The Hyde Park Headsman (52 page)

“That too. Which could be Bart Mitchell, Mina Winthrop’s brother.”

“Thomas suspected him, I think, but not for that reason.”

“What reason?”

“On account of Mina.”

“What had Arledge to do with Mina?”

Charlotte explained the very little she knew.

Emily dismissed it. “Or else someone like Landon Hurlwood, who has been recently widowed. He is suddenly available, where he was not before. Now he is really most attractive.” Her voice was touched with enthusiasm. “I could not blame any woman for being a little smitten with him. And I imagine if he cared for you, it would be very easy to lose your sense of proportion a trifle.”

“Hitting your husband over the head and then decapitating him and leaving him in the park is not a trifle,” Charlotte said swiftly. There was, however, a thread of enthusiasm in her too, and Emily disregarded the words in favor of the tone.

“But he fits the qualifications precisely, doesn’t he?” Emily leaned forward, her elbows on the wrought iron table.

“Yes,” Charlotte agreed with growing conviction. “Yes, he seems just the sort of person. But I imagine there must be many others. The difficulty is, how do we decide which one?”

“Do we need to?” Emily looked puzzled. “Surely you can see that this is almost certainly the right kind of answer?”

“Of course I can. But we need to prove it to be sure. Then we need to know if he killed Aidan Arledge, and of course, if Dulcie knew about it.”

“Oh.” Emily let out a long sigh. “Well, that is going to be
interesting. How can we do that? Especially since Thomas apparently could not …”

“He has never considered Dulcie,” Charlotte said, biting her lip and feeling the twinge of guilt back again.

“Maybe she had no idea that he did it on her account.”

This time it was Charlotte who gave the knowing, exasperated look.

“Yes, I suppose so,” Emily agreed. “She is not naive at all. I’m sorry. What shall we do?”

“We must be certain.” Charlotte was speaking as much to herself as to Emily. She relapsed into thought for a moment or two. “We must provoke a reaction,” she said at last.

“In whom? Dulcie? How will that help? She won’t betray him.”

“Not in Dulcie, in him!”

“But we don’t know who he is. It not only could be Landon Hurlwood. It could also be Bart Mitchell, or any of I don’t know how many others!”

“Well let us start with Bart Mitchell and Landon Hurlwood.” Charlotte bit her lip. “Although I confess I am not certain how to go about that.”

Emily thought for a moment, then her face lit with a smile.

“I am. Obviously the affair is secret, and if it had anything whatever to do with Aidan Arledge’s death, they will be desperate that it should be kept so for quite a while afterwards. It can only come to light as if they had fallen in love once she was a widow. If either you or I were to meet them, socially of course, so it will seem quite casual”—she leaned forward eagerly—“and make some remark, with a knowing look, then they would be sufficiently disconcerted that we should know immediately that we had the right person.”

Charlotte opened her mouth to protest that she could not possibly do that, but her voice died away as she recalled Pitt’s desperate situation, his dismissal, and even more than that the loss of the house, having to tell Mama, and having Grandma-ma’s malicious satisfaction, but above all, the hurt to Pitt himself.

“Yes,” she said, without the faintest idea how she would accomplish it. “Yes, that is an excellent idea. We had better begin immediately. I shall take Bart Mitchell, because I can call upon Mina. You must take Mr. Hurlwood.” She rose to her feet. “How you will find him I haven’t a notion, but that is your affair.” And giving Emily a quick hug, without waiting to
hear if there were any excuse or evasion, she swept in through the French doors and made for the hallway and the street.

She arrived at Mina’s house within the hour, long before Pitt got there, and was greeted with pleasure and the sort of ease that usually exists only after considerable friendship. Ordinarily she would have felt guilt for using so generous an emotion in such a way, but today there was no room in her mind for anything but necessity.

“How delightful to see you Mrs. Pitt,” Mina said enthusiastically. “How is your new house? Are you quite comfortable there now?”

“Indeed, thank you,” Charlotte replied, seeing Bart Mitchell behind her with intense relief. “I like it extremely. Good morning, Mr. Mitchell.”

“Good morning, Mrs. Pitt,” he replied, not troubling to keep the surprise from his face. He took a step forward.

