by Anne Perry
‘I cannot tell you anything further,’ she said more stiffly than she had meant to. It was her only defence against showing the fear and misery she felt. ‘I did not see Mrs Cardew alive, except for a moment in the Park the previous afternoon, when she turned back and looked up at the snow on the branches. I would not even know it was the same woman if Mr Albright had not told me. But he knew her, I did not.’
‘Are you certain that you didn’t, Miss Pitt?’ he said gravely.
‘Yes, of course I am. I’ve only just arrived in New York.’ Surely he must know that?
‘Actually you arrived over a week ago,’ he pointed out. ‘At exactly the same time as Miss Cardew.’
‘I know that!’ Then she felt the chill of a new apprehension. What did he mean? There was no accusation in his eyes, only sadness.
‘We have evidence that Miss Cardew knew that her mother was in the city,’ he replied.
‘What evidence? She didn’t know!’ Jemima protested. ‘That is what Mr Albright and I were trying to do: stop Maria Cardew from turning up and creating a scene, upsetting Phinnie at the wedding. Didn’t he tell you that?’
‘He seems to believe that she did know,’ Flannery replied.
Jemima was astonished. Suddenly nothing made sense. ‘Then he told her! But why would he do that?’ She was utterly confused. ‘He wanted the whole wedding to be a high society event, with no scandal affecting the family at all. He told me he was even willing to pay Maria Cardew to stay away.’
‘He made no mention of that,’ Flannery told her. ‘It would be an extraordinarily foolish thing to do. If she was the kind of woman he said, then she could extort him for the rest of her life.’
‘I told him that!’ She could feel fear sharpening her voice, building up inside her like a trapped thing, ready to lash out. ‘I said there would be no end of it!’
‘I want to believe you, Miss Pitt,’ Flannery said gently, ‘but all the evidence is on his side. The only thing in your favour is that he says Miss Cardew also knew not only that her mother was in New York, but that she also knew where she was.’
‘Then he told her,’ she said again desperately.
‘Yes, maybe . . .’
‘That’s the only way he would know that she knew,’ she pointed out. ‘And why did he tell her? He said to me that his purpose was that she should never have to know!’
‘Are you sure you didn’t tell her, even unintentionally?’ There was an urgency in his voice as if the grief of this tragedy touched him too. ‘Perhaps she would be able to piece it together from other things you said. Could she have guessed? Might she have known what you were doing anyway? If you mentioned where you had been that afternoon, could she have worked it out that her mother was there?’ Flannery looked as if he wanted it to be true almost as much as she did.
Jemima steadied herself with an effort. She must keep some control. Just at the moment it was her only chance to save herself.
‘If she had worked that out from something I said, how would Harley know that she knew?’
‘It would be in your interest if she did know, Miss Pitt. Then at least there is another person to suspect of having killed her.’ He looked at her steadily, his eyes intensely blue.
‘Phinnie wouldn’t do that,’ she said miserably. ‘And I’m not going to try to blame her. She can be selfish and a bit silly at times – she’s terribly young – but she wouldn’t stab anyone to death. She just wouldn’t. Apart from anything else, she hasn’t the courage or the emotional intensity.’
He smiled a little ruefully.
‘Honest, if not flattering,’ he said.
‘I don’t think I can afford anything else,’ she confessed. ‘And it would not be in my interest to blame someone I believe is innocent.’
Jemima wondered for a moment if perhaps Phinnie wanted the marriage to Brent Albright enough to have elicited the information from Harley, and then crept out to try to persuade her mother herself. Could she have offered to keep her in comfort for the rest of her life, if she just left the marriage to take place without upsetting anything? Once married to Brent, Phinnie would have the means. If the marriage did not go ahead, then she wouldn’t! If Maria Cardew were as greedy and ruthless as Harley had said, she would understand that.
Perhaps that wasn’t impossible?
She said all this to Flannery, stumbling over the words, hating the sound of them in her own ears.
He looked unhappy, but he did not argue.
