Pitt could not argue. “Yes,” he agreed reluctantly. “Yes, I have.”
“Possibly Pryce was losing some of the heat of his desire,” Livesey continued. “And she feared losing him to a younger woman. Who knows?” He lifted his shoulders a fraction. “The whole matter is dark, and totally tragic. Were poor Stafford not dead, I would have considered it so improbable I should have dismissed the possibility. But he is dead, and we must face the logical conclusions. I regret I cannot say anything more helpful—or less stark in its outcome.”
“You have been most helpful, sir.” Pitt rose to his feet. “I shall enquire into the nature of this sorry affair and learn all I can about it.”
“I do not envy you.” Livesey reached for the bell and rang it to summon the clerk. “You might begin with my wife, who is both observant and discreet. She was well acquainted with Juniper Stafford, but she will tell you the truth, without gossiping further to damage reputations unnecessarily.”
“Thank you, sir,” Pitt said with sincere gratitude. “That will be a most excellent place to begin.”
He accepted Livesey’s advice, and began after luncheon in the early afternoon, straightening his tie, pulling his jacket a little more to the square, and moving several small articles from one pocket to another to balance them and lessen the bulges, giving his boots a hasty brush on the backs of his trousers and running his fingers through his hair, the last of these efforts making things considerably worse than before. This time he took a hansom, not the public omnibus, and alighted in the highly fashionable Eaton Square and presented himself at the front door of number five. The bell was answered by a smart footman, who was tall and slender with excellent legs, well displayed by the silk stockings of his livery.
“Yes sir?” He had just the right touch of superciliousness that verged on the offensive without ever quite toppling over into it. He was employed in a very superior household, and would make certain that callers were aware of that.
“Good afternoon,” Pitt said with a smile he did not feel, but it gave him the considerable satisfaction of unnerving the man. People did not smile at footmen. He smiled even more widely, showing his teeth. “My name is Thomas Pitt.” He produced his card and placed it on the proffered silver tray. “Mr. Justice Livesey was kind enough to suggest that Mrs. Livesey might be able to provide me with some information which I require in the cause of justice. Would you be good enough to ask her if she will receive me, to that end?”
The footman’s composure was severely shaken. Who on earth was this impertinent fellow who stood on the steps smiling from ear to ear with a confidence he had no right to? Possibly the judge really had sent him? He would like to have packed him off with some very well chosen words, but he dared not. Society was definitely declining and values going to the dogs.
“Yes sir,” he said sourly. “I will certainly ask, but I cannot say what the answer will be.”
“Of course not,” Pitt agreed reasonably. “At least not until you do ask!”
The footman snorted, turned on his heel and disappeared, leaving Pitt on the step. There was a bootboy standing at the far side of the hall staring uncomfortably, to see that Pitt did not dart in and steal the ornaments or the sticks in the hall stand.
The footman reappeared after only a few moments, replaced the card tray on the hall table, and came to Pitt, regarding him with displeasure.
“Mrs. Livesey is at home and will see you, if you will follow me?” He held out his hand for Pitt’s hat and coat.
“Thank you,” Pitt accepted, passing them over. He was not especially surprised. Curiosity was frequently more powerful than social niceties, particularly with wives of a certain level in society, who had too little to occupy their time, and even less to fill their minds. Anything unexpected or new had a value purely for that reason.
The house was solid, old-fashioned and extremely comfortable. The room to which Pitt was shown was large, with windows along one side, and yet at first glance it did not seem large. The huge mantel dominated one wall and was flanked by bookcases to the ceiling. Dark upholstered armchairs were supplemented by very beautiful upright chairs with carved wooden backs like church windows. Everywhere there were omaments, tapestries, potted plants, but the single most interesting feature was a transitional light fixture depended from the center of the ceiling. It was designed to function both with electricity and with gas, the arms for gas pointing upwards, the bulbs for electricity down. It was only the second one Pitt had ever seen.
Mariah Livesey herself was a handsome woman with thick gray-white hair with a heavy wave most becomingly swept back off her brow. Her features were well proportioned and agreeable. In fact looking at her Pitt thought she was quite probably better looking now than in her youth, when she might well have been comparatively ordinary. Years of comfort and security of status had given her an ease of manner, and expensive clothes of refined taste had given her distinction. She regarded him with barely concealed curiosity.
“Yes, Mr. Pitt? My footman tells me my husband advised you to come to me for some information. Is that correct?”
“Yes ma’am,” Pitt replied, standing upright, but not in any way to attention. “I left his chambers very shortly before luncheon and he suggested I should begin my search with you. It is a most delicate matter, which clumsily handled would ruin a lady’s reputation, perhaps quite unjustifiably. He said that you would be both candid and discreet.”
Her eyes were bright with interest, and there was the faintest flush in her cheeks.
“Indeed? How generous of him. I shall endeavor to live up to all that he has said of me. What is your enquiry, Mr. Pitt? I had not realized I knew anything of such a matter.”
“I am investigating the death of Mr. Justice Stafford.”
“Oh dear.” Her face darkened. “A dreadful thing—quite dreadful. Please sit down, Mr. Pitt. We cannot discuss this in a few moments. Although I really cannot think that I would be of assistance to you. I know nothing about it at all.”
“Not knowingly, I’m sure, or you would already have informed us,” Pitt agreed, sitting in the large chair opposite her. “But you are acquainted with both Mr. and Mrs. Stafford, and you no doubt move in the same circles in society.”
Her face showed complete surprise. “Surely you cannot be suggesting someone from their social acquaintance killed him? That is absurd! You must have misunderstood something my husband said, Mr. Pitt. That is the only possible explanation.”
“I am afraid that is not possible.” Pitt shook his head, smiling at her sadly. “He was quite plain. If you will permit me to ask you a few questions?”
“Of course.” She looked puzzled.
“Mr. and Mrs. Stafford had been married for some considerable time?” he asked.
“Oh yes, at least twenty years, probably longer.” Her voice lifted in surprise.
“How would you describe their relationship?”
Her confusion increased. “Oh—amiable, I should say. There was certainly never any animosity between them, so far as I am aware. If you are thinking of a quarrel, I have to tell you I find it very difficult to believe, if not impossible.” She shook her head a little to emphasize the point.
“Why do you say that, Mrs. Livesey?” he pressed.
“Well …” She looked at him with some concentration. Her eyes were neither blue nor gray, but full of perception. He judged she was not a clever woman, but one with considerable judgment of others within her own social knowledge, and an excellent sense of what was fitting.