“Please do not leave on my account,” she said in far too much haste. “I should feel most distressed.” Then she could have kicked herself for overreaction. She sounded absurd. And yet if he left the whole journey would be abortive, and there was no time to lose. There were only a few days at most before Pitt would be off the case forever.

“Well—I …” He looked startled. It was not the reaction he could possibly have foreseen.

Then a wild idea occurred to Charlotte, desperate and ridiculous, but her own dignity was beside the point now. All she could think of was Thomas.

She had no difficulty in blushing. She certainly felt fool enough. She lowered her eyes modestly, as though to hide her emotions, and then looked up at him suddenly in the way she had seen countless women do. Emily did it to a devastating effect. She herself had only tried it a few times in her youth, and made a complete exhibition of herself.

Bart looked even more taken aback, but he did not leave, in fact he sat on the sofa as if fully intending to remain.

Good heavens. Could he possibly be attracted to her? Or was he merely flattered?

Mina was saying something and Charlotte had not heard a word of it. She must pay attention or she was going to compound the situation by even further idiocy.

“How kind of you,” she murmured, hoping it fitted the circumstance.

Mina rang the bell and as soon as the maid appeared, ordered cool lemonade. That must have been what she had said.

Charlotte searched her wits for some intelligent topic of conversation. She knew nothing of current gossip in society, she had neither the means nor the inclination; it was not done for women to discuss politics; she was not up-to-date with fashion. She did not wish to go boldly into the subject of the Headsman. She had not been to the theater in months, nor to a concert.

“How is your arm? I hope the burn is healing,” she said to fill the silence.

“Yes, indeed,” Mina replied, raising her eyebrows as if she had not expected it. “Much more rapidly than I had thought it could. I believe your swift action may have saved me endless discomfort.”

Charlotte breathed a sigh of relief. “I know cold water is merely an ease of the symptoms, which is very often nothing to do with treatment at all. But in the case of burns, the ease seems to last, and there is much less of a mark left. Do you agree, Mr. Mitchell?”

“I think I am obliged to, Mrs. Pitt,” he replied with a smile. “Although I have little experience of domestic scalding.”

“Of other burns, perhaps?” she pursued with far more desperation than her slightly shaking voice betrayed.

His smile broadened. “Oh yes. I have quite accidentally cured sunburn with cold water.”

“Sunburn? How interesting.” She gazed at him with rapture as if it were the most fascinating subject imaginable. He did have remarkable blue eyes.

He shifted his gaze discreetly and proceeded to tell her of his travels in Africa, of becoming sunburned and falling off his horse while crossing a wide river in spate, and in so doing, very quickly relieving the pain in his skin and the faintness he was beginning to feel as a result of the heat. It was an entertaining story and he told it with humor and animation. She did not have to affect to be interested.

The maid brought the lemonade, which was delicious, and Charlotte continued to ask him questions about his experiences, which he answered easily. Mina sat upright on the sofa, her hands folded in her lap, a small smile on her lips, completely at ease.

But time was slipping by. Charlotte had accomplished nothing decisive enough to prove her point. If Bart Mitchell were
Dulcie’s lover then he was masking his feelings with consummate skill. But then the more she knew of him, the more did she believe that such a thing would be both natural and easy for him. He would not betray a woman he loved, either intentionally or by lack of thought or self-mastery.

She felt increasingly foolish with every passing moment. Please Heaven Emily was doing better. She must plunge in, whatever the cost. She must at least try!

“How long have you been returned from Africa, Mr. Mitchell?” she asked with wide eyes. Actually it was not proving as difficult to flirt with him as it might have. He was, on closer acquaintance, a most pleasing person, and most comely of appearance.

“Since the autumn of last year, Mrs. Pitt,” he answered.

“Oh—some time.” The words slipped out involuntarily. She swallowed, hoping the disappointment in them did not sound as clear to his ears as it did to hers. Still, perhaps that was not too long in which to fall in love—for some people. She could not imagine taking so long herself. And Bart Mitchell did not look like a man to take above half a year for his emotions to become engaged. “Do you enjoy London society, or does it seem very tame after all your adventures?” It was a clumsy question. It invited only a polite answer. “Oh—I beg your pardon!” She hurried on. “How can you say anything but that you do? But please give me a more honest reply, if you miss the sense of danger and something new each day.” She was talking far too quickly, and yet she seemed unable to moderate herself. “The challenge to your imagination and courage, your ability to endure hardship, and to invent your way out of shortage or loss.”

