and quite extraordinary woman, Miss Freemarsh.” Now he did not even attempt to keep the sarcasm out of his voice.
What little color was in her face was draining away, leaving her almost gray.
“I don’t … I don’t know what you mean,” she stammered.
“Yes, you do, Miss Freemarsh. You know a great deal about Mrs. Blantyre and her past, which you did not learn from her, because she did not know it herself. Her whole motive for killing Mrs. Montserrat would’ve been that she had just discovered this apparent betrayal. And Mrs. Montserrat was quite unaware that she had revealed it, or she would have taken precautions to protect herself, would’ve at least told Miss Tucker. Mrs. Blantyre also could not have told anyone, because that would’ve immediately made her suspect in Mrs. Montserrat’s death. So again, how did you know all of this?”
“I …” She gulped again, as if starving for air. “I told you. I … learned it from Aunt Serafina’s rambling, the same way Mrs. Blantyre learned. Why is it difficult for you to understand that?”
“Because you would have me believe that she acted on it, and yet you did not mention any of this to me, even after we discovered that Mrs. Montserrat was murdered.”
Nerissa was rigid now, her muscles locked so tight her shoulders strained against the fabric of her dress. She started to speak, and then stopped, staring at him defiantly.
“So. If I am to understand it, you assume that Mrs. Blantyre learned the truth from your aunt’s disjointed ramblings, and was certain enough of what she pieced together to kill Mrs. Montserrat, without making any attempt to check the truth of it with anyone?” he asked patiently.
Nerissa’s eyebrows rose. “Check the truth of it? With whom?” she demanded. “Where would she find anyone who could do that? Are you saying she should have taken a trip to Croatia and started searching for survivors of the rebels and insurgents of thirty years ago? That’s absurd!” She gave a little snarl of laughter. “And even if she succeeded, Aunt Serafina could have been dead by the time she returned,” she added.
“Exactly,” he agreed. “No satisfaction in killing someone who is dying anyway. In fact, there’s really very little purpose in that, don’t you think?”
Her eyes were like pinpoints. “Then why are we having this ridiculous conversation?”
“Croatia was your suggestion, Miss Freemarsh. I was not thinking of her going there, or anywhere else. I was thinking of her simply going home.”
Now she was sarcastic. “I beg your pardon?”
“I was supposing she would have asked her husband,” he explained. “After all, he was involved with the insurgents at that time. He was one of them. Or pretending to be. I think, actually, he was always loyal to Austrian unity and dominance in all the regions of its empire.”
She said nothing.
“If it had been me, I would simply have gone home and asked him. Isn’t that what you would’ve done?” he pressed.
She stared at him in angry silence, as if his question did not merit an answer.
“Unless, of course, Serafina did let something slip.” He went on relentlessly now. “But it was not that
“What are you saying?” Nerissa’s voice was hoarse.
“That the betrayer was not Serafina. It was Evan Blantyre himself. That is what Adriana discovered.”
She was struggling now, to find a way to deny the truth. “That makes no sense!” she said sharply. “How dare you say such a thing? If Aunt Serafina knew that, or even believed it, why didn’t she say so long ago? Why did she ever let Adriana Dragovic marry him?”
“I wondered that myself,” Pitt admitted. “Then I realized that Adriana was beautiful, but poor, the orphan daughter of a man who had been executed by the Austrians. She was in ill health. She might very likely not bear children. What were her opportunities? She had met Evan Blantyre; he was in love with her and could offer her a very good life. Serafina probably had no proof against him. He had acted according to his own loyalties to Austria, because he believed passionately that the empire acted for the good of Europe-a conviction he still holds. Serafina loved Adriana enough to let her be safe, and happy. Accidentally revealing the truth and giving her a burden she could not live with was the thing she was most afraid of, when she knew that her control was slipping away and that she might forget where she was, or to whom she was speaking.”
Nerissa breathed out slowly. “Then it seems she was right to fear it, since that was exactly what happened.”
“Really?” he said with a disbelief she could not miss. “And when it did, Adriana killed her, then waited several days before going home and killing herself? Why, for God’s sake?”
Nerissa started to shake her head.
Pitt leaned forward a little, his voice urgent now. “It was her husband who betrayed her father, not Serafina. So surely if Adriana was going to kill anyone, it would have been him? Except she didn’t know, Miss Freemarsh. Serafina kept her secrets and died with them, before she could tell anyone else-except perhaps
“No!” she cried out. “No! That’s horrible!” She made a swift movement with her hand, as if to sweep the suggestion away.
“Yes, it is,” he agreed. “But we are speaking of a man who believes in the value of the Austrian Empire above all else. He betrayed his friend Lazar Dragovic, to his torture and death. He married Dragovic’s daughter, perhaps from guilt, perhaps because she was beautiful and vulnerable. Maybe he felt safer, knowing where she was. And it would give him standing in the community of those who still seek to throw off the Austrian yoke. Heaven knows, the whole Balkan Peninsula is teeming with them.”
“That’s …” she began, but could not finish the sentence.
“Logical,” he said. “Yes, it is. And you are just one more of his victims, both emotionally and morally.”
She stiffened but the tears were sliding down her face. “I have done nothing …” She stopped again.
“I am prepared to accept that you did not know beforehand that Blantyre would kill Serafina, and perhaps not immediately after,” he said more gently. “You may have willfully refused to think about Adriana’s death, or to work out for yourself what the truth had to be. At the moment I can see no purpose in charging you as an accessory. But if you do not cooperate now, that will change.”
“Co … cooperate? How?” She started to deny her complicity, even her knowledge, but the words died on her tongue. She had known-or at least guessed-but refused to allow the thoughts to complete themselves in her mind. She knew that Pitt could see as much in her eyes.
“Tell me who was in the house the day Serafina Montserrat was killed, and the day before as well.”
“The … day before?” Her hands twisted around each other in her lap.
“Yes. And please don’t make any mistakes or omissions. If you do, and we discover them afterward, it will point very powerfully to guilt on your part-and probably to whoever you are attempting to protect.”
She was trembling now.
“You have no choice, Miss Freemarsh, if you wish to save yourself. And I will, naturally, be speaking to at least some of the staff again.”
It was several seconds before she spoke.
He waited for her in silence.
“Mr. Blantyre was here the day Aunt Serafina died,” she said at last. “He came often. I don’t remember all the days. Two or three times a week. He spent some time with me … and some with her.”
“And he was definitely here the day she died?” he persisted.
“Yes.”
“Did he see her alone, before Mrs. Blantyre was here?”
“Yes.” Her voice was barely audible.
“What reason did he give?” he pressed her.
“What you said. For the … sake of appearance.”
“Anyone else?” He was not even certain why he asked, except that he sensed a reluctance in her. “I would
