Paragon Walk

by Anne Perry

  Only for the first second was Pitt surprised. Then it all seemed dreadfully, tragically inevitable.

  He started to climb up slowly until he reached the landing. Closer to, it was obvious Hallam was dead. His face was mottled but had not the purplish look of suffocation. He must have broken his neck as soon as he jumped. He was lucky. A man of his weight might easily have snapped the cord and ended up two stories below, broken-backed but still alive.

  Pitt could not haul him up alone. He would have to send one of the servants for Forbes, and a police surgeon, the whole team. He turned around and went down slowly. What a sad, predictable end to a wretched story. There was no satisfaction in it, no sense of solution. He went through the baize door and told the cook and the girl simply that Mr. Cayley was dead and they were to go next door and ask one of the manservants to send for the police, a surgeon, and a mortuary coach.

  There were fewer hysterics than he had expected. Perhaps, after the discovery of Fulbert’s body, they were not entirely surprised. Perhaps they had no more emotion left. Then he went back upstairs to look at Hallam again and see if there were any letter, any explanation or confession. It did not take him long; it was in the bedroom on a small writing table. The pen and ink were still beside it. It was open and not addressed to anyone.

  I did assault Fanny. I left Freddie’s party and went out into the garden, then into the street. I found Fanny there quite by chance.

  It all began as a flirtation, weeks before that. She pursued it. I realize now she did not understand what she was doing, but at the time I was beyond thinking.

  But I swear I did not kill her.

  At least the day afterward I would have sworn it. The day after I was stunned as anyone.

  Nor did I touch Selena Montague. I would have sworn that. I don’t even remember what I was doing that night. I was drinking. But I never cared for Selena; even drunk I would not have forced myself on her.

  I’ve thought about it till my mind reeled. I’ve woken in the night cold with terror. Am I losing my mind? Did I stab Fanny without even knowing what I was doing?

  I didn’t see Fulbert alive the day he was killed. I was out when he called, and when I came back my footman told me he had shown him upstairs. I found him in the green bedroom, but he was already dead, lying on his face with the wound in his back. But, so help me God, I don’t remember doing it.

  I did hide him. I was terrified. I did not kill him, but I knew they would accuse me. I put him up the chimney. It was large, and I am a great deal bigger than Fulbert. He was surprisingly light when I picked him up, even though he was dead weight. It was awkward getting him into the cavern of it, but there are niches up there for the sweeps’ boys, and I managed it at last. I wedged him in. I thought he might stay there forever, if I locked the room off. I never thought of spring cleaning, and of Mrs. Heath having a master key.

  Perhaps, I am mad. Maybe I killed both of them, and my brain is so clouded with darkness or disease I don’t know it. I am two people, one tormented, lonely, full of regrets, not knowing the other half, and haunted by terrors of it—the other God, or the devil knows what? A savage, a madman, killing again and again.

  Death is the best thing for me. Life has nothing but forgetfulness in drink between terrors of my other self.

  I am sorry about Fanny, truly sorry. That I know I did.

  But, if I killed her, or Fulbert, it was my other self, a creature I don’t know, but he will at least die with me.

  Pitt put it down. He was used to feeling pity, the wrench inside of a pain one could not reach, for which there was no balm.

  He walked back onto the landing. There were police coming in at the front door. Now there would be the long ritual of surgeon’s examination, search of his belongings, recording of the confession, such as it was. It gave him no sense of accomplishment.

  He told Charlotte about it in the evening when he got home, not because he felt any ease over it, but because it concerned Emily.

  For several moments she said nothing, then she sat down very slowly.

  “Poor creature.” She let out her breath quietly. “Poor haunted creature.”

  He sat down opposite her, looking at her face, trying to close Hallam and everything else to do with Paragon Walk out of his mind. For a long time there was silence, and it became easier. He began to think of things they might do, now that the case was over and he would have some time off. Jemima was big enough not to take cold; they might go for a trip up the river on one of the excursion boats, even pack a picnic and sit on the back and eat, if the weather stayed so fine. Charlotte would enjoy that. He could picture her now, her skirts spread around her on the grass, her hair bright as polished chestnuts in the sun.

