Dorchester Terrace tp-27

by Anne Perry

  What had she imagined she could learn? Whatever Serafina had been afraid of must be discovered in some other way. She turned and went back outside to thank Nerissa, and to offer her condolences once again. Then with increasing urgency, she gathered her cape and went outside. She was determined to visit Thomas Pitt.

  She was kept waiting at his office at Lisson Grove no more than twenty minutes. The young man named Stoker knew who she was and insisted that Pitt would wish to see her right away.

  “Aunt Vespasia?” Pitt said with some alarm, when Stoker led her into the office. He rose from his chair and came over to her as she closed the door behind her. She did little more than glance at the pictures on the wall and the books, but she noticed the difference from when Victor Narraway had occupied the room.

  “Good afternoon, Thomas. Thank you for seeing me immediately. I have just called at the home of Serafina Montserrat, and found that she died unexpectedly, some time last night.”

  “I’m sorry,” he said gently. “I know that you knew her.”

  “Thank you. She was a remarkable woman. But it is not the loss of a friend that concerns me. We were not especially close. Last time I visited her, a few days ago, she was profoundly afraid-indeed, I would say terrified-that her mind was affected to the point where she was lost in memory, and might have forgotten where and when she was, and to whom she was speaking. That in itself is not a unique circumstance in old age.” She gave a small, sad smile. “But in her case it was dangerous, or so she believed. She knew many secrets from her time as something of a revolutionary in the Austrian Empire many years ago. She was afraid there were people to whom she was still a danger.”

  She saw the sudden, sharp attention in his face.

  “I thought that at best she was romanticizing,” she continued. “But I took the precaution of asking Victor Narraway if perhaps it might be the truth. He inquired into it. At first it seemed that she was deluding herself, but he did not give up easily, and it transpired that she might have been understating her importance, if anything.”

  “How far in the past?” he interrupted.

  “A generation ago, at least. But she felt that some of her knowledge concerned people still alive, or those whom they might have loved and wished to protect. I can give you no names because I don’t know any. But she was very, very frightened, Thomas.”

  He looked puzzled. “Of betraying someone accidentally, even now? Who? Did she tell you?”

  “No. To me, she was very discreet. I suppose part of what made me think she was romanticizing was the fact that she gave no names. But Victor said that she was even more involved in events at the time than she claimed. And Thomas, I am not absolutely certain that she was mistaken in her fear. One moment she was as lucid as you or I, when we were alone, then when someone else came in she seemed to lurch into near insanity, as if she had no idea where she was.”

  She took a deep, rather shaky breath, and let it out with a sigh. “I’m afraid that someone may have frightened her to the point where she took her own life, rather than continue with the risk of betraying a friend, an ally in the cause.” Pity overwhelmed her, and a sense of guilt because she had done nothing to prevent this. She had known about it, and Serafina had begged for her help. Now she was safe in Pitt’s office talking about it, too late, and Serafina was dead. “I feel like I should’ve done something more to help her.”

  “What could you have done?” Pitt’s voice, gentle and urgent, intruded on her thoughts.

  She looked at him. “I don’t know. Which is not a good enough excuse, is it?”

  “Unless you were willing and able to move in and sleep in the room beside her, or perhaps be certain that she saw no visitors without your being present, there is nothing you could’ve done.”

  “I tried to have Nerissa Freemarsh do that. I even asked her to engage a nurse,” Vespasia said bleakly. “I did not try hard enough.”

  Thomas waited a beat. “What else is bothering you?” he prompted.

  She stared at him, for long, level seconds. “As I said, there is the possibility that she was not afraid unnecessarily. And if there was someone she could still have betrayed, knowingly or not …” She saw the tension increase in Pitt, from the rigidity of his body. He knew what she was going to say. “They could have killed her,” she finished in a whisper.

  Pitt nodded slowly. “Her address?”

  “Fifteen Dorchester Terrace,” she replied. “Just off Blandford Square. It is only a few streets away. You may need to hurry, in case things are moved … or hidden …”

  Pitt rose to his feet. “I know.”

