also, and have discovered a great deal. Your cousin Esmond Vanderley was homosexual, and he had syphilis. I could not prove to a court
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that it was he and not Jerome who seduced and murdered Arthur Waybourne.' He watched Swynford's face with a satisfaction as hard and bitter as gall; it was bloodlessly white.
'You killed him for nothing,' Pitt went on. 'I was close behind Vanderley, but there was no witness I could bring to court, no evidence I would have dared to call, and Vanderley knew that! He was safe from the law.'
Suddenly the color came back into Swynford's skin, deep red. He sat up a little straighter, avoiding his wife's eyes.
'Then there is nothing you can do!' he said with a flood of relief, almost confidence. 'It was an accident! A tragic accident. Esmond is dead, and that is the end of it.'
Pitt stared back at him. 'Oh, no,' he said, his voice grating with sarcasm. 'No, Mr. Swynford. This was not an accidental death. That gun went off almost the moment you had left the room. He must have loaded it as soon as your back was turned-'
'But it was turned!' Swynford stood up, smiling now. 'You cannot prove it was murder!'
'No, I cannot,' Pitt said. He smiled back, an icy, ruthless grimace. 'Suicide. Esmond Vanderley committed suicide. That is how I shall report it-and let people make of it what they please!'
Swynford scrabbled after Pitt's sleeve, his face sweating.
'But good God, man! They'll say he killed Arthur, that it was remorse. They'll realize-they'll say that-'
'Yes-won't they!' Pitt still smiled. He put Swynford's hand off his arm as if it were a dirty thing, soiling him. He^ turned to Callantha. 'I'm sorry, ma'am,' he said sincerely.
She ignored her husband as if he had not been there, but kept her hands tightly on her children.
'We cannot make amends,' she said quietly. 'But we shaft cease to protect ourselves with lies. If society chooses no longer to know us and all doors are closed, who can blame them? I shall not, nor shall I seek to excuse us. I hope you can accept that.'
Pitt bowed very slightly. 'Yes, ma'am, of course I can ao,-cept it. When it is too late for reparation, some part of the truth is all that is left us. I shall send for a police doctor and a mortu-
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ary wagon. Is there anything I can do to be of service to you?' He admired her profoundly, and he wished her to know it.
'No, thank you, Inspector,' she said quietly. 'I shall manage everything that needs to be done.'
He believed her. He did not speak again to Swynford, but walked past him out into the hall to instruct the butler to make the, necessary arrangements. It was all over. Swynford would not be tried by law, but by society-and that would be infinitely worse.
And Jerome would at last be acquitted by that same society. He would walk out of Newgate Prison to Eugenie, her loyalty- perhaps even her love. Through the long searching for a new position, perhaps he would learn to value his life.
And Pitt would go home to Charlotte and the warm, safe kitchen. He would tell her-and see her smile, hold her tight and hard.
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