more bearable, the darkness he must probe less full of shapeless fear, but rather known things, things that could be endured.
'Sit down.' Mulgrew waved an arm widely. 'Oh, tip the cat off. She always gets on there the moment my back is turned. Pity she has so much white in her-damn white hairs stick to my pants. Don't mind, do you?'
Pitt eased the little animal off the chair and sat down smiling.
'Not at all. Thank you.'
Mulgrew sat opposite him.
'Well, if you're not sick, what is it? Not Mina Spencer-Brown again? Thought we proved she died of belladonna?'
The little cat curled itself around Pitt's legs, purring gently, then hopped up onto his knees and wound itself into a knot, face hidden, and fell asleep instantly.
Pitt touched it with pleasure. Charlotte had wanted a cat. He must get her one, one like this.
'Are you physician to the Charringtons as well?' he asked.
Mulgrew's eyes opened wide in surprise.
'Throw her off if you want,' he said, pointing to the cat. 'Yes, I am. Why? Nothing wrong with any of them, is there?'
'Not so far as I know. Except that their daughter died. Did you know her?'
'Ottilie? Yes, lovely girl.' His face retreated quite suddenly into lines of heavy sorrow. 'One of the saddest things I know, her death. Miss her. Lovely girl.'
Pitt was aware of a genuine grief, not the professional sadness of a doctor who loses a patient, but a sense of personal bereavement, of some happiness that no longer existed. He was embarrassed to have to continue. He had not expected emotion; he had been prepared only for thought, academic investigation. The mystery of murder was ephemeral, even paltry; it was the emotions, the fire of pain, and the long wastelands afterward that were real.
His hands found the cat's warm little body again, and he stroked it softly, comforting himself as much as pleasing the animal.
'What caused her death?' he asked.
Mulgrew looked up. 'I don't know. She didn't die here. Somewhere in the country-Hertfordshire.'
'But you were the family physician. Didn't they tell you what it was?'
'No. They said very little. Didn't seem to want to talk about it. Natural, I suppose. Shock. Grief takes people differently.'
'It was very sudden, I understand?'
Mulgrew was looking into the fire, his eyes away from Pitt's, seeing something he could not share.
'Yes. No warning at all.'
'And they didn't tell you what it was?'
'No.'
'Didn't you ask?'
'I suppose I must have. All I can really remember was the shock, and how nobody spoke of it, almost as if by not putting it into words they could undo it, stop it from being real. I didn't press them. How could I?'
'But as far as you know she was perfectly well at the time she left Rutland Place?' Pitt inquired.
Mulgrew looked at him at last.
'One of the healthiest I know. Why? Obviously it matters to you or you wouldn't be here asking so many questions. Do you imagine it has something to do with Mrs. Spencer-Brown?'
'I don't know. It's one of several possibilities.'
'What kind of possibility?' Mulgrew's face creased in pain. 'Ottilie was eccentric, even in bad taste to many, but there was nothing evil in her. She was one of the most truly generous people I ever knew. I mean generous with her time-she was never too busy to listen if she thought someone needed to talk. And generous with her praise-she didn't grudge appreciation, or envy other people's successes.'
So Mulgrew had loved her, in whatever manner. Pitt did not need to know more: the warmth in Mulgrew's voice told of the loss still hurting him, twisting an emptiness inside.
It made Pitt's own thoughts, prompted by Charlotte, the more painful. It was sharp enough for him to lie. He needed to think about it a little, come to it by degrees. He did not look at Mulgrew when he spoke.
'From evidence I've just heard'-he measured his words slowly-'it seems possible that Mina Spencer-Brown was inordi shy;nately curious about other people's affairs, that she listened, and peeped. Does that seem likely to you?'
Mulgrew's eyes widened and he stared at Pitt, but he did not answer for several minutes. The fire crackled, and on Pitt's knees the cat woke and started kneading him gently with her claws. Absentmindedly he eased her up to rest on his jacket, where she could not reach her claws through to his flesh.
'Yes,' Mulgrew said at last. 'Never occurred to me before, but she was a watcher, never missed a thing. Sometimes people do that. Knowledge gives them an illusion of power, I suppose. It becomes compulsive. Mina could have been one of them. Intelligent woman, but an empty life-one stupid, prattling party after another. Poor creature.' He leaned forward and put another piece of coal on the fire. 'All day, every day, and not really necessary anywhere. What a bloody stupid thing to die for- some piece of information acquired through idiotic curiosity, no use to you at all.' He turned his face away from the firelight. 'And you think it had something to do with Ottilie Charrington?'
'I don't know. Apparently, Mina thought her death was a mystery, hinting that there was a great deal more to it than had been told and that she knew what it was.'
'Stupid, sad, cruel woman,' Mulgrew said quietly. 'What on earth did she imagine it was?'
'I don't know. The possibilities are legion.' He did not Want to spell them out and hurt this man still more, but he had to mention at least one, if only to discount it. 'A badly done abortion, for example?'
Mulgrew did not move.
'I believe not,' he said very levelly. 'I cannot swear to it, but I believe not. Do you have to pursue it?'
'At least enough to satisfy myself it is wrong.'
'Then ask her brother Inigo Charrington. They were always close. Don't ask Lovell. He's a pompous idiot-can't see further than the quality of print on a calling card! Ottilie drove him frantic. She used to sing songs from the music halls-God only knows where she learned them! Sang one on a Sunday once- drinking song, it was, something about beer-not even a decent claret! Ambrosine called me in. She thought Lovell was going to take a seizure. Purple to the hair, he was, poor fool.'
At any other time Pitt would have laughed. But the knowledge that Ottilie was dead, perhaps murdered, robbed the anecdote of any humor.
'Pity,' he said quietly. 'We get so many of our priorities wrong and never know it until afterwards, when it doesn't matter anymore. Thank you. I'll speak to Inigo.' He stood up and put the little cat on the warm spot where he had been sitting. She stretched and curled up again, totally content.
Mulgrew shot to his feet. 'But that can't be all! If Mina, wretched woman, was a Peeping Tom, she must have seen other things-God knows what! Affaires, at least! There's more than one butler around here should lose his job, that I know of-and more than one parlormaid, if her mistress knew of it!'
Pitt pulled a face. 'I daresay. I'll have to look at them all. By the way, did you know there is a sneak thief in Rutland Place?'
'Oh God, that too! No, I didn't know, but it doesn't surprise me. It happens every now and then.'
'Not a servant. One of the residents.'
'Oh, my God!' Mulgrew's face fell. 'Are you sure?'
'Beyond reasonable doubt.'
'What a wretched business. I suppose it couldn't have been Mina herself?'
'Yes, it could. Or it could have been her murderer.'
'I thought my job was foul at times. I'd a damned sight rather have it than yours.'
'I think I would too, at the moment,' Pitt said. 'Unfortunately we can't chop and change. I couldn't do yours, even if you were willing to trade. Thanks for your help.'
'Come back if I can do anything.' Mulgrew put out his hand, and Pitt clasped it hard. A few minutes later he was outside again in the rain.
