Resurrection Row by Anne Perry Read Free Book Online Page A

the Ellisons and memories of Sarah. He was bound to marry again; he could not be more than thirty-two or -three, and eminently eligible. Even if he did not have it in mind himself, Pitt knew enough of society to know that some ambitious mother would grasp him for her unmarried daughter. It would merely be a competition as to who would succeed first.
    He did not dislike Dominic for himself, only for his relationship with Charlotte and the dreams she had woven about him, and he felt guilty that he had to be the one to drag him again into the shadow of murder.
    If indeed he could not clear up the affair before murder need be put into words?
    It was a gray, sullen morning with a sky threatening snow when Pitt pulled the bell of number twelve Gadstone Park and the funereal butler let him in with a sigh of resignation.
    “Lady Fitzroy-Hammond is at breakfast,” he said wearily. “If you care to wait in the morning room, I will inform her that you are here.”
    “Thank you.” Pitt followed him obediently, passing a small, elderly maid in a neat, white-lace-edged uniform. Her thin face sharpened as she saw him, and her eyes glittered. She turned around and retraced her steps upstairs, whisking across the landing and disappearing as he went into the silent, ice-chill morning room.
    Alicia came in about five minutes later, looking pale and a little hurried, as if she had left the breakfast table without finishing her meal.
    “Good morning, ma’am.” He remained standing. The room was too cold to conduct any discussion, especially the relaxed, rather rambling exploration he needed now.
    She shivered. “What more can there possibly be to speak of? The vicar has assured me he will take care of all the—arrangements.” She hesitated. “I—I am not sure how it should be done—after all—there has already been a funeral—and—” She frowned and shook her head a little. “I don’t know anything more to tell you.”
    “Perhaps we could talk somewhere more convenient?” he suggested. He did not wish to say, precisely, somewhere warmer.
    She was confused. “Discuss what? I don’t know anything else.”
    He spoke as gently as he could. “Desecration of a grave is a crime, ma’am. To disinter the same body twice seems unlikely to be merely an insane coincidence.”
    The blood drained out of her face. She stared at him, speechless.
    “Could we go to some room where we may speak comfortably?” This time he made it rather more of guidance, as one would instruct a child.
    Still without answering, she turned and led him to a smaller, very feminine withdrawing room at the side of the house. A fire was already burning strongly, and there was a radiance of warmth from it. As soon as they were inside she swung round. Her composure was regained.
    “What is it you are supposing, Inspector? More than a madman? Something intentional?”
    “I’m afraid so,” he replied soberly. “Madness is not usually so—directed.”
    “Directed at what?” She closed the door and walked over to sit down on the settee. He sat opposite her, feeling the warmth ease out the muscles knotted with cold.
    “That is what I must find out,” he replied, “if I am to make sure it does not happen again. You said before that you knew of no enemy who would have wished your husband such harm or could conceivably have behaved in such a manner—”
    “I don’t!”
    “Then I am left to consider what other motives there could be,” he said reasonably. She was more intelligent than he had expected, calmer. He began to understand how Dominic might be very genuinely attracted to her; neither money nor position need be involved. He thought of what Vespasia had said about laughter and the dreams of youth, and he was angry at the restrictions, the insensitivities of a social convention that could have married her to a man like Augustus Fitzroy-Hammond and bred into her compliance with such a thing. “Or who else might be the intended victim,” he