choose his words carefully.
“You don’t believe that Adriana killed Serafina, do you.” He made it more of a statement than a question.
“No,” she said instantly. “I know you think Serafina was responsible for Lazar Dragovic’s death, but even if she was-and I don’t know that you’re right-Adriana wouldn’t have murdered her. It would be stupid, apart from anything else. Serafina was dying anyway, and in some distress. If you hate someone deeply, you want them to suffer, not to be let off lightly.”
“Revenge is usually stupid,” he said quietly. “For an instant it feels wonderful, then the fury dies away and you’re left empty, and wondering why it didn’t make you feel any better, what it was you were expecting that didn’t happen.”
She stared at him. “When did you ever take revenge on anyone?”
“I’ve wanted to,” he replied, with a sense of shame. “Some people I’ve arrested, some people for whom I didn’t have enough proof that they were guilty, or simply couldn’t catch them at the crime. Even recently, people I just had to arrest calmly, but whom I would like to have beaten with my fists. The only thing stopping me was the fact that I wasn’t alone with them; I don’t know whether I would have, if I’d been certain of getting away with it.”
She looked at him with amazement, and a degree of curiosity. “You’ve never told me that before.”
“I’m not proud of it.”
“Do you tell me only the things you’re proud of?” she challenged.
“No, of course not.” He smiled ruefully, softening the moment. “I would probably have told you if I’d actually done it.”
“Because I’d find out?”
“No, because it was a weakness I hadn’t overcome.”
She gave a little laugh, but there was no edge to it, no criticism. “What about Adriana? If she didn’t kill Serafina, who did? And why did she then kill herself?” Her voice dropped. “Or didn’t she?”
Pitt avoided her question. “You spent quite a lot of time with her. Do you think you learned to know her at all? I want your true opinion of her. A great deal may depend on it, even people’s lives.”
“Whose?” she came back instantly. “Blantyre’s?”
“Among others. But I wasn’t principally referring to him. It has to do with other people, most of whom you don’t even know.” He made a slight, rueful gesture. “And my job as well.”
The last vestige of amusement vanished from Charlotte’s face. Her eyes were steady and serious. “I don’t think she was fragile at all. She had been hurt terribly, seeing her father beaten and then executed. But many people see very bad things. It’s painful. One never forgets them, but they don’t make you deranged. Nightmares, maybe? I’ve had a few. Sometimes if I sleep really badly, or I’m worried or frightened, I remember the dead people I’ve seen.”
She did not move her gaze from his, but he saw the sudden return of memory in her eyes. “One of the worst was the skeleton of the woman on the swing, with the tiny bones of the baby inside her. I still see that sometimes, and it makes me want to weep and weep until I have no strength left. But I don’t.”
Pitt started to reach across to touch her, then changed his mind. This was not the moment. “Adriana?” he said again.
“She wasn’t hysterical,” she said with conviction. “And I don’t believe she would ever have killed herself. Who killed her, Thomas? Why? Wouldn’t it have been the same person who betrayed her father? Did Serafina know who that was? She would have. That was why she was killed too. That’s the only thing that makes sense.”
“I imagine so.” Should he tell her? Did she have to know, for her own safety? Or would knowing endanger her? And even if he did not tell her, Blantyre might assume he had.
“It was him, wasn’t it?” Her voice interrupted his thoughts.
“Him?”
“Blantyre!” she said sharply. “He was the only one who could have betrayed Dragovic, killed Serafina, and killed Adriana.” She made it sound so simple. “Thomas, I don’t care what secrets he knows, or what kind of office he holds, you can’t let him get away with that! It’s … monstrous!”
“You want revenge?” he asked.
“Maybe! Yes. I want revenge for Adriana. And for Serafina. She deserved better than to die like that! But call it justice, if you like. It is-and you’ll feel better.”
“Justice can mean many different things to different people,” Pitt pointed out.
“Then call it an act of necessity. You can’t have someone like that in a high office in the government. Such a man could do anything!”
“Oh, indeed. And probably will. Some of it we will praise him for, and some we will be glad enough not to know about.”
Charlotte said nothing. He looked across at her and could not read what she was thinking.
First thing in the morning, Pitt went to see Vespasia. It was far too early to call, but he disregarded courtesy and told the maid that it was urgent. Vespasia’s maid had become used to him, his polished boots and crooked ties, and above all, the fact that Vespasia was always willing to receive him.
He found her in the yellow breakfast room, sitting at the cherry-wood table with tea, toast, and marmalade. The maid set another place for Pitt and went to fetch fresh tea and more toast.
“Good morning, Thomas,” Vespasia said gravely. “Please sit down. You give me a crick in my neck staring up at you.”
He smiled bleakly and accepted the invitation. He loved this room. It always seemed as if the sun were shining inside it.
“Serafina Montserrat knew who betrayed Lazar Dragovic,” he said without preamble.
Vespasia inclined her head very slightly. “I thought she might. She was seldom fooled, and she loved him enough to not rest easily until she knew. Her fear makes perfect sense now; if she had not told Adriana already, then it was because she did not wish her to know. She was probably worried that she would ultimately let it slip.”
“You are right,” he agreed.
The maid returned with fresh tea, a second cup, and more toast. She left without speaking and closed the door behind her.
“Which must mean it was Evan Blantyre,” Vespasia concluded. “If it was anyone else, Serafina would not have gone to such lengths to bury the truth.”
“Did she care about him?” he asked.
Vespasia raised her eyebrows in exasperation. “Don’t be absurd, Thomas! She must have found out after Adriana was committed to marrying him. That would have made it impossible for her to do anything! She would have stifled her own feelings and kept silent for Adriana’s sake.”
“In the end it served neither of them,” Pitt said unhappily. “Poor Serafina. She paid a very high price for nothing.”
“Not for nothing,” she corrected him simply. “Adriana had many happy years. She grew to be a strong, beautiful woman, and I think she always knew that Serafina loved her like a mother.”
“And Blantyre?” he asked bitterly.
“Perhaps, in his own way, he also loved her. But not as he cared for his ideals and his beliefs in Austria.”
“I’ll prove it, one way or another,” he said grimly, as if he were making an oath.
“I daresay you will.” She poured a cup of tea for him and passed it over.
“Thank you.” He took it and then a piece of toast, buttering it absentmindedly.
“That is hardly your most urgent concern,” she observed. He looked up at her.
“My dear, if Evan Blantyre spent long enough at Dorchester Terrace to realize that Serafina knew he was the one who betrayed Lazar Dragovic, then he must have listened to a great deal that she said. What else was there, do you suppose? Most of it may be irrelevant now, but what about that which is not? Who does it concern?”
“I don’t know,” he admitted. “That same thought occurred to me. I could find out all the places where Blantyre has served, but it wouldn’t tell me much, except the extent of the possibilities, and I can already guess