  Perhaps next year, if they were careful of every penny, they might even go to the country for a few days. Jemima would be old enough then to walk. She could discover all the beautiful things, pools of water in the stones, flowers under the hedges, perhaps a bird’s nest, all the things he had known as a child.

  “Do you think it was the loss of his wife that started his madness?” Charlotte’s voice scattered his dream and brought him back rudely to the present.

  “What?”

  “The death of his wife,” she repeated. “Do you think grief and loneliness preyed on his mind till he drank too much and became mad?”

  “I don’t know.” He did not want to think about it. “Maybe. There were some old love letters among his things. They looked as if they had been read several times, edges a bit bent, one or two tears. They were very intimate, very possessive.”

  “I wonder what she was like. She died before Emily went there, so she never knew her. What was her name?”

  “I don’t know. She didn’t bother to sign the letters. I suppose she just left them around the house for him.”

  Charlotte smiled, a tight, sad little gesture.

  “How dreadful, to love someone so intensely, and then for them to die. His whole life seems to have disintegrated since then. I hope, if I died, you would always remember me, but not like that—”

  The thought was horrible, bringing the darkness of the night inside the room, void and immense, never ending, cold as the distance to the stars. Pity for Hallam overwhelmed him. There were no words for it, just the pain.

  She moved to kneel on the floor in front of him, taking his hands gently. Her face was smooth, and he could feel the warmth of her body. She did not try to say anything, find words to comfort, but there was a sureness in her quiet beyond his understanding.

  It was several days before Emily called, and when she came in with a swirl of dotted muslin she was glowing as Charlotte had never seen her before. She was quite noticeably heavier now, but her skin was flawless, and there was a new shine in her eyes.

  “You look wonderful!” Charlotte said spontaneously. “You should have children all the time!”

  Emily pulled a dreadful face, but it was in mock, and they both knew it. Emily sat down on the kitchen chair and demanded a cup of tea.

  “It’s all over,” she said determinedly. “At least that part of it is!”

  Charlotte turned slowly, her own thoughts hardening and finding shape even as she swung from the sink to the table.

  “You mean you’re not happy about it either?” she asked carefully.

  “Happy?” Emily’s face fell. “How could I be—Charlotte! Don’t you believe it was Hallam?” her voice was incredulous, her eyes wide.

  “I suppose it must have been,” Charlotte said slowly, pouring water into the kettle and over the top, spilling into the sink without noticing. “He admitted assaulting Fanny, and there was no other reason for killing Fulbert—”

  “But?” Emily challenged.

  “I don’t know,” Charlotte turned off the tap and emptied the excess out of the kettle. “I don’t know what else.”

  Emily leaned forward.

  “I’ll tell you! We never discovered what it was that Miss Lucinda saw, and what it is that is g
oing on in the Walk— and there is something! Don’t try to tell me it was all something to do with Hallam, because it wasn’t. Phoebe is still terrified. If anything, she is even worse, as if Hallam’s death were just one more thread in the ghastly picture she can see. She said the oddest thing to me yesterday, which is partly why I came today, to tell you.”

  “What?” Charlotte blinked. Somehow all this seemed at once unreal, and yet as if it had been inevitable. All her vague unease was focused now. “What did she say?”

  “That all the things that had happened had concentrated the evil in the Walk, and there was no way we could exorcise it now. She hardly dared to imagine what abominable thing would happen next.”

  “Do you think perhaps she is mad, too?”

  “No, I don’t!” Emily said firmly. “At least not mad the way you mean. She is silly, of course, but she knows what she’s talking about, even if she won’t tell anyone.”

  “Well, how are we going to find out?” Charlotte said immediately. The thought of not trying to discover never occurred to her.

  Emily had also taken it for granted.

