Outside in the garden the birds were singing and the breeze brought in the scent of grass.
“Did you know Mr. Adinett well? Did he call here often?”
“Quite often. At least once or twice a month, sometimes more.”
“Did you like him?” She wanted to know because she needed to understand the emotions involved. Did Juno feel betrayed by a friend, or robbed by a man who was relatively a stranger? Would she be angered if Charlotte probed critically into their lives?
Juno thought for a few moments before replying, weighing her words. The question seemed to cause her some difficulty.
“I am not entirely certain. At first I did. He was very interesting. Apart from Martin, I had never heard anyone speak so vividly about travel.” Her face lit with memory. “He had a passion about it, and he could describe the great wildernesses of Canada in such a way that their terror and beauty came alive, even here in the middle of London. One had to admire that. I found I wanted to listen to him, even if I didn’t always want to meet his eye.”
It was a curious choice of words, and Charlotte found it highly expressive. She had not been to the trial so she had only newspaper pictures to re-create a picture of Adinett in her mind, but even in photographs there was a stern quality to his face, an ability to exercise self-control, and perhaps to mask emotion, which she could well imagine might be uncomfortable.
What sort of a man had he been? She could not recall having to find the truth of a murder when both the people most closely involved were unknown to her. Always in the past it had been a question of deducing which of several people were guilty. This time she knew who, but she would never meet him or be able to sense any part of his reality except through the observations of others.
She had read that he was fifty-two, but from a newspaper photograph she had no idea whether he was tall or short, dark or medium of coloring.
“If I were to look for him in a crowd, how would you describe him?” she asked.
Juno thought for a moment. “Military,” she answered, certainty in her voice. “There was a kind of power in him, as if he had tested himself against the greatest danger he knew and found he was equal to it. I don’t believe he was afraid of anyone. He … he never showed off, if you know what I mean. That was one of the things Martin most admired about him.” Again her eyes filled with tears, and she blinked them away with annoyance. “I respected it too,” she added quickly. “It was a kind of strength of character that is unusual, and both frightening and attractive at the same moment.”
“I think I understand,” Charlotte said thoughtfully. “It makes people seem invulnerable, a little different from ourselves. Well, from me, anyway. I catch myself talking too much now and again, and I know it is the need to impress.”
Juno smiled, her face suddenly warm and alive. “It is, isn’t it! Because we know our own weaknesses, we think other people can see them also.”
“Was he tall?” Charlotte realized suddenly that she was speaking in the past tense, as if he were already dead, and he was not. Somewhere he was alive, sitting in a cell, probably at Newgate, waiting the legal three Sundays before he could be hanged. The thought made her feel sick. What if they were all wrong, and he was innocent?
Juno was unaware of what was in Charlotte’s mind, even of the change inside her.
“Yes, far taller than Martin,” she replied. “But then Martin wasn’t very tall, only an inch or two more than I.”
There was no reason why she should be, but Charlotte was startled. She realized she had formed a picture of him quite differently. If there had been a photograph in the newspapers, she had not seen it.
Perhaps Juno noticed her surprise. “Would you like to see him?” she asked tentatively.
“Yes … please.”
Juno stood up and opened a small, rolltop desk. She took out a photograph in a silver frame. Her hand was shaking as she held it out.
Charlotte took the picture. Had Juno kept it in the desk to avoid draping it in black, as if to her he were still alive? She would have done the same thing. And the unbearableness of Pitt’s being dead washed over her in a wave so immense for a moment she was dizzy with it.
Then she looked at the face in the frame. It was broad-boned, with a wide nose and wide, dark eyes. It was full of intelligence and humor, almost certainly a quick temper. It was vulnerable, the face of a man with profound emotions. He and Adinett might have had many interests in common, but their natures, as far as one could read, were utterly different. The only link was a bold, direct stare at the camera, the sense of dedication to a purpose. Martin Fetters might also have made people uncomfortable, but it would be by his honesty, and she imagined he was a man who inspired deep friendship.
She gave it back with a smile. He was unique. She could think of nothing to say that would help the pain of his loss.
Juno replaced the picture where she had found it. “Do you want to see the library?” It was a question with many layers of meaning. It was where he had worked, where his books were, the key to his mind. It was also where he had been killed.
“Yes, please.” She rose and followed Juno into the hall and up the stairs. Juno stiffened as she approached the door, her shoulders square and rigid, but she grasped the handle and pushed it open.
It was a masculine room, full of leather, strong colors, walls lined with books on three sides. The fireplace had a brass fender padded in green leather. A tantalus stood on the table by the window, and there were three clean glasses.
Charlotte’s eyes went to the large chair nearest the corner opposite and to the left, then to the smoothly turned polished ladder pushed hard up against the shelves. It was only three steps high, with a long central pole to hold on to. It would be necessary to use it in order to reach the top shelves, even for a tall man. If Martin Fetters had been little more than Juno’s height, he would have had to stand on the top step to see the titles on the uppermost shelf. This made it seem all the more unlikely that he would have kept his most frequently used books there.
She turned to the big chair, which was now placed some six feet from the corner and facing the center of the
