“He doesn’t need anyone behind him.” Tellman also kept his voice down. “He’s got enough hatred to kill without prompting. Although he’ll be lucky if McGinley doesn’t do anything to him before the weekend is through. They’re all at their separate prayers down there.” He jerked his head towards the way he had come. “The Catholics looking daggers at the Protestants, and Protestants looking daggers back.”
His face reflected bewilderment and disgust, his eyes pulled down at the corners. “I’ve half a mind to stoke the kitchen fires so they can burn each other at the stake, and be done with it all. I can understand greed, jealousy, revenge, even some kinds of madness. But these people are sane—after a fashion.”
“Try and keep them from violence while I’m gone,” Pitt said, looking at Tellman steadily. He was uncertain whether to be light or to let Tellman know how anxious he felt. “Stay near Mr. Radley. He’s the one in most danger now.” He could not keep the catch out of his voice. “You can’t sit in the conference with him, but you can wait outside. I’ll be back not long after dark.”
Tellman straightened his shoulders a little, and the criticism dropped out of his voice.
“Yes sir. Ride careful. I suppose you know how to ride a horse?” He looked worried.
“Yes, thank you,” Pitt answered. “I grew up in the country, if you recall?”
Tellman grunted and continued on his way.
Pitt went to look for Charlotte to tell her what he proposed to do. He had hardly seen her since they arrived at Ashworth Hall. She always seemed to be with one of the other women, trying to persuade them to keep some kind of peace, or else making idle conversation to mask the social difficulties which were admittedly appalling.
This time it took him a quarter of an hour to find her, and he eventually discovered her in the warming room, a place designed to keep food hot before serving, since the dining room was a considerable distance from the kitchen. It contained a good fire, a steam-heated cabinet, and also a butler’s table and a marvelous array of implements for opening and decanting wine. She was listening earnestly to Gracie. They both stopped the instant he came in. Gracie blinked and excused herself.
“What is it?” Pitt asked, looking at her small, retreating form.
Charlotte smiled, her eyes filled with sadness and laughter at once.
“Just a few feminine secrets,” she answered.
Pitt could see she was not going to tell him any more. He had not thought of Gracie as having feminine secrets. He should have. She was twenty now, even though she was still no taller and very little plumper than she had been when she had come to them at thirteen.
“I’m going to ride over to Oakfield House,” he said. “I don’t suppose there is anything in the letters Greville received, but there might be. I can’t afford to overlook the chance. I’ll be back as soon after dark as I can.”
She nodded, her eyes anxious. “Ride carefully,” she said, then smiled with her head a little on one side. “You’ll be stiff tomorrow.” She reached up and kissed him very gently. She seemed about to say something else, and then changed her mind. “How will you find your way there?” she said instead.
“I’ll ask Piers. I need to get Eudora’s permission anyway, and help.”
She nodded, and then walked with him as far as the hall.
Pitt found Eudora in the upstairs boudoir with both Piers and Justine. She was not wearing black. Quite naturally, she had not brought black with her. The nearest she could do was an autumnal brown, and in spite of the ravages of shock and grief, she still looked beautiful. Nothing could rob her of the richness of her hair or the symmetry of her bones.
Justine was an extraordinary contrast. She also had not brought black. As a young, unmarried woman she would not wear the shade to such an occasion unless she was at the end of a period of mourning. She had chosen a deep hunting green, and with her dense black hair it was almost a jewel color. She seemed to vibrate with life. Even in repose, as she was now, sitting beside Eudora, Pitt’s eyes were drawn to the intelligence in her face.
Piers stood behind the two women, his expression defensive, as if he would protect them from further hurt, were it possible.
“Good morning, ma’am,” Pitt said gravely to Eudora. “I am sorry to intrude on you again, but I need your permission to go to Oakfield House and look through Mr. Greville’s papers to see if I can find the malevolent letters that he received.”
Eudora looked almost relieved, as if she had expected him to say something worse.
“Of course. Yes, naturally, Mr. Pitt. Do you wish me to write something?”
“If you please. And I shall need any necessary keys.” He wondered what she had feared from him … some further disaster? Or that he suspected someone in particular? Surely, as far as she was concerned, the worst had already happened? “I would also appreciate directions as to the best way to get there,” he added. “I shall ride across country, or I shall take far too long. I want to be back before nightfall.”
Piers glanced at Justine, then at Pitt. “Would you like me to come with you?” he offered. “That would make it much easier. It would be very difficult indeed to describe to you the best way there, or even to draw a map.”
“Thank you,” Pitt accepted without hesitation. Apart from the convenience of it, he would welcome the opportunity to speak less formally to Piers, and perhaps learn more of Ainsley Greville. Without realizing it, Piers might know something of meaning.
“What can you learn from his papers?” Justine asked with obvious doubt. “Will they not be state papers anyway, and confidential?” She looked from Piers to Eudora, and back at Pitt. Her voice dropped. “He was killed in this house, and you said it was someone here. No one broke in. Shouldn’t we … shouldn’t we leave him his privacy?”
“It is only Mr. Pitt looking at them, my dear,” Eudora said, blinking a little, as if the concern puzzled her. “There won’t be any government papers that matter at Oakfield, they would all be at Whitehall. There may be the unpleasant letters which I know he received, and perhaps that will help us”—she took a deep breath—“to learn who is behind this.” She looked at Pitt, her eyes wide and dark. “There must be more than one person, mustn’t there? There was the incident with the carriage.” She was clenching her hands together.
“Of course,” Piers agreed. “We should look at those letters. And there may be other things that he didn’t mention ….”
Justine rose to her feet, taking Piers’s arm. “Your father is no longer here to protect himself, his privacy,” she said to him, turning a little away from Pitt. “He may have private or personal financial papers, or other letters which it would be preferable were not seen outside the family. He was a great man. He must have dealt with many matters which were confidential. There will have been friends who trusted him, wrote to him of issues which might be embarrassing if they were to become public. We all have … indiscretions ….” She left it in the air, but she turned to Pitt and met his eyes with a wide stare.
“I shall be discreet, Miss Baring,” he assured her. “I imagine he was privy to much information that was sensitive, but I doubt it will be committed to paper in his home. But as has been pointed out, the tragedy was not an isolated incident. There was an attempt to kill Mr. Greville a few weeks ago—”
She turned to Eudora. “You must have been so afraid for him. And then to have this happen. I imagine it was just … the sort of threats people make when they want something, empty, bullying.” She looked back at Pitt. “Of course, you must find out who sent them. They may very well be behind this, since they have actually attempted before.” She looked at Piers. “What happened?”
“Someone tried to drive him off the road. I wasn’t there, I was up at Cambridge. Mama was in London.” He put his arm around her gently, his eyes on her face. “Will you be all right here if I go with Mr. Pitt?”