forthwith removed her. The mother has not seen her since.'
'And the husband has been murdered?' Charlotte asked, fearing already that there was going to be nothing she or anyone could do to help.
' 'No.'' Zenobia's remarkable eyes held hers unflinchingly, but for the first time Charlotte realized that there was both resolution and pain in them, clearly justifying all Vespasia's fears. 'No, it is the member of Parliament who has been murdered, Mrs. Pitt.'
Charlotte felt a chill, as if that night on the Bridge with its chill and fog from the river had entered the room. This was Thomas's case that he had told her of with such confusion
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and pity. She knew all London was appalled by the crimes, not merely by their nature but by the identity of the victims and the apparent ease with which able men, men both cherished and respected, the makers of law, had been killed within sight of the Mother of Parliaments.
'Yes,' Zenobia said very quietly indeed, her eyes on Charlotte's face. 'The Westminster Bridge murders. I fear the police may believe it was Africa and her lodger who committed these terrible acts. The poor woman certainly had motive enough, and neither she nor Africa can prove themselves innocent.'
Pitt's description of them was sharp in Charlotte's memory, his sense of Florence Ivory's anger and grief, and the passion he was sure could bring her to kill. The question beat in Charlotte's head so, nothing else could form itself or find shape. Had they?
'Charlotte, we must do all we can to help,'' Vespasia said briskly, before the silence could become painful.' 'Where do you suggest we begin?''
Charlotte's mind was whirling. How well did Great-aunt Vespasia know this woman with the extraordinary face? Were they lifelong friends, or merely social acquaintances? They were a generation apart. If they had been friends years ago, what had happened to them since? How much had they changed and grown separate, been marked by experience, learned to value different things, to love different people? What sort of a woman explored Africa? Why? With whom? Did she perhaps count family loyalty above the lives of those who were not of her class or kin? It was ridiculous to be discussing this in front of her, where Charlotte could not be frank.
. 'At the beginning,'' Zenobia said gravely into the silence, answering Vespasia's question. 'No, I do not know that Africa is innocent. I believe it, but I cannot know it, and I realize that if we attempt to help her, there is a possibility
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that we may do exactly the opposite. I am prepared to take that risk.'
Charlotte collected her thoughts and attempted to set them forth logically. 'Then if we cannot prove them innocent,' she said, ' 'we shall have to see if we can discover who is guilty-and prove that.' There was no purpose in being falsely modest or decorous with this woman. 'I have read something of the matter in the newspapers,' she admitted. At this point she would not say that her husband was the detective in charge of the case-Zenobia might find it impossible to believe she could be impartial, and it would place an intolerable burden of double loyalty upon Vespasia.
She knew it was not the thing for ladies of quality to read anything in the newspapers except the society pages, and perhaps a little of the theater or reviews of suitable books or paintings, but there was no point in pretending she was of delicate sensibilities-even could she have carried it off-if they were going to discover the authors of any crimes at all, let alone such as these.
' 'What do we know of the facts?'' she began. ' 'Two members of Parliament have been murdered at night, upon Westminster Bridge, by having their throats cut, and then their bodies were tied up by their evening scarves to the lamppost at the south end of the bridge. The first was Sir Lockwood Hamilton, the second a Mr. Vyvyan Etheridge.'' She looked at Zenobia. ' 'Why should this woman-what is her name?''
'Florence Ivory.'
'Why should Florence Ivory kill both men? Were they both connected in some way with the loss of her child?''
'No, only Mr. Etheridge. I have no idea why the police believe she should have killed Sir Lockwood as well.'
Charlotte was puzzled. 'Are you sure she has reason to be afraid, Miss Gunne? Is it not possible the police are merely questioning everyone who had cause to hold a grudge