  Pitt took Stoker with him, explaining as they went. It was, as Vespasia had said, no more than a quarter of a mile away, and they walked at a rapid pace. He barely had sufficient time to acquaint Stoker with a little of Serafina’s history, and the reasons her fears were realistic enough that Special Branch must make certain they had not come to pass. Stoker did not question his reasoning; the mention of Austria was sufficient.

  The door was opened by a parlormaid who was grim-faced and clearly in mourning. She was drawing in breath to deny them entrance when Nerissa came across the hall behind her.

  “Good afternoon, Miss Freemarsh,” Pitt said to Nerissa. “I am Thomas Pitt, Commander of Special Branch. This is Sergeant Stoker. We are here regarding the very recent death of Mrs. Montserrat. May we come in, please?” He said it in a manner that did not allow her to refuse, and he took the first step across the threshold before she replied.

  Beneath the red blotches from weeping, her face was ashen white.

  “Why? What … what has happened?” She was shaking so badly that Pitt was worried she might faint.

  “Please let us come in, Miss Freemarsh, where you can sit down. Perhaps your maid might bring us tea, or some other restorative. It is possible that this is unnecessary, but your aunt was a woman of great importance to her country, and there are aspects of her death that we need to assure ourselves are in order.”

  “What do you mean?” Nerissa gulped. “She was old and ill. Her mind was wandering, and she imagined things.” She put her hands to her mouth. “This is Lady Vespasia’s doing, isn’t it!” she said accusingly. “She’s … meddling …”

  “Miss Freemarsh, is there something about your aunt’s death that you wish to conceal from us?”

  “No! Of course not! I want only decency and respect for her, not-not policemen tramping through the house and … and making a spectacle out of our family tragedy.”

  “It is not a tragedy that the old should die, Miss Freemarsh,” he said more gently, “unless there is something about their death that is not as it should be. And I am not a policeman, I am the head of Special Branch. Unless you tell them so, no one needs to think me anything other than a government official come to pay my respects to a much-admired and — valued woman.”

  Stoker stepped in behind Pitt and closed the front door.

  Nerissa backed a little farther into the center of the beautiful hallway with its sweeping staircase and newel lamp.

  “There is nothing for you to do!” she protested. “Aunt Serafina died in her sleep some time last night. The doctor says it was probably early, because … because when I touched her this morning, she was cold.” She shivered. “Why are you doing this? It’s brutal!”

  Stoker fidgeted behind Pitt, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. Pitt did not know if his impatience was with Pitt or Nerissa Freemarsh, and he could not afford to care.

  “If I was in your place, Miss Freemarsh, I believe I would prefer to have my mind set at ease,” he said quietly. “But whether that is what you wish or not, I am afraid I must be certain; I would like to see Mrs. Montserrat, and then have the name and address of her doctor so I can see him, and perhaps the name of her lawyer as well. Special Branch will take care of the funeral arrangements, according to whatever her wishes were.”

  Nerissa was aghast. “Can you do that?”

  “I can do whatever is nec
essary to safeguard the peace and welfare of the nation,” Pitt replied. “But it can all be dignified and discreet, if you do not oppose it.”

  Nerissa waved her hand reluctantly toward the stairs. “The doctor is upstairs with her now.”

  Pitt swiveled around and went up the stairs two at a time. He threw open the door of the first bedroom facing the front of the house, and saw a young, fair-haired man in black bending forward over the bed. There was a gladstone bag on the floor beside him. He straightened up and turned as Pitt came through the door.

  “Who the devil are you, sir, barging into a lady’s bedroom like this?” he demanded. His face was fair, but his features were stronger than might have been suggested by the slenderness of his build.

  Pitt closed the door behind him. “Thomas Pitt, head of Special Branch. You, I presume, are Mrs. Montserrat’s physician?”

  “I am. Geoffrey Thurgood. The reason for my presence here is obvious. What is the reason for yours?”

  “I think our reasons are the same,” Pitt replied, coming further into the room. The ashes were cold in the grate but the colors in the room still gave it a suggestion of warmth. “To be certain as to the cause of Mrs. Montserrat’s death, although I may need to know more about the exact circumstances surrounding it than you do.”

