Farriers' Lane tp-13

by Perry, Anne

  “In your opinion, Mrs. Livesey, what is Mrs. Stafford’s feeling for Mr. Pryce?” he said gravely. “Please be honest with me. I shall not quote you to anyone; the information is simply so I may learn the truth. In the interest of justice, I have to know.”

  She bit her lip, considering for a moment before launching into her answer, her voice quick and hard. “She was infatuated with him. She did her best to be discreet, but to one who knows her as well as I do, it was quite apparent.”

  “In what ways?”

  “Oh, the edge in her manner, her dress, the things in which she developed an interest.” She laughed abruptly as if now she had begun she could not stem the tide of her feelings. “The things in which she lost all interest. The gossip she no longer cared to hear, the trivia which a year ago would have fascinated her, now she ignored. She began to behave as if she were far younger than in truth she was.” The pinkness deepened in her cheeks. “When a woman is in love, Mr. Pitt, other women know it. The signs are not especially subtle, and they are also quite unmistakable.”

  Pitt felt uncomfortable without being certain why.

  “And did Mr. Pryce, in your judgment, return this feeling?” He made a mental note to ask Charlotte if she thought she would notice such things about another woman.

  “I cannot say quite why I believe so, but I do, quite definitely.” The edge returned to her voice. “His courtesy towards her had a sharply personal quality. There was a look in his eyes which was unmistakable. All woman desire to see that look in a man’s face some time in their lives.” She smiled very slightly as she said it. “It is better than all the diamonds or the perfumes in the world, and headier than champagne to the mind. Yes, Mr. Pitt, Mr. Pryce came to return her feelings.”

  “Came to?” He searched her face and saw the emotion and the anger in it before she masked it. “Do I understand you to mean that her feeling preceded his?”

  She did not evade his eyes. “If you mean did she pursue him, Mr. Pitt, yes, I regret to say it, but she did. One weekend in particular, we were all houseguests in the country. I could not fail to be aware of it.”

  “I see.” He shifted his position on the large chair. “Mrs. Livesey, can you tell me what a man and a woman in such a position might be able to do about it, what their options would be? And the penalties for being indiscreet?”

  “Of course. Their options, if they were to remain in society, are very slight,” she said decisively. “Either they behave with entire moral correctness, and do not see each other except where it is unavoidable, and then only when there are suitable other persons present …” Her shoulders stiffened. “People are quick to malice, you know? You cannot defy all social conventions and remain unscathed.” She was still watching Pitt, judging his understanding. “Or else they give in to their passions, but do it at the houses of mutual friends, on weekend house parties, and similar occasions, but with sufficient discretion that no one is forced to be aware of it.”

  “That is all?”

  “All?” She frowned. “What else could there be?”

  “What about marriage?”

  “Juniper Stafford is already married, Mr. Pitt.”

  “Divorce?” he suggested.

  “Unthinkable. Oh—” Her face looked suddenly bleak. “Are you imagining that either Juniper or Mr. Pryce may deliberately have poisoned Judge Stafford?”

  “Do you not find it possible?”

  She thought for several moments before replying very quietly. Now the preoccupation with society and all the small protocols and jealousies was gone.

  “Yes—yes, it is possible. I …”

  Pitt waited.

  “I hate to say such a thing,” she finished lamely. She looked acutely uncomfortable. “Juniper is not … wise, in her emotions.”

  “Do you believe Mr. Stafford was aware of the relationship?” Pitt asked.

  Mrs. Livesey pushed out her lips. “Oh—oh, I doubt it. It is not the sort of thing men notice, unless they are predisposed towards jealousy. And he was decidedly not of such a nature. One can tell.” Again she looked at him to see if he understood. “He did not watch her, or seem aware of whom she was with. There are differences in behavior that are not apparent to a man, unless he too is in love. Had they been newly married—perhaps …” She tailed off unhappily.

  “Do you suppose other women of her acquaintance were more observant?”