She knew the inevitable ending to that train of thought. She gave it words before he could. ‘Then she had no reason to kill Mrs Cardew. Why would she? She would just pay her off until such time as the Albrights could deal with her more effectively.’
‘Maybe she didn’t want them to know?’ he responded. Now he was arguing to defend Jemima!
She shook her head. ‘Since it must have been Harley who told her where Maria Cardew was living, that doesn’t make any sense.’
He pushed his hand through his hair in a gesture of exasperation. ‘I’m trying to help you!’
‘Thank you,’ she said with a laugh that turned into a sob. ‘Are you sure you should be?’
‘I don’t think you killed her,’ he replied. ‘I just don’t know who did.’
‘The door was open. Anyone could have gone in.’
‘Why would they? Nothing was taken. There wasn’t much to take. No one else was seen. We spoke to all the other residents. No one saw anybody else.’
‘I didn’t touch her,’ Jemima said yet again. ‘She was dead when I got there.’
‘Have you had anyone tell your family you’re in trouble?’ Flannery asked her.
‘Mr Albright said he would, if we couldn’t sort it out quickly without their having to know. It would take my father a week or more to get here anyway. And what would he do?’ That was a possibility she had not even thought about before, and in spite of her best effort she could feel the tears prickle behind her eyes, and the lump in her throat become almost too large to swallow.
Flannery stood up. He looked stiff and awkward.
‘I’ll sort it out before then,’ he promised, the colour hot in his cheeks. ‘You won’t need him to come.’
Jemima remembered those words all afternoon sitting alone in her cell with its solitary window far above her eye level. She could hear other women prisoners shouting and sometimes even laughing, but it was a hard, raucous sound, totally without pleasure.
The white light, reflected off snow, was beginning to fade. She was finding it very hard to keep hope when one of the guards returned, brandishing the keys.
‘Your lucky day,’ he said without a smile. ‘Someone put up bail for you.’ He unlocked the door noisily and pulled it wide. ‘I guess that means we don’t have to give you supper.’
Mr Albright? Harley, relenting? It was his testimony that had put her here, at least mostly. Or Phinnie? Maybe she had prevailed upon Brent to come?
‘Thank you,’ she said to the guard, and went out through the iron bar door as quickly as she could. ‘How do I get . . .?’ And then she wondered if she would be welcomed back into the Albright house. Perhaps not. Where could she stay? She couldn’t leave the city because she was on bail, but she did not have sufficient money to pay for her own lodgings for as long as it might be before she came to trial. It was mid-winter, nearly Christmas. She would freeze to death without shelter. The streets would be worse than gaol.
The guard was looking at her. He sighed. ‘She’s out there waiting for you. You’d better get out of here before she changes her mind.’
Jemima’s heart rose. It must be Phinnie after all. Phinnie, of all people, would know that she could never have hurt Maria Cardew, let alone killed her.
‘Thank you,’ she said hastily to the guard. Then she followed him along the stone passageway and, this time, out as far as the entrance.
But it was not Phinnie who stood waiting for her, it was Celia Albright. She was wearing a very ordinary dark cape over her dress and
a hat that could have belonged to anyone. She seemed to have shrunken into herself as if the cold ached in her bones. However, her face lit with relief when she saw Jemima and she moved towards her quickly, searching her face.
‘Are you all right? No one has hurt you?’
‘I am perfectly well,’ Jemima answered as levelly as she could, but her voice was thick with emotion. ‘Just cold and . . . frightened.’
‘Of course you are,’ Celia agreed. ‘Come, we must get out of here as quickly as possible. It is a dreadful place. The carriage is waiting around the corner; there is no room for it here.’ She led the way at a brisk pace and, all but treading on her heels, Jemima followed. It was getting dark and the streetlights, less elegant in this part of the city, were still bright and beginning to glow. It was ten days until Christmas.
As soon as they were seated in the carriage it moved away.
‘Thank you,’ Jemima said again, meaning it with a depth of feeling she could not conceal.
Celia’s face was unreadable in the shadows, but her voice was tense.