  “I’ve worked it out, from all the things everyone has said.” She got down to business now, decisions made in her mind. “And I’m almost certain it is something to do with the Dilbridges, at least, with Freddie Dilbridge. I don’t know who is involved and who isn’t, except that Phoebe knows, and it terrifies her. But the Dilbridges are having a garden party in ten-days’ time. George doesn’t approve, but I mean to go, and you are coming, too. We shall break away from the party without being noticed and explore the house. If we are clever enough, we shall find something. If there is real wickedness in that place, it will have left something behind. Maybe we’ll discover whatever it was that Miss Lucinda saw? It has to be there.”

  Memories of Fulbert’s charred body slithering down the chimney flashed into Charlotte’s mind. It would be a long time before she wished to poke into other people’s rooms in search of answers, but then, on the other hand, neither could she possibly leave the question unanswered.

  “Good,” she said firmly. “What shall I wear?”

  Ten

  CHARLOTTE WENT TO the garden party feeling marvelous. Emily, high on the wave of her own well-being, had given her a new dress, all white muslin and lace, with tiny pin tucks at the yoke. She felt like daisies in the wind of a summer field, or the white foam of a mountain stream, inexpressible, shimmeringly clean.

  Everyone in the Walk was there, even the Misses Horbury, as though they were making a determined effort to put everything sordid or tragic behind them, firmly in the past, and for a hot, still afternoon totally to forget it.

  Emily was gowned in spring green, her best color, and she positively radiated delight.

  “We are going to find out what it is,” she said softly to Charlotte, gripping her by the arm as they walked across the grass toward Grace Dilbridge. “I haven’t made up my mind yet whether she knows or not. I’ve been listening very carefully to everyone the last few days, and I rather think Grace doesn’t wish to know, so she has made sure not to find out by accident.”

  Charlotte remembered what Aunt Vespasia had said about Grace and her enjoyment in being put upon. Perhaps if she discovered the secret, it would be too appalling for her to find any pleasure in it anymore. After all, if one’s husband sinned in an average way, only slightly more openly than most, one could be expected to endure it gracefully and be sympathized with. One’s social position would not be jeopardized. But if the sin were extraordinary, something unacceptable, then one would be required to take action, even perhaps to leave—and that was altogether another matter. A woman who leaves her husband, for whatever reason, is not only financially a disaster, but socially quite beyond condoning. Invitations simply cease.

  They were now in front of Grace Dilbridge, who was looking rather a poor color, in a purple that did not suit her. It was far too hot a shade for such a heavy day. There were tiny thunder flies in the air, and it was difficult not to forget one’s manners and brush them away quite violently, as they itched the skin and caught in one’s hair in a most unpleasant sensation.

  “How charming to see you, Mrs. Pitt,” Grace said automatically. “I’m so delighted you were able to come. How well you look, Emily, my dear.”

  “Thank you,” they both replied together, then Emily went on, “I had no idea your garden was so large. How lovely it is. Does it extend beyond that hedge also?”

  “Oh, yes, there is a herbaceous walk, and a small rose garden.” Grace waved an arm. “I have sometimes wondered if we should try growing peaches on that south facing wall, but Freddie won’t hear of it.”

  Emily’s elbow poked Charlotte, and Charlotte knew she was thinking of the garden room. It must be somewhere behind that hedge.

  “Indeed,” Emily said with polite interest. “I do love peaches. I should insist, if I had such a place. There is nothing like a fresh peach, in the season.”

  “Oh, I couldn’t,” Grace looked uncomfortable, “Freddie would be most angry. He gives me so many things, he would think me most ungrateful if I were to make an issue of such a small matter.”

  This time it was Charlotte who poked Emily discreetly, with her foot, under the clouds of her skirt. She did not want Emily to press too hard and make their interest obvious. They had already learned enough. The garden room was behind that hedge, and Freddie did not want peaches anywhere near it.

  They excused themselves, after again saying how delighted they were to be there.

  “The garden room!” Emily said as soon as they were out of earshot. “Freddie does not want her going there to pick peaches at awkward moments. He has his private parties out there, I’ll wager you anything.”