  “Undoubtedly,” she replied with a rueful smile. “Adolphus Pryce is a most attractive man, and unmarried. He is the center of much attention. His smallest act will be remarked and analyzed. A considerable number of feminine eyes are upon him.”

  “Then Mrs. Stafford will not be popular,” Pitt observed with a mixture of humor and pity.

  “Hardly,” she agreed vehemently, then was instantly self-conscious and rushed into explanation. “There are not sufficient eligible gentlemen to go around. For one woman to have two is a breach of all fairness.”

  Pitt looked at her broad figure and aging face and wondered what thoughts for Adolphus Pryce, or his like, had passed through her mind. How much did she resent the passions that Juniper had indulged in herself—and inspired in him?

  “You did not say anything to Mr. Stafford which might have led him to realize his wife’s regard for Mr. Pryce?” he asked aloud. “Even inadvertently, and in sympathy for his situation, perhaps?”

  The anger lit her eyes, then was dimmed again as he explained himself.

  “I did not,” she said decisively. “I find it is best to refrain from any interference in other people’s affairs. It never helps.”

  “No, I imagine not,” he agreed.

  He had probably learned all he could from her. The affaire had lasted between a year and two years, and was discreet, but not unknown, certainly to other women. There was every possibility some busy tongue had told Judge Stafford, but if so he was not likely to have reacted violently or with great distress. Every new piece of information brought him back either to Juniper or Adolphus Pryce, or conceivably to both of them.

  “Thank you, Mrs. Livesey,” he said politely, forcing himself to smile. “You have been of great assistance to me. I hope you will keep the matter as discreet as you have so far. It would be an evil thing to malign Mrs. Stafford’s reputation, or Mr. Pryce’s, if it turns out they are quite innocent of any part in the judge’s death. There are plenty of other possibilities; this is merely one it is unfortunately my duty to explore.”

  “Of course,” she said hastily. “I quite understand, I assure you. I shall treat it with the utmost confidence.”

  He hoped she did, and was as wise as her husband believed, but as he rose and took his leave, Pitt was not entirely sure. There was an unhappiness in her which hungered for something beyond her reach. And he knew she had no love for Juniper Stafford. How much of her assessment of Samuel Stafford was actually her knowledge of her own husband?

  The next person he sought was Judge Granville Oswyn, one of the other five appeal judges who had sat on the case of Aaron Godman. His opinion of that matter might help to clarify it further, and as a colleague of Samuel Stafford, he might have been aware of his personal relationships. Pitt needed to know if Stafford was aware of his wife’s infatuation, and if he cared perhaps more than Livesey or Mrs. Livesey believed. Perhaps it was a futile search, but he must make it.

  But when he arrived in Curzon Street at Judge Oswyn’s house he was informed by the parlormaid who answered the door that the judge was traveling on business, and was not expected home until the following week, and Mrs. Oswyn was calling upon acquaintances. However, she was due to dine out this evening, so no doubt would be home before long, and if Mr. Pitt cared to wait, he might do so in the morning room.

  Pitt did care to wait. He had nothing else to pursue of greater importance, and spent an agreeable forty-five minutes with a pot of tea in the comfortable morning room, until he was summoned again and conducted to the soft sepia-and-gold withdrawing room where Mrs. Oswyn eyed him with mild intere
st. She was a faded woman with fair brown hair, a plump figure, a face which had probably been pretty in her youth and was now lit by an amiability of character which had mellowed it until it held a gentleness which was remarkable.

  “My maid tells me you are engaged in enquiring into the death of Mr. Justice Stafford?” she said with arched eyebrows raised. “I cannot think of any way in which I might assist you, but I am perfectly ready to try. Please be seated, Mr. Pitt. What is it you think I might tell you? I knew him, of course. My husband sat on the court of appeal with him on many occasions, so we were socially acquainted with both Mr. Stafford and his wife, poor creature.”

  He looked at her expression and thought he saw in it a pity which was more profound than the mere words which anyone might have said of a woman who was so recently widowed.

