“You think?” Pitt said curiously. “You don’t find it something you remember?”
“I did!” He turned to give O’Day, who was clearly amused, a look of loathing.
“Thank you,” Pitt acknowledged it. “It seems, from the other description I have already heard, that McGinley could not have been in the study long enough to have wired up the dynamite.”
“I hope you appreciate that it also means I didn’t?” Fergal said sarcastically.
“Of course I appreciate it.” Pitt still smiled. “That is of the utmost importance. You were naturally the first in my mind to suspect. You have a classic motive.”
Fergal blushed scarlet.
“And Mrs. McGinley too.” Pitt opened his eyes very wide. “A trifle ungallant for me to have to remind you it also removes her from suspicion.”
Fergal was incredulous. “You couldn’t have thought … that she …”
“She would not be the first woman to murder an unwanted husband in order to elope with someone else,” Pitt pointed out reasonably. “Or to conspire with a lover to that end.”
Fergal was too angry to reply, nor could he think of an argument, which was plain in his face.
“Then who did?” O’Day asked, wrinkling his brow. “You seem to have reasoned yourself into an impasse, Mr. Pitt.”
It was true, although it was not pleasant having O’Day point it out.
Fergal smiled for the first time.
“Then we shall just have to go over everyone’s movements again,” Pitt replied. “And verify them again. Obviously there is a mistake somewhere.” And with that he left and went to search for Tellman.
Charlotte left the scene of the explosion and found herself physically shaking and a little dizzy. Her eyes stung from the dust in the air and she was gulping, which made the dust catch in her throat as well, and she started to cough. For a moment the hallway swayed around her and she thought she was going to fall. She grasped the arm of a big wooden settle and sat down hard. She was obliged to lean forward and lower her head until the swimming sensation cleared.
She straightened up slowly, her eyes prickling with tears. This was ridiculous. She wished Pitt were beside her, warm and strong and concerned, to comfort her fear and assure himself she was all right, not frightened, not distraught. But of course he was trying to do his job, not look after a wife who ought to be strong enough to look after herself. There was nothing in coping with death or fear of death which a woman should not be able to do just as well as a man … even violent death and the blasting apart of a room. It did not require any physical strength or specialized knowledge, just self-control and a greater concern for others than a concentration upon oneself. She should be supporting Pitt, helping, not looking for him to help her.
And Emily. She should be thinking how to comfort Emily, who was obviously terrified, and with good reason. That dynamite had been intended to kill Jack. It was only the most extraordinary chance that Lorcan McGinley had gone to the study and, without asking, opened the drawer.
Or had he known the dynamite was there and, as some people were already suggesting, tried to defuse it—and given his life in the attempt?
Poor Iona. She must be feeling riddled with guilt. And even worse than that, did she even wonder if Fergal had had something to do with it?
The most helpful thing Charlotte could do would be to discover who had killed Greville and tried to kill Jack, but she had no idea where to begin. Pitt had confided unusually little in her this time. Perhaps that was because he had not discovered much of meaning, but more probably it was because she had been so preoccupied with trying to help Emily with this ghastly party that she had seen him so seldom, and then for only moments.
She had not asked him about Greville’s death. She only knew that he had been hit over the head and then pulled under the water in the bath, and everyone knew that by now. She also knew that the valet Finn Hennessey, whom Gracie had mentioned several times, Carson O’Day and Lorcan McGinley all accounted for each other, so they could not be guilty. Eudora was obviously afraid it was Padraig Doyle, and after Charlotte had found how Greville had behaved towards Eudora, it would not be surprising if her brother had a powerful hatred of him. Although killing him would not necessarily make Eudora’s life easier or happier. But how often did people with violent and uncontrolled tempers ever think like that?
And Eudora did seem to be a woman who awoke in men a strong desire to protect her. She looked so feminine and so vulnerable. Of course, some women could affect that when actually they were as capable of defending themselves as anyone. But she did not doubt the reality of Eudora’s pain and fear, or the sincerity of her behavior. It might have been easier if she had.
Eudora’s need for comfort was real, and Pitt was responding to it as he always did. It was part of the reason Charlotte loved him so much. Were he to lose that quality it would be as if a coldness had entered her life, a darkness that would shadow everything and take the heart from the happiness she possessed.
Pitt needed to give, to support and help and protect. Charlotte sat on the settle and looked across the dust-clouded hall and saw Pitt’s concern as he looked at Eudora. It was so much of what was best in him. And yet she wished it was she he was comforting, not Eudora. But he did not see Charlotte as in need of him. And in truth she was not. Wanting was different.
Should she pretend to need? Would he be happier, love her more, if she pretended to be more fragile, more dependent than she was? Was she pushing him away by her independence? Was Eudora weaker or only cleverer—and more lovable?
But it was dishonest to pretend. Would Pitt not hate her if she affected to need him when she really could have managed and been useful, instead of an additional burden to him?
Perhaps she could do both if she were only a little subtler? Emily always seemed to manage it … which was a humbling thought.
But she had to be herself, at least for the time being. She was too uncertain to try anything else yet. If she could only help solve this wretched crime, then things could return to something like normal. Eudora Greville would go away. Pitt would have helped her, and that would be the end of her need of him.
Charlotte wished there was someone she could talk to, but Emily had walked past her without even seeming to see her. She had no time to give attention to Charlotte or be bothered with her emotions. All her thoughts were centered on Jack. In her place Charlotte would have been the same.
No one was threatening Pitt’s life, but this miserable failure would not help his career. He would be held responsible for not preventing Greville’s death. Never mind that nobody could have. No policeman in the world, no matter how brilliant, would have followed Greville into the bath to stop someone from coming in and drowning him. It was hopelessly unfair!
She wished Great-Aunt Vespasia were there. But of course she was in London.
Pitt had been to London yesterday on the train. There was no reason why she should not go on the train today. She stood up and walked towards the library and the telephone.
HAVING MADE THE DECISION to go to London, Charlotte wasted no time whatever in completing the necessary arrangements. She told Pitt she was going to visit Vespasia.
“Now?” he said incredulously.
“Yes. There are things with which I think she may be able to help.” She could not tell him what. If he pressed her, she would have to invent something.
“What about Emily?” he argued. “She needs you here. She’s terrified for Jack. And with reason.” He stopped suddenly. “I think you should be here.”
“I’ll come straight back.” She would not be persuaded out of it. The scene with Eudora was sharp in her mind. If she were going to fight, she needed to talk with someone first, and Vespasia was the only person who might understand. She felt just as vulnerable as Eudora or Emily, although for entirely different reasons. “I won’t be long,” she promised, then kissed him quickly on the cheek and turned and left.