business. We've enough of our own griefs. You just get on with your work. And if you're late for luncheon you'll go hungry, my girl!"

Elsie scuttled off, and the cook sat down sharply.

"Dead." She regarded Pitt sideways. "I suppose I shouldn't say so, but perhaps it is as well, poor creature. You'll excuse me, Mr. Pitt, but if he was as terrible hurt as they say, could be the Lord's mercy he's gone." She mopped her brow with her apron.

Pitt looked at her, a buxom woman with thick graying hair and an agreeable face, now twisted with a mixture of relief and guilt.

"A nasty shock, all the same," he said quietly. "On top of all else that has happened lately. Bound to upset you. You look a bit poorly. How about a drop of brandy? Do you keep any about the kitchen?"

She looked at him through narrow eyes, suspicion aroused.

"I'm used to such things," he said, reading her thoughts perfectly. "But you aren't. Let me get you some?"

She bridled a little, like a hen fluffing out her feathers.

"Well-if you think- On the top shelf over there, behind the split peas. Don't you let that Mr. Jenkins see it, or he'll have it back in his pantry before you can say 'knife.' "

Pitt hid his smile and stood up to pour a generous measure into a cup and pass it to her.

"How about yourself?" she offered with a little squint.

"No, thank you," he said, and put the bottle back, replacing the split peas. "Strictly for shock. And I'm afraid it's my business to deal with death, on occasion."

She drank the cup to the bottom, and he took it and rinsed it out in the scullery sink.

"Most civil of you, Mr. Pitt," she said with satisfaction. "Pity as we can't help you, but we can't, and that's a fact. We never seen any cordial wine like that, nor any bottle neither. And we don't know anything as to why anyone should want to murder the mistress. I still say as it's someone what's mad!"

He was torn between duty to continue with questions-so far totally unprofitable-and an intense desire to forget the whole thing and abandon himself to the pleasures of Mrs. Abbotts luncheon. He settled for the luncheon. I

Afterward he considered whether to continue his questioning, but the shock of Tormod's death hung heavy over everything. ib many houses curtains were drawn, and a silence muffled even the usual civil exchanges till they seemed an indecency.

A little after two o'clock he gave up and returned to the police station. He pulled out all the evidence they had collected to date and began to read it over again, in the somewhat forlorn hope that a new insight would emerge, a relationship between facts that he had overlooked before.

He had discovered nothing by quarter to five, when Harris poked his head around the door and announced Amaryllis Denbigh,

Pitt was startled. He had expected that with the blow of Tormod's death she would be prostrated with grief, even in need of medical care, so fierce had been her anguish over his accident, according to Charlotte. And he trusted Charlotte's judgment of people, if not always of her own behavior! Although in truth he was less outraged by the music hall incident, now that he thought about it, than he intended she should know.,

But why on earth was Amaryllis here? }

"Shall I send her in, sir?" Harris said irritably. "She looks in a right state to me. You want to be careful of her!"

"Yes, I suppose you'd better. And stay here yourself, in case she faints or becomes hysterical," Pitt said. The thought was an extremely unpleasant one, but he could not afford to deny her entrance. Perhaps at last this was the catalyst, and she might give him the sliver of fact he so desperately needed.

"Yes, Mr. Pitt, sir." Harris withdrew formally, signifying his disapproval, and a moment later followed Amaryllis in. i

Amaryllis was white-faced, iier eyes glittering, her hands \ moving over the folds of her skirt, into her muff, and out again over her skirt. She had entered the room with black veiling over her face, but now she threw it off.

"Inspector Pitt!" She was so stiff her body shook.

"Yes, Mrs. Denbigh." He did not like her, yet in spite of himself he was moved to pity. "Please sit down. You must be feeling distressed. May we offer you some refreshment, a cup of tea?"

"No, thank you." She sat down with her back to Harris. ''I should like to speak to you in private. What I have to say is very painful."

Pitt hesitated. He did not want to be alone with her; she was obviously on the border of hysteria, and he was afraid of a storm of weeping that would be completely beyond his abilities to deal with. He thought of sending for the police surgeon. His eyes flickered to Harris.

"If you please?" Amaryllis' voice was harsh, rising in a kind of desperation. "This is my duty, Inspector, because it concerns the murder of Mrs. Spencer-Brown, but it is extraordinarily painful for me and I do not wish the added mortification of having to repeat it in front of a sergeant!"

"Of course," Pitt said immediately. He could not drawback now. "Sergeant Harris will wait outside."

Harris stood up with a sour look of warning to Pitt over Amaryllis' shoulder, then went out, closing the door firmly.

"Well, Mrs. Denbigh?" Pitt asked. It was a strange moment. He knew so much about these people, had studied them until they stalked his sleep, and yet now it was she, quite casually walking in here, unasked, who was about to tell him what might be the solution to the whole matter.

Her voice was grating, low, as if the words hurt her.

"I know who killed Mina Spencer-Brown, Mr. Pitt. I did not tell you before because I could not betray a friend. She was dead, and there was nothing to do for her. Now it is different. Tormod is dead too." Her face was white and empty, like an unpainted doll. "There is no reason now to lie. He was too noble. He protected her all her life, but I shan't! Justice can be done. I shall not stand in its way."