quarreling-but he does tempt me sorely. He lives in a totally spurious world and I can’t bear his cant! I know better, Charlotte. I hate lies; they rob us of the real good by covering it over with so many coats of sickening excuses and evasions until what was really beautiful, brave, or clean, is distorted and devalued.” His voice shook with the intensity of his feeling. “I hate hypocrites! And the church seems to spawn them like abscesses, eating away at real virtue-like Matthew Oliphant’s.”
She was a little embarrassed; his emotion was so transparent and she could feel the vitality of him under her hand as if he filled the room.
She moved away carefully, not to break the moment.
“Then I shall see you at the funeral tomorrow. We shall both behave properly-however hard it is for us. I shall not quarrel with Mrs. Clitheridge, although I should dearly like to, and you will not tell Josiah what you think of the bishop. We shall simply mourn a good friend who died before his time.” And without looking at him again she walked very straight-backed and very gracefully to the parlor door, and out into the hallway.
11
It had taken Murdo two days of anxiety and doubt, lurching hope and black despair before he found an excuse to call on Flora Lutterworth. And it took him at least half an hour to wash, shave and dress himself in immaculately clean clothes, pressed to perfection, his buttons polished-he hated his buttons because they made his rank so obvious, but since they were inescapable, they had better be clean and bright.
He had thought of going quite frankly to express his admiration for her, then blushed scarlet as he imagined how she would laugh at him for his presumption. And then she would be thoroughly annoyed that a policeman, of all the miserable trades-and not even a senior one-should dare to think of such a thing, let alone express it. He had lain awake burning with shame over that.
No, the only way was to find some professional excuse, and then in the course of speaking to her, slip in that she had his deepest admiration, and then retreat with as much grace as possible.
So at twenty-five minutes past nine he knocked on the door of the Lutterworth house. When the maid answered, he asked if he might see Miss Flora Lutterworth, to seek her aid in an official matter.
He tripped over the step on the way in, and was sure the maid was giggling at his clumsiness. He was angry and blushing at the same time and already wished he had not come. It was doomed to failure. He was making a fool of himself and she would only despise him.
“If you’ll wait in the morning room, I’ll see if Miss Lutterworth’ll see you,” the maid said, smoothing her white starched apron over her hips. She thought he was very agreeable, nice eyes and very clean-looking, not like some she could name, but she wasn’t for having him get above himself. But when he had finished with Miss Flora, she would make sure it was she who showed him out. She wouldn’t mind if he asked her to take a walk in the park on her half day off.
“Thank you.” He stood in the middle of the carpet, twisting his helmet in his hands, and waited while she went. For a wild moment he thought of simply leaving, but his feet stayed leadenly on the floor and while his mind took flight and was halfway back to the station, his body remained, one moment hot, the next cold, in the Lutterworths’ elegant morning room.
Flora came in looking flushed and devastatingly pretty, her eyes shining. She was dressed in a deep rose-pink which was quite the most distinguished and becoming gown he had ever seen. His heart beat so hard he felt sure the shaking of his body must be visible to her, and his mouth was completely dry.
“Good morning, Constable Murdo,” she said sweetly.
“G-good morning, ma’am.” His voice croaked and squeaked alternatively. She must think him a complete fool. He drew in a deep breath, and then let it out without speaking.
“What can I do for you, Constable?” She sat down in the largest chair and her skirts billowed around her. She gazed at him most disconcertingly.
“Ah-” He found it easier to look away. “Er, ma’am-” He fixed his eyes on the carpet and the prepared words carne out in a rush. “Is it possible, ma’am, that some young gentleman, who admired you very much, might have misunderstood your visits to Dr. Shaw, and become very jealous-ma’am?” He dared not look up at her. She must see through this ruse, which had sounded so plausible alone in his room. Now it was horribly transparent.
“I don’t think so, Constable Murdo,” she said after considering it for a moment. “I really don’t know of any young gentlemen who have such powerful feelings about me that they would entertain such … jealousy. It doesn’t seem likely.”
Without thinking he looked up at her and spoke. “Oh yes, ma’am-if a gentleman had kept your company, socially of course, and met you a number of times, he might well be moved to-to such passions-that-” He felt himself blushing furiously, but unable to move his eyes from hers.
“Do you think so?” she said innocently. She lowered her eyes demurely. “That would suppose him to be in love with me, Constable-to quite an intense degree. Surely you don’t believe that is so?”
He plunged in-he would never in his wildest dreams have a better opportunity. “I don’t know whether it is, ma’am-but it would be very easy to believe. If it is not so now, it will be-There are bound to be many gentlemen who would give everything they possessed to have the chance to earn your affections. I mean-er-” She was looking at him with a most curious smile, half interested and half amused. He knew he had betrayed himself and felt as if there were nothing in the world he wanted so much as to run away, and yet his feet were rooted to the floor.
Her smiled widened. “How very charming of you, Constable,” she said softly. “You say it as if you really believed I were quite beautiful and exciting. It is certainly the nicest thing anyone has told me for as long as I can remember.”
He had no idea what to say, no idea at all. He simply smiled back at her and felt happy and ridiculous.
“I cannot think of anyone who might entertain such emotions that they could have harmed Dr. Shaw on my account,”she went on, sitting up very straight. “I am sure I have not encouraged anyone. But of course the matter is very serious, I know. I promise you I shall think about it hard, and then I shall tell you.”
“May I call in a few days’ time to learn what you have to say?” he asked.
The corners of her mouth curled up in a tiny smile.
“I think, if you don’t mind, Constable, I would rather discuss it somewhere where Papa will not overhear us. He does tend to misunderstand me at times-only in my best interest, of course. Perhaps you would be good enough to take a short walk with me along Bromwich Walk? The weather is still most pleasant and it would not be disagreeable. If you would meet me at the parsonage end, the day after tomorrow, we might walk up to Highgate, and perhaps find a lemonade stall to refresh ourselves?”
“I-” His voice would hardly obey him, his heart was so high in his throat and there was a curious, singing happiness all through his veins. “I’m sure that would be most-” He wanted to say “marvelous” but it was much too forward. “Most satisfactory, ma’am.” He should get that silly smile off his face, but it would not go.
“I’m so glad,” she said, rising to her feet and passing so close to him he could smell the scent of flowers and hear the soft rustle of the fabric of her skirts. “Good day, Constable Murdo.”
He gulped and swallowed hard. “G-good day, Miss Lutterworth.”
“An artist’s model?” Micah Drummond’s eyes widened and there was laughter in them, and a wry appreciation. “Maude Dalgetty was that Maude!”
Now it was Pitt’s turn to be startled. “You know of her?”
“Certainly.” Drummond was standing by the window in his office, the autumn sunlight strearning in, making bright patterns on the carpet. “She was one of the great beauties-of a certain sort, of course.” His smile widened. “Perhaps not quite your generation, Pitt. But believe me, any young gentleman who attended the music halls and bought the odd artistic postcard knew the face-and other attributes-of Maude Racine. She was more than just handsome; there was a kind of generosity in her, a warmth. I’m delighted to hear she married someone who loves her and found a respectable domestic life. I imagine it was what she always wanted, after the fun was over and it came time to leave the boards.”
Pitt found himself smiling too. He had liked Maude Dalgetty, and she had been a friend of Clemency Shaw.
“And you have ruled her out?” Drummond pursued. “Not that I can imagine Maude caring passionately