  “You feel for her deeply?” he asked, meeting her eyes.

  She waited some moments before replying, perhaps judging how much he already knew. She made up her mind.

  “I do. Guilt is a most painful feeling, especially so when it is too late to make amends.”

  He was startled, not only at the thought, but at her extraordinary frankness.

  “You think she was in some way responsible for his death?” He tried to retain his composure.

  She looked amazed and a little abashed. “Good gracious, no! Most certainly not! I do beg your pardon if I allowed that impression. She was obsessed with Adolphus, and he was with her, but she was not in the slightest way responsible for Samuel’s death. Whatever makes you think such a fearful thing?”

  “Someone is responsible, Mrs. Oswyn.”

  “Of course,” she agreed, folding her hands in her lap. “One cannot pretend murder does not happen, much as one would like to. But it would not be poor Juniper who did such a frightful thing. No, no, not at all! She is guilty of having been unfaithful to him, of feeling an unlawful passion, a lust, if you will, and of indulging it instead of mastering it. That is guilt enough.”

  “Was Mr. Stafford aware of her indulgence?”

  “Oh, I think he knew perfectly well there was something.” She regarded him steadily. “After all, one cannot be completely blind, even though there are times when one would prefer to, for one’s own comfort. But he chose not to look at it too closely. It would have done no good.” She regarded Pitt steadily out of round, soft eyes. “He would not see what was better unseen; and when it was all over, it would have been so much easier to forgive and forget if he had never known the details. Very wise man, Samuel.” She shook her head a little. “Now Juniper, poor woman, will never find that forgiveness, and when this dies—as I daresay it will, these passions usually do—then she will be left with nothing but the guilt. It is all very sad. I told her so—but when one is in love with such obsessive emotion, such a hunger, one does not listen.”

  Pitt was taken by surprise. There was a naïveté in her face, almost an innocence, and yet she spoke of violence and adultery as a child might speak of things whose names it had heard, but whose meaning it did not grasp. Her perception of character in spite of her innocence startled him, as did her ability to pity.

  “Yes,” he said slowly. “Yes, she will feel a grief which will be difficult to recover from, because there will be so much guilt in it. Unless—”

  “No,” she interrupted firmly. “I do not believe she killed him. Nor do I believe it was Mr. Pryce. He is a foolish man, infatuated, and he has lost his honor over a woman, which means he is weak. But he would not stoop so low as to murder his friend—even for that.” She looked at Pitt gravely. “I will not believe it for a moment. He is foolish, as are many men, but she is considerably to blame. A woman may nearly always rebuff quite graciously and still make her disinterest plain. But she did the very opposite. They will both pay for it, mark my words.”

  Pitt did not contradict her. From what he had observed, he was inclined to think she might well be correct.

  “Do you not think they will marry, Mrs. Oswyn, now that they are free to?”

  “Possibly, Mr. Pitt, but they will not be happy. Poor Samuel’s death has spoiled that for them, if it were ever possible. But you will have to look elsewhere for whoever killed him.”

  “Perhaps.”

  “Oh, you will,” she said with absolute certainty. “I suppose you are already looking into that wretched affair in Farriers’ Lane? Yes, naturally you are. I would not be surprised if it had something to do with that. Samuel could not let the matter rest, you know? He came here to speak to Granville more than once. Granville tried to persuade him to let the matter drop, that there was nothing else to learn, and certainly nothing good to accomplish. But Samuel would not be persuaded.”

  Pitt sat upright. “You mean Judge Stafford intended to reopen the case? Are you sure?”

  “Well now.” She unfolded her hands. “I didn’t say I was sure, you understand? I simply knew that he discussed it with Granville, my husband, several times, and they argued over the matter. Samuel wished to pursue it, and Granville did not. I do not know if Granville managed in the end to persuade him of the futility of it, or if he still wished to continue.”

  “Judge Oswyn did not believe there was anything further to be learned? No miscarriage of justice?” Pitt pressed.

