“I am sorry to have disturbed you at all, Mrs. Winthrop,” he apologized in turn. “I came because I wished to call upon Victor Garrick and I do not know his address, except that it is close by here.”
“Oh! Well it is fortunate you have come,” she said quickly. “They are two doors away, but you would have had a wasted journey anyway. He is presently with us.”
“Indeed. Would it be too much of an intrusion for me to speak with him? I will not detain him long.”
“Of course not. I am sure if there is anything he can do to help he would be happy to.” She frowned. “Although I understand from my brother that you have caught the man. What more can there be?”
“Some details to learn, so we are not taken unaware by a clever lawyer,” he replied untruthfully.
“Then please come through to the garden room, Superintendent. Victor has been playing for us, and it will be a most pleasant place to sit.”
He thanked her and accepted willingly, following her as she turned and led the way along the passage and into one of the most charming rooms he had ever seen. French windows opened straight into a small walled garden filled with plants with every shape of leaf. All the flowers were white: white roses, plantain lilies, carnations and pinks, alyssum, Solomon’s seal, and many others of which he did not know the names.
Inside, the walls and curtains were green with a delicate white floral print, and a large bowl was filled with further white flowers. The last of the gentle evening light shone in, making the room warm and still giving the illusion of the freshness of a garden.
In the corner Victor Garrick sat with his cello. Bart Mitchell stood by the mantelpiece. There was no one else present.
“Victor, I am so sorry to interrupt,” Mina began. “But Superintendent Pitt has actually come to see you. It seems there are some further details yet to clear up in this wretched business, and he thinks you may be able to help.”
“Perhaps we should excuse ourselves.” Bart moved as if to leave.
“Oh no,” Pitt said hastily. “Please, Mr. Mitchell, I should be glad if you would both remain. It would save me having to ask you all separately.” An idea was beginning to form in his mind, although still hazy and lacking many essential elements. “I am sorry to disturb your music on such a distressing matter, but I think we are really close to the end at last.”
Bart moved back to the mantel shelf and resumed his position leaning against it, his expression cold. “If you wish, Superintendent, but I don’t think any of us knows anything we have not already told you.”
“It is a matter of what you may have seen.” Pitt turned to Victor, who was watching him with his clear, very blue eyes wide and apparently more polite than interested.
“Yes?” he said, since the silence seemed to call for some remark.
“At the reception after the Requiem service for Aidan Arledge,” Pitt began, “I believe you were sitting in the corner alcove near the doorway to the hall?”
“Yes. I didn’t especially wish to wander around talking to people,” Victor agreed. “And anyway, it is far more important to stay with my cello. Someone might accidentally bump it, or even knock it over.” Unconsciously his arms tightened around the precious instrument, caressing its exquisite wood, which was smooth as satin and as bright. Pitt noticed the bruise and felt a stab of fury at the vandalism.
“Is that how that happened?” he asked.
Victor’s face tightened and his skin went suddenly white. His eyes were hard and very bright, staring fixedly at some spot in the far distance, or perhaps within his own memory.
“No,” he said between his teeth.
“What was it?” Pitt pressed, and found himself holding his own breath. He did not realize that the pain in the palms of his hands was his nails digging into the flesh.
“Some vile creature pushed me, and it knocked against the handrail,” Victor answered in a soft voice, his gaze still far away.
“The handrail?” Pitt questioned.
“Yes.”
Bart Mitchell shifted his position away from the mantel and opened his mouth to interrupt, then changed his mind.
“Of an omnibus?” Pitt said, almost in a whisper.
“What?” Victor looked around at him. “Oh—yes. People like that have … nothing inside them—no feeling—no souls!”
“It’s a senseless piece of vandalism,” Pitt agreed, swallowing hard and stepping back a little. “What I wanted to ask you, Mr. Garrick, was if you saw the butler, Scarborough, when he was directing the other servants that afternoon?”
“Who?”
“The butler, Scarborough.”
Victor still looked blank.
“A big man with a haughty face and arrogant manner.”
Victor’s eyes filled with comprehension and memory. “Oh yes. He was a bully, a contemptible man.” He winced at Pitt as he said it. “It is beyond forgiveness to use one’s power to abuse those who are in no position to defend themselves. I abhor it, and the people who do such things are …” He sighed. “I have no words for it. I search my mind and nothing comes which carries the weight of the anger I feel.”
“Did he actually dismiss the girl for singing?” Pitt asked, trying to keep his voice casual.
