Ashworth Hall

so quick to presume.”

Kezia shrugged, and searched for a handkerchief.

Charlotte handed her one from the bedside cabinet.

Kezia blew her nose fiercely.

“But what I said is still true,” Charlotte added apologetically. “He is your only brother, isn’t he? Do you really want to cut the bonds that hold you to each other? Won’t that hurt you as much as it does him? He’s done a terrible thing. He’ll suffer for it, sooner or later, won’t he?”

“Divine justice?” Kezia raised her eyebrows. “I’m not sure that I believe in it.” She tightened her lips, more in self-knowledge than bitterness. “Anyway, I don’t think that I’m prepared to wait for that.”

“No, quite ordinary human guilt,” Charlotte corrected. “And that doesn’t usually take that long to come, even if it is not recognized as such immediately.’’

Kezia thought in silence.

“Do you really want to create a gulf between you that you cannot cross?” Charlotte asked. “Not for him, for yourself?”

Again it was a long time before Kezia replied.

“No …” She said at last, reluctantly. She smiled very slightly. “I suppose you are not quite as pompous as I thought. I apologize for that.”

Charlotte smiled back. “Good. Pomposity is such a bore, and so masculine, don’t you think?”

This time Kezia did actually laugh.

The rest of the evening was strained. Kezia did not return, which was probably as well, but even so, Lorcan’s presence was sufficient to keep the disaster in everyone’s minds. The subject of the Parnell-O’Shea divorce was studiously ignored, which meant a great deal of political speculation had also to be avoided. The conversation degenerated into platitudes, and everyone was glad to retire early.

Charlotte sat on the dressing stool in the sanctuary of her bedroom.

“This is ghastly,” she said, running a silk scarf over her hair to keep it smooth and make it shine. “With this atmosphere one hardly needs to worry about Fenian dynamiters or assassins from outside.”

Pitt was already sitting in bed.

“What did Kezia Moynihan say? Is she going to make scenes all weekend?”

“She has a certain amount of justice on her side.” She repeated what Kezia had told her.

“Perhaps I should be protecting him,” Pitt said dryly. “From Kezia and from Lorcan McGinley, who has even more justice on his side; from Iona, if they quarrel or he breaks it off or she wants to and he won’t … or from Carson O’Day, for his jeopardizing the Protestant cause.”

“Or Emily,” Charlotte added, “for making a bad party into a complete nightmare.” She put the scarf down and turned out the gas lamp above the dressing table, leaving no light in the room except the glow from the last embers of the fire. She climbed into bed beside him and snuggled down.

For a second morning in a row they were woken by a shrill, tearing screaming.

Pitt swore and stirred, burying his head in the pillow.

The scream came again, high and terrified.

Reluctantly Pitt got out of bed and stumbled across the floor, grasping for his robe. He opened the door and went out onto the landing. Twenty feet away the handsome maid, Doll, was standing in the open doorway of the Grevilles’ bathroom, her face ashen, her hands to her throat as if she could barely breathe.

Pitt strode over, put both hands on her shoulders to move her aside, and looked in.

Ainsley Greville lay in the bath, naked, his chest, shoulders and face under the water. There could be no question whatever that he was dead.

4

PITT SWUNG AROUND, barring the way with his body. “Take her and look after her,” he said to Charlotte, who was now on the landing. It was obvious he was referring to Doll, who still stood swaying a little, gasping for breath. He met Charlotte’s eyes. “Greville is dead.”

She hesitated only a moment, her face tightening, then she walked forward and took the unresisting Doll and, putting her arm around her, guided her away.

There were now several other people gathered, newly awoken, anxious, but still with yesterday’s embarrassment high in their minds.

“What is it now?” Padraig Doyle moved past Piers, who was standing, startled and disheveled, next to the banister. A step behind him, Eudora looked worried but not frightened.

Fergal Moynihan was coming out of his room, opposite Pitt’s, blinking, his hair poking in spikes as if he were newly awakened. He left the door wide open, and Iona was plainly not present.

“What is it?” Padraig repeated, looking from Pitt to Charlotte and back again.

“I am afraid there has been an accident,” Pitt said quietly. There was no point in supposing it was anything else yet. “There is nothing to be done to help at the moment.”

“You mean … it is fatal?” Padraig looked only momentarily startled. He was not a man to panic or lose control of his composure. “Ainsley?”