  “She was of advanced years, and her health was rapidly deteriorating,” Thurgood said with barely concealed impatience. “Her mind was wandering more with each day. Even with the most optimistic assessment, her death could not have been very far away.”

  “Days?” Pitt asked.

  Thurgood hesitated. “No. I would have expected her to have lived another several months, actually.”

  “A year?”

  “Possibly.”

  “What was the cause of her death, exactly?”

  “Heart failure.”

  “Of course her heart failed,” Pitt retorted impatiently. “Everybody’s heart fails when they die. What caused it to fail?”

  “Probably her age. She was an invalid.” Thurgood too was losing what was left of his patience. “The woman was almost eighty!”

  “Being eighty is not a cause of death. I have a grandmother-in-law who is well over eighty. Regrettably, she is as strong as a horse.”

  Thurgood smiled in spite of himself. “Then your mother-in-law may well have another thirty years.”

  “There is nothing wrong with my mother-in-law, except her own mother-in-law.” Pitt pulled his face into an expression of pity and resignation, thinking of Charlotte’s grandmama. “Mrs. Montserrat was not a fantasist, Dr. Thurgood. She had done some remarkable things in her earlier years, and knew a great many secrets that might still be dangerous. It was not ghosts she was afraid of, but very real people.”

  Thurgood looked startled, stared at Pitt for a moment, then went pale. “You’re serious?”

  “Yes.”

  “May I see proof that you are who you claim to be?”

  “Of course.” Pitt fished in his untidy pockets and pulled out the proof of his identity and office, along with a ball of string, a knob of sealing wax, and a handkerchief. He gave the identification to Thurgood.

  Thurgood read it carefully and handed it back. “I see. What do you want of me?”

  “Complete professional discretion, then the exact cause, time, and any other details you can give me about Mrs. Montserrat’s death, and whether it is what you expected, or whether there are any aspects of it that surprise you or that are hard to explain.”

  “I can’t tell you that without a postmortem …”

  “Of course not,” Pitt agreed.

  “I doubt the family will agree.”

  “The family consists only of Miss Freemarsh,” Pitt pointed out. “But I’m afraid it is not within her rights to prevent it if there is the possibility of a crime.”

  “You’ll have to have the necessary legal-” Thurgood began.

  “No, I won’t,” Pitt interrupted him. “I’m Special Branch, not police. I will have no trouble ensuring that the law does not stand in our way. This may turn out to be unnecessary, but it is too important to ignore it.”

  Thurgood’s lips tightened. “I shall begin the arrangements immediately. I leave it to you to inform the family solicitor, who is bound to object; Miss Freemarsh is sure to see that he does.”

  Pitt nodded. He was beginning to like Thurgood. “Thank you.”

  As Thurgood had foretold, the lawyer, Mr. Morton, was less than obliging when Pitt went to see him at his office. He sputtered and protested, and talked about desecration of the body, but in the end he was forced to yield, albeit somewhat ungraciously.

  “This is monstrous! You overstep yourself, sir. I have always been of the opinion that the police force is a highly dubious blessing, and the body that calls itself Special Branch even more so.” His chin quivered, and his blue eyes sparked with outrage. “I demand the name of your superior!”

  “Lord Salisbury,” Pitt said with a smile. “You will find him at Number Ten Downing Street. But before you leave to appeal to him, I would like a very approximate figure as to Mrs. Montserrat’s estate, and information as to whom it is bequeathed to.”

  “Certainly not! You trespass too far.” The old man folded his arms across his ample chest and glared at Pitt defiantly.

  “If I have to find out by asking questions outside the family, it will be a great deal less discreet,” Pitt pointed out. “I am trying to deal with this as delicately as possible, and to protect Mrs. Montserrat’s heirs from unpleasantness, and possibly danger.”

  “Danger? What danger? Mrs. Montserrat died in her sleep!”

  “I hope so.”

  “What do you mean, you ‘hope so’?”

