“Oh, no, Superintendent.” She smiled at him very slightly, a shadow in her eyes in spite of the calm still in her voice. “You see, he conducted in many different places. In fact, it was seldom the same hall two weeks in a row.”
“Then where did he change into his evening clothes?” he said quietly.
“Why here, of course. He was most meticulous about his appearance. One has to be when one is watched by a whole audience.” Her voice dropped to little more than a whisper. “Aidan always used to say it was a terrible discourtesy to be improperly dressed, as if you did not consider your audience worthy of your best effort.”
“I see.”
“Why do you ask, Superintendent?” She looked at him with a deepening frown, her eyes searching his face.
He avoided a direct answer.
“If there were a late performance, did your husband always come home, or did he perhaps stay with friends, other musicians, maybe?”
“Well—I think he may have once or twice.” Now she was hesitant, her expression touched with anxiety, even the beginning of fear. “As I mentioned before, I did not always wait up for him.” She bit her lip. “You may think that less than dutiful of me, but I do not find it easy to keep late hours, and Aidan would be very tired when he came in, and simply wish to retire straightaway. He asked me not to trouble myself by waiting up. That is why I did not …” Now she was controlling herself only with an effort. “That is how I did not miss him that night.”
He felt a pity for her so sharp it caught his breath. His mind was full of confusion. How could a man as sensitive as the one suggested by the letters in his study have betrayed a woman like this?
“I understand, ma’am. It seems very sensible to me,” he said gently. “I do not expect my wife to wait up for me when I am late. Indeed I should feel extremely guilty if she did.”
She smiled at him, but the fear in her eyes did not lessen, indeed if anything it increased. “How very sympathetic of you. Thank you so much for saying so.”
“Was Mr. Arledge conducting a performance that evening?”
“No—no.” She shook her head. “He spent the evening at home, working on a score, one he said was very difficult. I rather think that is why he wished to go for a walk, in order to clear his head before retiring.”
“Does he have a valet, ma’am?”
“Oh yes, indeed. Do you wish to speak with him?”
“If you please.”
She rose to her feet.
“Is there something wrong, Superintendent? Did you find something—something to do with the Winthrops?”
“No, not at all.”
She turned away.
“I see. You prefer not to tell me. I beg your pardon for having asked. I am not—not used …”
He wished intensely that there was something gentle and comforting he could say, something even remotely true that would ease the present pain in her, and the additional, fearful wound he now was almost sure was to come.
“It may prove to be of no meaning at all, Mrs. Arledge. I would prefer not to leap to conclusions.” It was futile, and he knew it even as the words were on his lips.
“Of course. The valet,” she agreed, her words equally hollow, and she did not meet his eyes. She rang the bell, and when the maid appeared, sent for the valet to meet Pitt in the study.
But the valet’s answers only clouded the issue the more. Either he had no idea where the other silver-backed brush was or he refused to say. Nor did he know where to find the evening studs. He looked confused and embarrassed, but Pitt had no sense that it was guilt.
Walking home slowly along Mount Street towards the park, Pitt had the sad empty feeling that for all his humor and courtesy, Aidan Arledge was far less uncomplicated than he had seemed at first. There was something hidden, something unexplained.
Where did he go after late performances? Where were the things that Pitt had expected to find, and had not? Why had he two sets of keys? Did Aidan Arledge keep a second establishment somewhere, a place his wife knew nothing of?
Why? Why would a man keep a secret establishment?
He could think of only one answer: obvious, glaring and painful. He had a mistress. Somewhere there was a second woman mourning his death, a woman who dared not show her grief, dared not even claim his acquaintance.
Gracie had made up her mind while she was sitting at the kitchen table watching Pitt eat his treacle pudding, but it was after midnight before she could put her plan into effect. She had to be quite sure everyone in the house was asleep. If they were to catch her sneaking out, there would be no acceptable excuse she could give, and her whole venture would be aborted. And after last time, Pitt would be furious and perhaps even dismiss her. That thought was unendurable. But so was the knowledge that he was being criticized in the newspapers by people who did not know what they were talking about and were not fit to speak to him, let alone air their opinions.
So there was nothing for it but to do her best to find out something. Added to which, with the mistress too busy with the new house to do anything, and Miss Emily all caught up in the by-election, who else was there to help?
Outside on the pavement she walked smartly towards the main thoroughfare. She had enough money to get a hansom to the park, first, and back again, of course. She had borrowed it from the fish money. It was not strictly honest. But then if she did not have any of the fish herself tomorrow, it would not be stealing either.
