“Yes. But of course I’m not sure that is what
“Well, it couldn’t have been Tregarron,” Pitt said reasonably. “He was too young to have been involved at all, and was here in England at boarding school anyway. He would have been about fourteen at the time. And why would Adriana have killed Serafina, even if Serafina did tell her? Who would she be protecting? That doesn’t make any sense.”
“Yes, it does.” Charlotte spoke so quickly her voice was almost lost in the crackle from the fire as another log fell apart in a shower of sparks. “It makes sense if it was Serafina herself who betrayed Dragovic.”
“Serafina?” He was startled. “But she was on the same side as him. And she rescued Adriana. My sources say she and Dragovic were lovers, at least for a while.”
“Thomas, don’t be so naive,” Charlotte said. “The most passionate lovers also make the bitterest enemies, at times. And who knows now, or even then, if they were really lovers? Perhaps either one of them was only using the other?”
He started to argue. “But they were both fighting for the same …” He trailed off.
“Balkan politics are not so simple,” she said. “At least that is what I hear, from those who know. And love affairs hardly ever are.”
He smiled with a flicker of ironic humor. “At least that is what you hear from those who know?”
She blushed very slightly. “Yes.”
“Do you think Adriana believed that Serafina betrayed her father?” he asked, all humor vanished.
“I think it’s more likely than Nerissa Freemarsh murdering her aunt out of frustration, because she didn’t die quickly enough,” she said quietly.
“And Tregarron?” he asked. “What was he doing at Dorchester Terrace?”
“I don’t know,” she admitted. “Perhaps trying to make sure that Serafina didn’t tell any more secrets in her confused state. Ones we don’t even know about. They would be old, but perhaps still embarrassing. He’s responsible for a lot of the British relations with the Austrian Empire, and the countries around its borders. Maybe Poland, Ukraine, or the Ottoman Empire? Even if the people concerned are dead, or out of office, the matters might still be better left alone.”
“But who could she tell?” he asked thoughtfully. “Not many people came to see her.”
“Would he leave that to chance? Would you?”
“No.” He sighed and leaned back again. “Tomorrow I had better go and speak to Nerissa Freemarsh, and to Tucker again. I don’t think it can have anything to do with … present cases … but I need to be certain. Thank you.”
“For what?” She was puzzled by his gratitude.
“For questioning Adriana,” he explained. “I know you didn’t wish to.”
“Oh. No. Thomas, you don’t mind about Uffie, do you?”
“Who?”
“The dog.”
He laughed quietly. “No, of course I don’t.”
In the morning Pitt went to see Narraway and told him about Charlotte’s conversation with Adriana Blantyre, and the conclusions he was forced to draw from it.
“I was hoping the answer would be different,” Narraway said quietly. “I was sure it had to do with this wretched Duke Alois threat, but it seems the timing is coincidental after all. I’m sorry. What are you going to do?”
“Go back to Dorchester Terrace and check on the exact amount of laudanum that was in the house,” Pitt replied. “And whether anyone from the outside ever had access to it.”
“You think Adriana learned the truth from Serafina, went away and thought about it, then came back with laudanum? That’s cold-blooded.”
“If Serafina betrayed her father to his death, perhaps. I hope to be wrong.”
Narraway spread his hands in a small, rueful gesture. He said nothing, for which Pitt was grateful.
At Dorchester Terrace he spoke first with Tucker and then with Nerissa Freemarsh. He checked on the laudanum, as he had told Narraway he would. The conclusion was inescapable: Whoever had given her the extra dosage had brought it with them. Killing her had been carefully planned.
Tucker had nothing new to add; yes, Mrs. Blantyre had called several times, bringing flowers and once a box of candied fruit. She was always kind. Yes, she had seemed distressed the last time she had called, on the evening of Mrs. Montserrat’s death. Pale-faced, Tucker noted that Adriana had spent some time alone with Mrs. Montserrat in the bedroom. It had seemed to be what Mrs. Montserrat had wanted.
With Nerissa, it was a different matter. She was tense as she came into the housekeeper’s sitting room, and closed the door behind her with a sharp snap. She was still in black, but today she had several rows of very fine jet beads around her neck, and excellent-quality jet earrings, which added a fashionable touch to her appearance.
“I don’t know what else I can tell you, Mr. Pitt,” she said with a certain briskness. Being mistress of the house at last gave her a new air of confidence. The slightly nervous demeanor was gone. She stood straighter and somehow she looked taller. Perhaps she had new boots with a higher heel. Under the swirl of her black bombazine skirt it was not possible to tell. But there was unquestionably a touch of color on her skin.
Pitt had decided to be totally open.
“Did Lord Tregarron visit here often?” he asked.
“Lord Tregarron?” she repeated.
She was playing for time. It was a question she had not expected, and she needed to think what to say.
“Is that something you find difficult to answer, Miss Freemarsh?” He met her eyes challengingly. “Why would that be? Surely he did not ask anyone to keep that fact hidden?”
Now there was an angry flush on her cheeks. “Of course not! That is absurd. I was trying to recollect how often he did come.”
“And have you succeeded?”
“He came to visit my aunt because he had heard she was ill, and he knew how much she had done for England in her youth, particularly with regard to the Austrian Empire, and our relationship with Vienna.”
“How very generous of him,” Pitt said with only the slightest asperity in his voice. “Since, as far as I can learn, Mrs. Montserrat was passionately on the side of the rebels, against the Habsburg throne. Was that not so? Or was she a spy for Austria perhaps, planted there to betray the freedom fighters?”
Now Nerissa was really angry. “That is a dreadful thing to say! And completely irresponsible. But-” Suddenly she stopped as if a new and terrible thought had filled her mind. “I … I had not even …” She blinked. “I don’t know, Mr. Pitt. She always said …” Again she stopped. “Now I don’t know. Perhaps that was what it was all about. It would explain Mrs. Blantyre …” Her hand had flown to her mouth as if to stop herself from crying out. Now it fell to her side again. “I think perhaps I had better say no more. I would not wish to be unjust to anyone.”
He felt cold, as if the fire had suddenly died, though it was burning so hot and red in the hearth that the whole chimney breast was warm.
“Mrs. Blantyre visited your aunt quite often, including the evening she died.” His voice sounded hollow.
“Yes … but … yes, she did.”
“Alone?”
“Yes. Mr. Blantyre remained downstairs. He thought it would be less strain on Mrs. Montserrat. She did not find it easy to speak to several people at a time. And sometimes she and Adriana would converse in Italian, which he does not speak-at least not fluently.”
“I see. Does he speak Croatian?”
“I have no idea.” Her face was very pale. She sat rigidly, as if her bodice was suddenly constrictingly tight. “Perhaps. He speaks German, I know. He spent quite a lot of time in Vienna.”
“I see. Thank you.” He was left with no choice. He must go and question Adriana Blantyre. There was nothing to be gained by delaying it, not that he wished to. If he went now, Blantyre himself might still be at home. That would make it more difficult, more embarrassing and emotionally wrenching, but it was the right way to do it.
