Anne Perry - Highgate Rise

“Good morning, Constable Murdo,” she said sweetly.

“G-good morning, ma’am.” His voice croaked and squeaked alternatively. She must think him a complete fool. He drew in a deep breath, and then let it out without speaking.

“What can I do for you, Constable?” She sat down in the largest chair and her skirts billowed around her. She gazed at him most disconcertingly.

“Ah-” He found it easier to look away. “Er, ma’am-” He fixed his eyes on the carpet and the prepared words carne out in a rush. “Is it possible, ma’am, that some young gentleman, who admired you very much, might have misunderstood your visits to Dr. Shaw, and become very jealous-ma’am?” He dared not look up at her. She must see through this ruse, which had sounded so plausible alone in his room. Now it was horribly transparent.

“I don’t think so, Constable Murdo,” she said after considering it for a moment. “I really don’t know of any young gentlemen who have such powerful feelings about me that they would entertain such … jealousy. It doesn’t seem likely.”

Without thinking he looked up at her and spoke. “Oh yes, ma’am-if a gentleman had kept your company, socially of course, and met you a number of times, he might well be moved to-to such passions-that-” He felt himself blushing furiously, but unable to move his eyes from hers.

“Do you think so?” she said innocently. She lowered her eyes demurely. “That would suppose him to be in love with me, Constable-to quite an intense degree. Surely you don’t believe that is so?”

He plunged in-he would never in his wildest dreams have a better opportunity. “I don’t know whether it is, ma’am-but it would be very easy to believe. If it is not so now, it will be-There are bound to be many gentlemen who would give everything they possessed to have the chance to earn your affections. I mean-er-” She was looking at him with a most curious smile, half interested and half amused. He knew he had betrayed himself and felt as if there were nothing in the world he wanted so much as to run away, and yet his feet were rooted to the floor.

Her smiled widened. “How very charming of you, Constable,” she said softly. “You say it as if you really believed I were quite beautiful and exciting. It is certainly the nicest thing anyone has told me for as long as I can remember.”

He had no idea what to say, no idea at all. He simply smiled back at her and felt happy and ridiculous.

“I cannot think of anyone who might entertain such emotions that they could have harmed Dr. Shaw on my account,”she went on, sitting up very straight. “I am sure I have not encouraged anyone. But of course the matter is very serious, I know. I promise you I shall think about it hard, and then I shall tell you.”

“May I call in a few days’ time to learn what you have to say?” he asked.

The corners of her mouth curled up in a tiny smile.

“I think, if you don’t mind, Constable, I would rather discuss it somewhere where Papa will not overhear us. He does tend to misunderstand me at times-only in my best interest, of course. Perhaps you would be good enough to take a short walk with me along Bromwich Walk? The weather is still most pleasant and it would not be disagreeable. If you would meet me at the parsonage end, the day after tomorrow, we might walk up to Highgate, and perhaps find a lemonade stall to refresh ourselves?”

“I-” His voice would hardly obey him, his heart was so high in his throat and there was a curious, singing happiness all through his veins. “I’m sure that would be most-” He wanted to say “marvelous” but it was much too forward. “Most satisfactory, ma’am.” He should get that silly smile off his face, but it would not go.

“I’m so glad,” she said, rising to her feet and passing so close to him he could smell the scent of flowers and hear the soft rustle of the fabric of her skirts. “Good day, Constable Murdo.”

He gulped and swallowed hard. “G-good day, Miss Lutterworth.”

“An artist’s model?” Micah Drummond’s eyes widened and there was laughter in them, and a wry appreciation. “Maude Dalgetty was that Maude!”

Now it was Pitt’s turn to be startled. “You know of her?”

“Certainly.” Drummond was standing by the window in his office, the autumn sunlight strearning in, making bright patterns on the carpet. “She was one of the great beauties-of a certain sort, of course.” His smile widened. “Perhaps not quite your generation, Pitt. But believe me, any young gentleman who attended the music halls and bought the odd artistic postcard knew the face-and other attributes-of Maude Racine. She was more than just handsome; there was a kind of generosity in her, a warmth. I’m delighted to hear she married someone who loves her and found a respectable domestic life. I imagine it was what she always wanted, after the fun was over and it came time to leave the boards.”

Pitt found himself smiling too. He had liked Maude Dalgetty, and she had been a friend of Clemency Shaw.

“And you have ruled her out?” Drummond pursued. “Not that I can imagine Maude caring passionately enough about her reputation to kill anyone to preserve it. There was never anything of the hypocrite in her in the old days. Are you equally sure about the husband-John Dalgetty? No evasions, Pitt!”

Pitt leaned against the mantel shelf and faced Drummond squarely.

“Absolutely,” he said without a flicker. “Dalgetty believes passionately in total freedom of speech. That is what the idiotic affair in the field was about. No censorship, everything open and public, say and write what you please, all the new and daring ideas you can think of. The people who matter most to him wouldn’t cut him because his wife was on the stage and posed for pictures without certain of her clothes.”

“But she would care,” Drummond argued. “Didn’t you say she works in the parish, attends church and is part of an extremely respectable community?”

“Yes I did.” Pitt put his hands in his pockets. One of Emily’s silk handkerchiefs was in his breast pocket and he had folded it to show slightly. Drummond’s eyes had caught it, and it gave him a slow satisfaction which more than made up for the cold, early ride on the public omnibus, so he could add a few more pence to the economy for Charlotte’s holiday.

“But the only person who knew,” he went on, “so far as I am aware, was Shaw-and, I presume, Clemency. And Clemency was her friend-and Shaw wouldn’t tell anyone.” Then a flash of memory returned. “Except in a fit of anger because Josiah Hatch thinks Maude is the finest woman he’s ever met.” His eyes widened. “And he’s such a rigid creature-with all the old bishop’s ideas about the purity and virtue of women, and of course their duties as the guardians of the sanctity of the home as an island from the vile realities of the outer world. I can well imagine Shaw giving the lie to that, as a piece of cant he couldn’t abide. But I still think he wouldn’t actually betray her-simply tell.”

“I’m inclined to agree with you.” Drummond pursed his lips. “No reason to suspect Pascoe-no motive we know of. You’ve ruled out Prudence Hatch, because Shaw would never betray her medical secrets.” Drummond’s eyes were bright. “Please convey my compliments to Charlotte.” He slid down a little in his chair and rested his feet on the desk. “The vicar is an ass, you say, but you know of no quarrel with Shaw, except that his wife is titillated by the man’s virility-hardly enough to drive a clergyman to multiple arson and murder. You don’t think Mrs. Clitheridge could be so besotted with Shaw, and have been rejected, to the point where she tried to murder him in fury?” He was watching Pitt’s expression as he spoke. “All right-no. Nor, I assume, would she have killed Mrs. Shaw in jealousy. No-I thought not. What about Lutterworth, over his daughter?”