  “Oh no, not at all,” she denied with conviction. “Although he was not happy about the case. He always felt there was a certain haste, and a great deal of emotion which was extremely distasteful. But that did not alter the correctness of the verdict, and that was what he told Samuel.”

  “You don’t know what reason Judge Stafford had for pursuing the case?” Pitt leaned forward, looking at her intently. “You don’t know if he had discovered anything new, any evidence?”

  “Dear me, no. My husband never discussed anything of that nature with me. It is not at all suitable, you know? Not at all.” She shook her head, dismissing the idea out of hand. “No. I am afraid I have no idea what they said, only that it was to do with the case, and that it was most heated in tone.”

  Pitt was thrown back in confusion. He had dismissed the Farriers’ Lane murder from his calculations, and now it seemed he was premature. Or was it simply that this woman was not in touch with reality, refusing to believe that people she knew and who were friends could be guilty of more than the regrettably common sins of adultery and deceit? He looked at her more closely, and met her gentle eyes, so knowing of her own immediate world and so sublimely ignorant of anything beyond it.

  “Thank you very much, Mrs. Oswyn,” he said with great courtesy. “You have been most helpful, and most generous with your time.”

  “Not at all, Mr. Pitt,” she replied, smiling at him sweetly. “I hope you are successful in your quest. It must be very difficult.”

  “Sometimes.” He rose to his feet, excused himself and bade her good-bye.

  Pitt went to Micah Drummond’s office to discuss the matter with him, but Drummond was out and not expected back until the next morning, so it was not until then that Pitt was able to see him. It was a chilly day with a heavy dampness in the air that drove through the wool jacket which had been sufficient the evening before, and he was glad to be in Drummond’s warm office with the fire burning.

  Drummond stood in front of it warming the backs of his legs. He had obviously not been in long himself. His thin face was grave and he looked at Pitt expectantly but with no lift of interest.

  “Morning, Pitt,” he said solemnly. “Any news?”

  Pitt changed his mind, not about what he would say but rather how he would say it.

  “No sir. I am pursuing Mrs. Stafford and Mr. Pryce to learn all I can about their relationship, but I still haven’t found anything that would seem to be adequate motive to have killed Stafford.”

  “Love,” Drummond said sharply. “You don’t need to look any farther than that. Or if you wish to be more accurate, amorous obsession. For God’s sake, Pitt, more crimes have been committed from lust than anything else except possibly money. What on earth is your problem
with seeing that?”

  “Society is full of similar affairs and obsessive lusts,” Pitt replied, determined not to give ground. “Very few of them end in murder, and those that do are usually where someone has been deceived and found it out suddenly, and then killed the offenders in the heat of the emotion.”

  “Why do you keep on arguing the point?” Drummond screwed up his face, staring at Pitt. “Of course that is the cause of many of them. But it is also not unknown for two lovers to kill the husband or wife who stands in the way of their union. Why do you not believe that that is what happened here?” He moved around from the fire as he became too hot. He sat in one of the armchairs and waved at Pitt to sit in the other.

  “It may have,” Pitt said grudgingly. “But it seems so … hysterical. Stafford wasn’t standing in their way. He was apparently close to complacent about the affair.”

  “He knew about it?” Drummond said sharply. “Are you sure?”

  Pitt drew in his breath. He wanted to say “of course,” but if he overstated his case he would only have to withdraw later, and then Drummond would wonder what else he had exaggerated. “Livesey’s wife said he was uninterested, and Judge Oswyn’s wife said she was sure Stafford knew, in essence, but he preferred not to know the details. As long as Juniper Stafford was discreet, and caused no public embarrassment, he was prepared to tolerate it. He was most certainly not passionately jealous. She was emphatic about that.” He was about to add that Stafford had been close to sixty, then he realized that Drummond was probably over fifty himself, and the remark would be tactless.

  “Yes?” Drummond asked, sensing that Pitt had withheld something.