A thought occurred to her as he turned away.
“When did you see it?”
“What?” he looked back.
“When did you see the tear in Edward’s coat?”
He frowned very slightly.
“The night Lily was killed.”
“How observant of you. I wouldn’t have thought in all the excitement you’d have seen it. Or did you see it at the club? That was where he did it.”
He shook his head fractionally.
“I think you must have misunderstood. I was at the club, but Papa left very early, and his coat certainly wasn’t torn then. I remember it clearly: Belton, the footman, gave him his hat and his cane. He would have noticed, couldn’t have failed to.”
“You must have the wrong night!”
“No, because I had dinner with Reggie Hafft. He dropped me off in Cater Street and I walked the last half mile or so. I saw Papa coming from the opposite end of Cater Street and called out to him, but he didn’t hear me. He got home just a little while before I did.”
“Oh.” It was a stupid remark, but she was too stunned to think clearly. Edward had lied to her, over something completely trivial-but on the night Lily had been murdered. Why? Why had he not told her the truth? Was it something he was ashamed of, or afraid of?
What on earth was she thinking? This was preposterous! He must have been to call on some friend, and forgotten. That was it. It would be explained quite easily, and then she would be ashamed of the thoughts that crossed the back of her mind now.
The first time she saw him alone was when they retired to bed. Caroline was sitting on the stool in front of the mirror, letting down her hair and brushing it. Edward came in from the dressing room.
“Whom did you call on, the night Lily was killed?” she said lightly, trying to make it sound as if it did not matter.
She saw his face reflected in the mirror. He was frowning.
“Whom did I what?”
She repeated it, her heart beating strongly, her eyes avoiding his.
“No one,” he said a little sharply. “I’ve already told you, Caroline, I was at my club! I came straight from the club home. I don’t know why you are continuing to discuss the matter. Do you imagine I was lurking in Cater Street after my housemaid?” He was thoroughly angry now.
“No, of course not,” she replied quietly. “Don’t be foolish.”
His face hardened into the white temper she knew very well. She had offended him profoundly by using the word
She must be overwrought; her mind was quite off the rails, becoming ridiculous. Better try to dismiss it and go to bed. Edward was still observing an icy silence. She thought for a moment of apologizing, then something within her acknowledged that she would think of it again, pursue it again, which would make any apology a lie.
They both got into bed without speaking. He lay perfectly still, breathing regularly. She had no idea whether he was asleep, trying to sleep, or merely pretending to be to avoid further involvement.
Why was she even entertaining such thoughts? She knew Edward, knew that for whatever reason he lied, it could have nothing to do with what had happened in Cater Street. She knew that. Yet he must have been doing something that he did not want her to know? Such as what? Nothing good, or he would have told her the truth, or at least whom he was with, if not the reason. Where could Edward have been to return via the opposite end of Cater Street? Where could he have been that needed lying about?
She tried to think of his pattern of life, the things he did daily, whom he knew, the other places he visited. The more she thought about it, the more she realized how little she knew. At home she knew him so well she could often tell beforehand what he would say, how he would feel about any event, whom he would like, or dislike. But when he left for the city he walked into a different part of his life, and she actually knew nothing about it except what he told her.
She went to sleep deeply unhappy.
The next day was appalling. Caroline woke with a dull headache and felt so fearful and depressed she spoke only when necessity forced her. She was busy in the linen cupboard checking Millie’s work when Dora came to say that Inspector Pitt from the police was back again, and would she see him?
Caroline stared at the pile of pillowcases in front of her, her heart pounding, her mouth dry. Had Pitt been to the club and found out that Edward was lying? It was impossible that he had killed Lily, for any reason. But he must be hiding something. She would have to try to protect him. If only she knew the truth!
“Ma’am?” Dora was still waiting.
“Oh yes, Dora. Tell him I shall be there in five minutes. Put him in the withdrawing room.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Pitt was standing staring out of the window when she opened the door. He swung round to face her.
“Good morning, Mrs. Ellison. I’m sorry to disturb you again, but I’m afraid I have to pursue everything.”
“You seem to be pursuing us rather extensively, Mr. Pitt. Do I presume from your remark that you pursue everyone else as diligently?”
“Certainly, ma’am.”
What an odd-looking man he was, so inelegant. His presence dominated the room. Or did she just feel that way because she was frightened of him?
“What is it you wish this time, Mr. Pitt?” Better to get it over with.
“Your husband came home unusually late on the evening Lily Mitchell was murdered.” It was more of a statement than a question, as if he were reaffirming something he already knew.
“Yes.” Did her voice sound as strained as she felt?
“Where had he been?”
What should she say? Should she repeat what Edward had told her? Or the truth that Dominic had subsequently let slip? She realized as she put the problem to herself that she had not even questioned Dominic’s version! If she told him Edward was at the club the whole evening she would be saying at the same time that Edward had lied to her. It would make it that much harder for him to-to negotiate himself out of the lie. But if she said he had been elsewhere, then she obliged him to explain something he would not, or could not.
Pitt was staring at her with those light, intelligent eyes. She felt transparent, like a child caught in the pantry.
“I believe he said he was at his club,” she said slowly, making her mouth form each word, “although whether he was going on to dine with friends afterwards I don’t remember.”
“And he didn’t tell you?” His enquiry was polite.
Was it extraordinary? Did the careful lie show in her face?
“In view of what we found when we returned home-Charlotte having sent for the police, the distress, our fears-I never thought of it again. It seemed the least important of things.”
“Naturally. However, if you don’t know, I cannot eliminate the possibility that Mr. Ellison may have passed somewhere near the scene of the crime at the appropriate time.” He smiled, showing his teeth, his eyes bright. “And he may have seen something that would help us.”
She swallowed hard.
“Yes, of course. I’m afraid I don’t know.”
“Of course not, Mrs. Ellison. I already know that you passed along Cater Street in a carriage, and in the company of your daughters, and I have spoken to all of you.”
“But you have spoken to my husband also. What more can there be to say?” Could she avoid it, persuade him not to see Edward at all? There could be nothing else to ask him, unless he suspected something, already knew somehow that Edward had lied. “Surely, Mr. Pitt, you cannot doubt that if my husband had seen anything at all, he would have told you?”
