'Mr. Vyvyan Etheridge?'
'Oh.' She had been caught out, not in a lie, in an inaccuracy. And the foolishness of it caused a flush of irritation
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to rise to her cheeks. 'Yes, indeed. Somehow the word 'murder' brought to my mind something more-more personal. I think of that as an assassination. I am afraid I do not know anything about anarchists. We live a very quiet life here, very domestic.'
He had no idea from her face whether the word was meant hi praise or bitterness. Had she imagined herself in Parliament too? Or was Lady Mary Carfax simply repeating a mixture of gossip and her own prejudices?
'But you were acquainted with Mr. Etheridge?'
'Not socially.' There was laughter in her voice now. It was a beautiful instrument, rich and passionate, flexible to a hundred shades of thought and meaning.
'No, Mrs. Ivory,' he agreed. 'But I believe you had some occasion to appeal to him professionally?'
Her face hardened, the light vanished from it, and something crossed it which was so intense it was frightening, a hatred that threatened to rob her of breath and twist her very body with its violence.
Pitt instinctively started forward, then caught himself and waited. This woman might have taken an open razor and crept up behind a man and cut his throat from ear to ear. She did not look to have the strength, but certainly she had all the force of emotion.
The silence hung between them so thickly every other tiny sound was magnified-the clatter of the maid somewhere in the kitchen, a child's feet running on the pavement beyond the curtained windows, a bird singing,
'I did,' she agreed finally. Her voice seemed pressed from between her teeth, and her eyes did not move from his. 'And if he dealt with others as he did with me, then I am not surprised someone killed him. But it was not I.'
'What did he do, Mrs. Ivory, that you found so irredeemable?'
'He elicited trust-and then betrayed it, Mr. Pitt. Do you excuse betrayal? As perhaps you have not experienced it very
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often? No doubt you have ways to fight, recourse when you are used, wronged-oh don't look like that!' Her face was suddenly full of scorn mixed with a furious humor, a kind of derision he had never seen before. 'I do not mean that he seduced my girlish heart-although, God knows, that has happened to enough women. I had no personal relationship with Mr. Etheridge, I assure you!'
For an instant there was an element of the absurd in it; then he remembered how unlikely a thing love can be, let alone that hunger that attracts people in the mask of love. She was a woman of character, high individuality; it was not impossible, her wry interest in everything could have drawn Etheridge. His dismissal died before it reached his lips.
'I understand his connection with you was as a member of Parliament, and I assumed your feeling of injustice was in mat regard,' he said instead.
Her hard laughter came again. ' 'How painfully tactful you are, Mr. Pitt. Whose feelings are you trying to spare? Not mine! Nothing you could say of Mr. Etheridge could be as harsh as what I might say of him myself. Or is it your duty to speak well of your superiors?'
A dozen answers flashed through Pitt's mind, most of them sarcastic or critical, and he restrained himself. He would not allow her to dictate how he did his job, or what his manner should be.
' 'It is my duty, Mrs. Ivory, to discover who murdered Mr. Etheridge. My opinion of him is immaterial,'' he said coolly. ' 'A lot of the people who are murdered are not those I would necessarily like, had I known them. Fortunately the freedom to walk about without fear of being murdered does not depend on one's friendship with policemen, or the lack of it.''
For an instant she was furious, then her face relaxed into a sudden smile. 'I suppose that is as well, or I should live in terror. You have a sharp tongue, Mr. Pitt. You are