“My dear Mrs. Pitt.” He smiled at her with what seemed to be quite genuine amusement. “I assure you, I had no intention of giving you an answer that was merely civil. I do not take you for a woman who passes her time in idle chatter. In fact, I think there is probably purpose to most of what you do.”

She felt her face burn. That was far closer to the truth than, please Heaven, he had any idea!

“Oh,” she said uselessly. “I—er …”

“To answer your question,” he continued, “of course there is a great deal I miss about Africa, and times when London seems intolerably tame, but there are also many times when I look around at the greenness of gardens and the freshness of spring flowers, the gracious buildings, and know how much
permanent and civilized life there is behind the facades, how much beauty and invention, and I am excited to be here too.”

She kept her eyes lowered. “Shall you be returning to Africa, Mr. Mitchell?”

“One day, I imagine,” he replied quite casually.

“But you have no immediate plans?” She held her breath for his reply.

“None,” he said with a lift of amusement in his voice.

“Of course,” she said very gently. “Mrs. Arledge will be so glad. But then you would hardly have left her.” She looked up swiftly to catch his expression.

There was not the faintest guilt in it, only complete incomprehension.

“I beg your pardon?” he said, frowning a trifle.

She had never felt more completely foolish in her life. She had flirted shamelessly with a thoroughly decent man, and wittered on as if her brain were stuffed with feathers, and now she could think of no graceful way whatever of extricating herself.

“Oh …” She struggled desperately. “I fear I have expressed myself very badly. I think I have misunderstood something that was said to me. Please forgive me.” She did not dare to look at him, and she had temporarily entirely forgotten Mina’s presence.

But he would not let her escape so easily.

“Mrs. Arledge?” he questioned.

“Yes—I …” She trailed off. There was nothing whatever which could explain her remark.

“She seems a woman of some dignity,” he went on. “But not someone with whom I have any but the briefest and most formal acquaintance. In fact I think the Requiem service for her husband was the only occasion in which I have met her. Do you know her well?”

“No! I—I gathered the impression you were … but it must have been someone else. I daresay I was not listening properly, and misheard or misunderstood. I am so sorry.” At last she looked up and met his eyes. “Please forget I spoke. It was most foolish of me.”

“Of course, if you wish.”

“Do have some more lemonade,” Mina offered, speaking for the first time since the subject of Africa had been raised. She had been listening with attention and pleasure, but had not interrupted. Now she lifted the silver jug invitingly.

“No thank you. It is most kind, but I must be leaving.”
Charlotte rose to her feet with rather more haste than grace. She was aching to escape. “I do not wish to outstay what has been a most delightful visit. Thank you so much for receiving me so generously when I called entirely without warning or invitation. I really only wished to tell you that your advice has been most successful, and I am truly obliged to you.”

“It was a trifling thing,” Mina said with a wave of her hand. “I am delighted if it worked out to your liking.”

“Perhaps—in a little while, later on, you will be kind enough to call?” Charlotte invited her, offering one of her newly printed cards with the new address upon it. Only after Mina had taken it did she remember that in all probability she and Pitt would no longer be there. Not unless they were a great deal more successful than so far in solving the case.

“Perhaps you will call upon us again, Mrs. Pitt?” Bart asked with a smile that did not conceal a genuine wish.

“Thank you,” she accepted, vowing to herself never to set foot in the place again. “I shall look forward to it!”

She fled out into the hall and out of the door as the maid opened it for her, and walked with indecent haste along the footpath towards the main thoroughfare and the first omnibus she could find.

Emily, on the other hand, had no trepidation whatever in finding Landon Hurlwood. It required a little more ingenuity to discover where he would be. Once that was accomplished she dressed in the height of fashion, in a white muslin with sprigs of Delft blue, pointed at the top of the shoulder, broad sleeved, and a marvelous hat with high crown and one ostrich feather over the brim, and called her carriage.