‘I would be grateful if you did not mention it to Mr Albright – in fact, to anyone in the family. It could lead to . . . unpleasantness.’
Jemima was puzzled. ‘Did Mr Albright not—’
‘No,’ Celia cut her off. ‘I did it myself, with Farrell’s help. Rothwell may guess that, but I would prefer that he did not know it. I doubt he will ask me.’
Jemima was stunned. The family had been prepared to leave her in gaol. Fight for her, pay a lawyer, perhaps, but then that might be to protect the Albright name. Since she was Phinnie’s friend, she was connected with them. But they were still prepared to leave her in gaol, perhaps even over Christmas!
‘Did Phinnie ask you to?’ she said impulsively.
Celia remained staring ahead. ‘No,’ she replied very quietly. Jemima had to strain to hear the words. ‘Please do not ask me any further, Miss Pitt. I prefer not to answer you. I do not know what happened to Mrs Cardew, but I don’t believe that you had anything to do with it, except unintentionally. But not everyone agrees with me.’
Jemima took several moments to weigh what she had heard. Why on earth would anyone imagine she would have so savagely killed Maria Cardew, a woman she had never met, and who did not have anything to do with her life? Could they really believe that Phinnie had asked her to do that? Whatever kind of person did they think Phinnie was? She was in love with Brent, certainly. Her only dream was to be his wife. Yes, she liked the wealth and the position in society, but not to kill for! The very idea was repulsive, and absurd.
The murderer must have been someone from Maria’s past life, whatever she had been doing over the years between leaving Mr Cardew and finding herself in the cheapest of lodging houses in New York. It was just the most wretched of misfortunes that Harley and Jemima had found her on the day of her death. Coincidences were rare, but of course they did happen.
What was it going to be like living in the Albright mansion from now until Christmas, and then the wedding, under the shadow of suspicion? She could hardly attend parties with people wondering if she had knifed a woman to death!
But would they know? What had the newspapers said? She needed to be aware of that before she arrived. She turned to Celia again.
‘Miss Albright . . .’
‘Yes?’
‘What have the newspapers said? Did they name me?’
‘No. Rothwell managed to prevent that. And of course Mrs Cardew was not named either. And he simply told Phinnie the barest of facts, which was both a sadness to her, and something of a relief from the anxiety of fearing that her mother might turn up at the wedding, or some of the parties, and cause the most acute embarrassment.’
Jemima tried to imagine it. ‘It would have been unfortunate,’ she agreed. ‘But not so terrible . . .’
‘Phinnie has been told that Maria drank,’ Celia explained. ‘So far as I know, that is not true. She has also been told that she was of extremely loose morals with regard to men. That is . . . questionable. I would have said of eccentric tastes, which is not at all the same as loose.’
Any further conversation was prevented by their arrival at the Albright mansion. It was completely dark. They were only a moment or two on the lighted front step, and then in the warmth of the bright hall. The butler greeted Celia with respect and Jemima with civility.
‘I am sure you would like something hot to eat,’ Celia said as they crossed the hall under the blazing chandelier. ‘The family are dining out. I am not hungry but you may have yours brought up to your room, or if you prefer, you can eat in the kitchen. I do that myself occasionally, and it is very pleasant, and rather more comfortable than a bedroom. I do not care for the odour of food remaining all night.’
‘Thank you,’ Jemima accepted. ‘The kitchen sounds a good idea, and will be less troublesome to the staff. You don’t think they will mind my presence?’
For the first time Celia smiled with genuine warmth. ‘You have always been most courteous to them, my dear. They will not mind in the least.’ There was a wealth of implication hidden in her words, but Jemima did not pursue it, although the ideas whirled in her mind later as she sat at a bench in the kitchen and enjoyed one of the best meals she had eaten since leaving home. Now she could hear Lucy, the chambermaid, giggling in the pantry and every now and then the footman’s voice singing a snatch from one of the latest musical shows – ‘Give my regards to Broadway, remember me to Herald Square . . .’