  “She was a woman of great distinction. She deserves the best attention we can give her. If there is something untoward in her death, or in the property and papers she leaves, I wish to keep it private. Indeed, I intend to. Allow me to do it gently.”

  The lawyer grunted. “I suppose you have the power to force me if I refuse. And from the look on your face, and your taste for authority, you will do so.”

  Pitt forbore from speaking.

  “She left a nice bequest for her maid, Tucker,” the lawyer said reluctantly, “for whom she had considerable affection. It will take care of her for the rest of her life. Apart from that, the house in Dorchester Terrace and the balance of her estate go to her niece, Nerissa Freemarsh. It is several thousand pounds. If she is careful it will provide an income sufficient for her to live quite comfortably.”

  “Thank you. Are there any papers other than the ordinary household and financial ones you would expect? Any diaries?”

  The lawyer looked at Pitt with gleaming satisfaction. “No, there are not!”

  Pitt had expected that answer, but it would have been remiss not to ask.

  “Thank you, Mr. Morton. I am obliged to you. Good day.”

  Morton did not reply.

  The following day Thurgood sent a message to Pitt telling him that he had completed his examination and was prepared to offer his report. He was ready to give, at least, the exact cause of death, but the circumstances he would leave to Pitt to discern.

  Pitt had been to morgues before. It had been a grim part of his duty for most of his adult life, although rather less often since joining Special Branch. The moment he stepped from the bright, windy street into the building with its uncanny silence, he could smell the odors of death and chemical preservation and feel a dampness in the air. It was as if the constant washing away of blood prevented the building from ever being fully dry, or warm. To him the smells of carbolic, vinegar, and formaldehyde were worse than any other scent.

  “Well?” he asked when he was alone with Thurgood in the doctor’s office and the door was closed.

  “Simply, it was laudanum,” Thurgood replied unhappily. “She took it regularly. She found that sleep eluded her, and often she would be awake all night, hearing every creak in the timbers of the house, imagining footsteps.
”

  “Are you saying she finally took too much?” Pitt asked with disbelief. “Could that be accidental? Wasn’t she given it by someone who knew what they were doing? Miss Freemarsh? Or the lady’s maid? Tucker had been with Mrs. Montserrat most of her life. She would never have made such a mistake.” It occurred to him then that Tucker could have done it on purpose, as an act of mercy to a woman living in such terrible fear. She would only have been hastening something that was inevitable. Then he remembered how, when he had interviewed Tucker briefly, before leaving for Mr. Morton’s office the previous afternoon, he had seen only grief in her face. The idea melted away.

  “No. This was too large a dose to have been an accident,” Thurgood replied, his face betraying his unhappiness. “It was at least five times as much as she would have taken for sleep. Laudanum is not easy to overdose on because the solution is weak. One would have to take a second, or, in time, even a third dose within a short time to have it be fatal. I deliberately prepared it that way, precisely to avoid such accidents. And I made sure that both Tucker and Miss Freemarsh kept the supply out of the main bedroom or bathroom, in a cupboard with a lock.”

  Pitt was growing even colder. “And the key?”

  “On a ring in a cupboard, whose handle was higher than Mrs. Montserrat could have reached.” Thurgood looked as if he was chilled too. He stood stiffly, his hands clenched together, the bloodless skin stretched over his knuckles. “If Mrs. Montserrat had taken the same dose she was normally given at night before settling down to sleep, even if she was awake, she would have been too drowsy to have gotten up, gone from her room across the landing to the chambermaid’s room, and climbed on a chair to open the key cupboard, and then a second chair to reach the medicine cabinet. No, the laudanum was administered to her by someone else. What I cannot say is whether it was an accident, but I find it hard to believe anyone could give so much accidentally.” He met Pitt’s eyes. “I’m relieved to say that it is not my responsibility to find out.”

  “I see. Thank you.” Pitt was bitterly disappointed, although in all honesty he had to admit that he had not wanted to think Serafina was so far departed from reality as to have taken her own life in a haze of fear and confusion-or even deliberately, as an alternative to the mental disintegration that had already begun. It would’ve been a humiliating end for a brave woman.