Resurrection Row by Anne Perry Read Free Book Online

trying to gauge what she was thinking, how much it mattered to her. He had seen the color in her face at the mention of Dominic’s name, and it brought a coldness to him, an uncertainty he had not known for years, not since his father had lost his job and the family had left the great estate where he had been born and grown up.
    “I don’t imagine he did,” he answered. “But I have to consider the possibility that Lord Augustus did not die as naturally as was supposed at the time.”
    The blood drained out of her face. “You mean murder?” Her tongue was dry. “You think Dominic might have murdered him? Oh, no—I don’t believe it! I know him—he is not—” She could not think of a way to say it without cruelty, and less than justice.
    “Not what?” he asked, the edge back in his voice. “Not capable of murder?”
    “No,” she said simply. “I don’t think so; not unless he was very frightened, or perhaps in a fit of temper, by accident. But if he did, he would give himself away afterwards. He would never be able to live with it.”
    “He has such a delicate conscience?” Pitt said sarcastically.
    She was hurt by the hardness in him. She had no idea why it should be. Had he remembered her youthful foolishness and been angered by it, found her silliness annoying, even after all this time? Surely he could not be so unforgiving of what had after all been no more than a girl’s romanticism. She had tortured no one but herself with it. She remembered all that had happened at Cater Street very clearly. Even Sarah had been unaware of her feelings, and Dominic certainly had.
    “We all have sides of ourselves we prefer not to acknowledge,” she said quietly. “Sides we reason away with all sorts of arguments why it is wrong for others, but in our case quite justified. Dominic is as good at it as most, perhaps in some things better, but his were only the faults he was brought up to. He learned his values from other people, just as we all do. He could excuse himself easily enough for an affaire with a maid, because that is something most gentlemen accept; but nobody accepts murdering someone in order to marry his widow. There is no way Dominic could excuse that to himself, or to anyone else. After he had done it, he would be terrified. That is what I meant.”
    “Oh.” He sat quite still.
    For several minutes there was no noise but the crackle of the fire.
    “How was Aunt Vespasia?” she asked at length.
    “The same as always,” he replied politely. Then he wanted to say more, to establish contact again without exactly apologizing, because that would be to admit to the thoughts he had had. “She asked that you should call upon her sometime. She said that when I saw her at the interment, and I forgot to mention it.”
    “Will they inter him again?” she asked. “It seems a bit—ridiculous!”
    “I suppose so. But I shan’t let them do it immediately. The body is in police custody now. I want a postmortem.”
    “A postmortem! You mean cut him up?”
    “If you must put it that way.” Slowly he smiled, and she smiled back. Suddenly the warmth flooded into him again, and he sat grinning idiotically, like a boy.
    “The family won’t be pleased,” she pointed out.
    “They’ll be furious,” he agreed. “But I mean to—I have no choice now!”

3
    I T WAS INEVITABLE the next day that Pitt should call on Alicia. No matter how distasteful it was, he must question her, obliquely, about Lord Augustus, about her relationship with him and with Dominic Corde. Then, of course, he would have to meet Dominic again.
    They had not met since Pitt’s wedding to Charlotte nearly four years ago. Then Dominic had been newly a widower, still numb from his fear in the Cater Street murders; and Pitt had been too amazed at his own success in winning Charlotte to be more than dimly aware of anyone else.
    Now it would be different. Dominic would be over the shock and would have found a new life for himself away from