Cook was rolling her eyes and muttering, but nothing unkind. Violet, the scullery maid, was sweeping the floor, the broom making a swishing sound over the stones. Billy, the bootboy, was re-stoking the stove. It was warm and familiar in the way that well-used kitchens are.
The following morning at the breakfast table it was very different. Jemima arrived at the usual time that the meal was served. The last thing she wanted was to cause inconvenience by being either early or late. Everyone else was present. They all looked up as she came into the room and took the same chair as she had previously, the only one currently unoccupied.
‘Good morning,’ she said quietly.
Mr Albright looked up from his plate and replied politely, but without expression.
‘Good morning, Miss Pitt,’ Brent answered. He looked at her guardedly, his light eyes distant as though she were the merest acquaintance. Perhaps he was withholding judgement, but certainly he had not acquitted her in his mind.
Harley glanced at her without speaking at all, and continued with his meal.
Phinnie was very smartly dressed in clothes Jemima knew she had not brought with her. They were in the height of fashion, big-sleeved and wide-skirted, actually rather too old for her, dominating her youthful beauty.
‘Good morning, Jemima,’ Phinnie said coolly, then searched for something else to say, and found nothing.
It was only Celia who addressed Jemima directly. ‘Good morning, Miss Pitt. I hope you slept well?’
Harley glared at her but she ignored him, continuing to speak to Jemima.
‘I am going shopping in the middle of the day, and will take luncheon in town. Perhaps you would like to accompany me?’
‘Is that wise, Aunt Celia?’ Brent asked, frowning at her.
Celia’s temper was raw and she clearly held it in with difficulty. ‘What are you suggesting, Brent? That we require Miss Pitt to spend the rest of her time as our guest sitting in her room? It is still nine days until Christmas, and two weeks until the wedding.’
‘I am aware what day it is,’ Brent replied. ‘It is the middle of winter and everything is covered with snow. It is not a great hardship to stay in a well-heated house with a library and a music room, and servants to bring to you anything you might wish. Most people would count themselves very fortunate to enjoy such a life.’
Phinnie looked at him, her eyes soft and bright, then back at Celia. ‘Brent is right. I’m sure Jemima will be very comfortable, and grateful for your hospitality.’ Her voice
quivered a little on the last sentence, but it was impossible to tell what emotion moved her. It could have been pity, fear of the future, an ever-increasing devotion to Brent, or anxiety that he thought Jemima guilty of some kind of complicity in Maria’s death. It might even have been grief. Even so, Jemima did not care for being spoken around, as if she were not present to answer for herself.
Harley looked at them one by one, and said nothing. He seemed to be watching, waiting for something.
Jemima looked at Celia. ‘Thank you,’ she said sincerely. ‘I would be delighted to come with you. To walk a little would be very pleasant, and I should enjoy your company.’
Jemima was in the hall, with her overcoat on, waiting for Celia, when Phinnie came over to her. Her brows were drawn down and her expression one of annoyance.
‘Jemima, are you deliberately trying to spoil my wedding?’ She said it quietly, so no nearby servant could overhear her, but with an edge of real anger in her tone. ‘Celia was being pleasant to you! Can’t you see that? The last thing she wants is to be seen with you in public. Mr Albright paid to have you released because he is a good man. That doesn’t mean anyone here thinks you are innocent!’
Jemima felt as if she had been slapped. No wonder Celia did not wish the rest of the family to know that it was she who had paid Jemima’s bail, presumably from her own money!
‘Indeed?’ Jemima said coldly. ‘And does that include you?’
‘What can I think?’ Phinnie demanded. ‘That it was some lunatic off the street? Why? From what Harley said, she had nothing to steal. She was found in her own bed, stabbed to death.’
‘I know that!’ Jemima snapped. ‘I was the one who found her, poor woman.’
‘She wasn’t a “poor woman”,’ Phinnie said bitterly. ‘She had everything, a good and decent husband with both honour and wealth, and she left him . . . and me . . . to go back to a life on the streets. No one made her, she was just a . . . a whore! She chose that, no one made her. Some women have no choice; she had every choice in the world.’ Now there were tears running down her face and her voice all but choked.