  Charlotte did not take her up.

  “But parties are not much,” she said slowly, “unless something quite awful goes on. What we need to know is who goes to them. Do you think Miss Lucinda recalls with any clarity at all what she saw? Or will it be so embroidered over with imagination by now that it isn’t any use? She must have told it umpteen times.”

  Emily bit her lip in irritation.

  “I really should have asked her when it happened, but I was so annoyed by her, and so delighted that someone had given her a good fright, that I deliberately avoided her. And I didn’t want to pander to her vanity. She was sitting up on the chaise lounge, you know, with smelling salts, an embroidered cushion with Chinese dragons behind her, so Aunt Vespasia said, and a whole jugful of lemonade, receiving callers like some duchess and insisting on telling the whole story right from the beginning to every one of them. I simply could not have been civil to her. I should have burst into laughter. Now I wish I’d had more self control.”

  Charlotte was not in a position to criticize, and she knew it. Without replying, she looked around the rose-hung garden to see if she could find Miss Lucinda. She was bound to be with Miss Laetitia, and they were always in the same color.

  “There!” Emily touched her arm, and she turned. This time they were in forget-me-not blue, and it was far too young for either of them. The touches of pink only made it worse, like some confection that had become overheated.

  “Oh dear!” Charlotte said under her breath, stifling a gasp of laughter.

  “It’s got to be done,” Emily replied severely. “Come on!”

  Side by side, they attempted to look casual as they drifted over toward the Misses Horbury, hesitating on the way to compliment Albertine Dilbridge on her gown and exchange a greeting with Selena.

  “How did she take it?” Charlotte asked the moment they were away from her.

  “Take what?” Emily was for once confused.

  “Hallam!” Charlotte said impatiently. “After all, it’s a bit of a letdown, isn’t it? I mean to be ravished in overwhelming passion by Paul Alaric is rather romantic, in a disgusting sort of way, but to be molested by Hallam Cayley when he was too drunk and wretched to know what he was doing and didn’t even remember it afterward is just
terrible”—she stopped, and all the mockery drained out of her—“and very tragic.”

  “Oh!” Emily obviously had not thought of it. “I don’t know.” Then the idea began to interest her. Charlotte saw it in her face. “But now that I consider it, she has rather gone out of her way to avoid me ever since then. Once or twice I have thought she was going to speak to me, then at the last moment she had suddenly found something else more pressing.”

  “Do you suppose she knew it was Hallam all the time?” Charlotte asked.

  Emily screwed up her face.

  “I’m trying to be fair.” She was finding it an effort, and it showed. “I don’t know what I think. I don’t suppose it matters now.”

  Charlotte was not satisfied. Some small doubt, a question unresolved, gnawed at the back of her mind. But she suffered it to remain for the moment. They were approaching the Misses Horbury, and she must compose herself to pry discreetly and with grace. She fixed an interested smile on her face and plunged in before Emily had the opportunity.

  “How nice to see you again, Miss Horbury,” she gazed at Miss Lucinda with something like awe. “I do admire your courage after such an appalling experience. I am only beginning now fully to appreciate what you must have been through! So many of us lead sheltered lives, we have no imagination of the dreadful things there are so close to us— if only we knew!” She mentally kicked herself for being a hypocrite, the more so because she was rather enjoying it.

  Miss Lucinda was too steeped in her own convictions to recognize a complete turn of character. She puffed herself out with satisfaction, reminding Charlotte of a pastel-colored pouter pigeon.

  “How perceptive of you, Mrs. Pitt,” she said solemnly. “So many people don’t understand what dark forces there are at work, and how near to us they are!”

  “Quite.” For a moment Charlotte’s nerve failed her. She caught sight of Miss Laetitia, her pale eyes wide, and was not sure whether there was laughter in them, or if it was only a reflection of the light. She took a deep breath. “Of course,” she continued, “you must know better than the rest of us. I have been fortunate. I have never been brought face to face with pure evil.”