Pitt put it down. He was used to feeling pity, the wrench inside of a pain one could not reach, for which there was no balm.
He walked back onto the landing. There were police coming in at the front door. Now there would be the long ritual of surgeon’s examination, search of his belongings, recording of the confession, such as it was. It gave him no sense of accomplishment.
He told Charlotte about it in the evening when he got home, not because he felt any ease over it, but because it concerned Emily.
For several moments she said nothing, then she sat down very slowly.
“Poor creature.” She let out her breath quietly. “Poor haunted creature.”
He sat down opposite her, looking at her face, trying to close Hallam and everything else to do with Paragon Walk out of his mind. For a long time there was silence, and it became easier. He began to think of things they might do, now that the case was over and he would have some time off. Jemima was big enough not to take cold; they might go for a trip up the river on one of the excursion boats, even pack a picnic and sit on the back and eat, if the weather stayed so fine. Charlotte would enjoy that. He could picture her now, her skirts spread around her on the grass, her hair bright as polished chestnuts in the sun.
Perhaps next year, if they were careful of every penny, they might even go to the country for a few days. Jemima would be old enough then to walk. She could discover all the beautiful things, pools of water in the stones, flowers under the hedges, perhaps a bird’s nest, all the things he had known as a child.
“Do you think it was the loss of his wife that started his madness?” Charlotte’s voice scattered his dream and brought him back rudely to the present.
“What?”
“The death of his wife,” she repeated. “Do you think grief and loneliness preyed on his mind till he drank too much and became mad?”
“I don’t know.” He did not want to think about it. “Maybe. There were some old love letters among his things. They looked as if they had been read several times, edges a bit bent, one or two tears. They were very intimate, very possessive.”
“I wonder what she was like. She died before Emily went there, so she never knew her. What was her name?”
“I don’t know. She didn’t bother to sign the letters. I suppose she just left them around the house for him.”
Charlotte smiled, a tight, sad little gesture.
“How dreadful, to love someone so intensely, and then for them to die. His whole life seems to have disintegrated since then. I hope, if I died, you would always remember me, but not like that-”
The thought was horrible, bringing the darkness of the night inside the room, void and immense, never ending, cold as the distance to the stars. Pity for Hallam overwhelmed him. There were no words for it, just the pain.
She moved to kneel on the floor in front of him, taking his hands gently. Her face was smooth, and he could feel the warmth of her body. She did not try to say anything, find words to comfort, but there was a sureness in her quiet beyond his understanding.
It was several days before Emily called, and when she came in with a swirl of dotted muslin she was glowing as Charlotte had never seen her before. She was quite noticeably heavier now, but her skin was flawless, and there was a new shine in her eyes.
“You look wonderful!” Charlotte said spontaneously. “You should have children all the time!”
Emily pulled a dreadful face, but it was in mock, and they both knew it. Emily sat down on the kitchen chair and demanded a cup of tea.
“It’s all over,” she said determinedly. “At least that part of it is!”
Charlotte turned slowly, her own thoughts hardening and finding shape even as she swung from the sink to the table.
“You mean you’re not happy about it either?” she asked carefully.
“Happy?” Emily’s face fell. “How could I be-Charlotte! Don’t you believe it was Hallam?” her voice was incredulous, her eyes wide.
“I suppose it must have been,” Charlotte said slowly, pouring water into the kettle and over the top, spilling into the sink without noticing. “He admitted assaulting Fanny, and there was no other reason for killing Fulbert-”
“But?” Emily challenged.
“I don’t know,” Charlotte turned off the tap and emptied the excess out of the kettle. “I don’t know what else.”
Emily leaned forward.
“I’ll tell you! We never discovered what it was that Miss Lucinda saw, and what it is that is going on in the Walk- and there is something! Don’t try to tell me it was all something to do with Hallam, because it wasn’t. Phoebe is still terrified. If anything, she is even worse, as if Hallam’s death were just one more thread in the ghastly picture she can see. She said the oddest thing to me yesterday, which is partly why I came today, to tell you.”
“What?” Charlotte blinked. Somehow all this seemed at once unreal, and yet as if it had been inevitable. All her vague unease was focused now. “What did she say?”
“That all the things that had happened had concentrated the evil in the Walk, and there was no way we could exorcise it now. She hardly dared to imagine what abominable thing would happen next.”
“Do you think perhaps she is mad, too?”
“No, I don’t!” Emily said firmly. “At least not mad the way you mean. She is silly, of course, but she knows what she’s talking about, even if she won’t tell anyone.”
“Well, how are we going to find out?” Charlotte said immediately. The thought of not trying to discover never occurred to her.
Emily had also taken it for granted.
“I’ve worked it out, from all the things everyone has said.” She got down to business now, decisions made in her mind. “And I’m almost certain it is something to do with the Dilbridges, at least, with Freddie Dilbridge. I don’t know who is involved and who isn’t, except that Phoebe knows, and it terrifies her. But the Dilbridges are having a garden party in ten-days’ time. George doesn’t approve, but I mean to go, and you are coming, too. We shall break away from the party without being noticed and explore the house. If we are clever enough, we shall find something. If there is real wickedness in that place, it will have left something behind. Maybe we’ll discover whatever it was that Miss Lucinda saw? It has to be there.”
Memories of Fulbert’s charred body slithering down the chimney flashed into Charlotte’s mind. It would be a long time before she wished to poke into other people’s rooms in search of answers, but then, on the other hand, neither could she possibly leave the question unanswered.
“Good,” she said firmly. “What shall I wear?”
Ten
Charlotte went to the garden party feeling marvelous. Emily, high on the wave of her own well-being, had given her a new dress, all white muslin and lace, with tiny pin tucks at the yoke. She felt like daisies in the wind of a summer field, or the white foam of a mountain stream, inexpressible, shimmeringly clean.
