Brunswick Gardens (35 page)

The bishop’s face darkened. “What is your considered judgment as to whether he will succeed before so much damage is done to the Reverend Parmenter’s reputation that he is effectively unable to continue?” he demanded.

“So far there is no suspicion outside the immediate family,” Cornwallis replied carefully.

“But you have said his miserable daughter is perfectly prepared to testify against him!” the bishop pointed out. “It cannot be long before she makes some catastrophic remark and the word spreads like fire. Then think of the damage that will be done by such rumors. How will we check it, when we have no proof?” The strength of his fear was sharp-edged in his voice. “We shall be seen to condone his act. We shall appear to be trying to conceal it, to protect him from the consequences of his crime. No, Captain Cornwallis, it is entirely unacceptable. I cannot afford the risk of such indecision.” He sat up very straight. “I am speaking for the church. This is not leadership, this is allowing events to dictate to us, not us to be master of events.”

Isadora cringed under his tone. She opened her mouth, but there was nothing she could say which would not make it worse. She looked from Cornwallis to her husband, and back again.

Cornwallis did not want to quarrel with a bishop, any bishop, least of all with one who was Isadora’s husband. But if he were to behave with honor he had no choice.

“I will not act until I know the truth,” he said steadily. “If I charge Ramsay Parmenter, and I cannot prove it in court, then
he is free, and suspicion rests either on Mallory Parmenter or Dominic Corde, regardless of whether they are guilty or not. And if I then find proof of Ramsay’s guilt, I can do nothing about it.”

“I do not want you to charge him, for God’s sake!” the bishop said furiously, leaning forward with elbows on the table. “Use your brains, man! That would be disastrous. Think what it would do to the reputation of the church. Your duty is to find moral proof of his guilt, not physical. Then we can have him committed to an asylum, where he can hurt no one and be cared for in privacy and decency. His family will not suffer, and Corde can continue with his no doubt promising career in the church unlimited by any implication of scandal. What happens to Mallory is not our concern. He has chosen the Church of Rome.”

Cornwallis was revolted. He could not keep it from his face.

“I am a policeman, not a physician to the insane,” he said icily. “I have no idea whether a man is mad or not. All I can deal in is whether he is proven to have committed a given act. And I do not know whether Ramsay Parmenter pushed Unity Bellwood to her death or whether it was someone else. Until I do, I am not prepared to make any statement on the subject. That will have to be acceptable to you, because there is no alternative.” He laid down his knife and fork as if he would eat no more.

The bishop stared at him. “I am sure,” he said slowly, “that when you have had time to consider the matter more fully, and the implications of what your attitude will do to a church towards which I believe you have some loyalty, then you will reconsider your situation.” He gestured to the footman waiting near the door. “Peters, will you remove the plates and bring in the meat.”

Isadora closed her eyes and drew a deep breath. Her hands were shaking. She set down her glass before she spilled it.

For her sake only, Cornwallis stayed for the remainder of the meal.

8

A
N HOUR OR SO
after breakfast on Monday, Dominic was walking up the stairs feeling annoyed because he could not find his penknife. He kept putting things down and forgetting where. It must be part of the strain they were all feeling. He was halfway up when he heard raised voices coming from Ramsay’s study. He could not distinguish the words, but it was clearly Ramsay himself and Mallory, and the discussion was acrimonious in the extreme. There seemed to be accusations and denial on both parts. Before he reached the top, the study door flew open and Mallory stormed out, slamming the door behind him. His face was flushed and his lips tight in a thin, furious line.

Dominic made as if to walk past him, but Mallory obviously wanted to continue a battle, and Dominic was an excellent target.

“Shouldn’t you be out with parishioners or something?” he demanded. “That would be more use than waiting around here trying to comfort Mother. There’s nothing you can say or do that will make any difference.” His eyebrows rose high. “Unless, of course, you can confess to having killed Unity? That would be really useful.”

“Only temporarily,” Dominic replied tartly. There were times when Mallory annoyed him intensely, and this was one of
them. Mallory was very superior about belonging to the “one true faith,” and yet he allowed himself to be extraordinarily petty-minded and motivated by malice. “Because the police
will
almost certainly find out the truth in a while. Pitt is very good indeed.” He said it spitefully, and was rewarded with seeing the color ebb from Mallory’s face. He had intended to frighten him. At least half his mind believed Mallory was guilty of Unity’s death … more than he believed it could be Ramsay.

“Oh, yes,” Mallory said with as much sarcasm as he could muster and control. “I forgot you were related to the police. Your late wife, wasn’t it? What an odd family for you to marry into. Not a very good move for your career. I am surprised at you, seeing how ambitious you are, and keen to curry favor.”

They were standing at the stairhead. A maid passed below them across the hall carrying a mop and bucket of water. Dominic could just see the lace cap on her head. He turned back to Mallory.

“I married Sarah for love,” he said levelly. “It was several years before her sister married a policeman. And yes, it was an odd thing for her to do. But then Charlotte never did things to advance her social position. I don’t expect you to understand that.”

“A family of that sort, it would have to be love,” Mallory observed. “You would still be better employed now in going out and being some use in the parish. There is nothing here that I couldn’t do better.”

“Indeed?” Dominic affected surprise. “Then why haven’t you? All I have observed you doing so far is retreating into your room to study books.”

“Great truths are to be found in books,” Mallory replied loftily.

“Of course they are. And precious little good they do if that’s where they remain,” Dominic responded. “Your family needs your comfort, your reassurance and loyalty, not quotations out of books, however wise or true.”

“Reassurance?” Mallory’s voice rose sharply. “Of what? What can I reassure them about?” His mouth twisted in a smile that failed. “That Father did not kill Unity? I don’t know that. I wish to God I did. But someone killed her, and it wasn’t me. I assume it was you … I certainly want to think it was you!” Suddenly there was real terror in his voice. “She followed you around often enough, always arguing with you, mocking you, making intrusive, cruel little remarks.” He nodded. “I caught her eye more than once when she was looking at you. She knew something about you, and she was letting you understand that. I don’t know anything about you before you came here, but she did.”

Dominic felt the blood drain from his face, and he knew Mallory saw it. The victory was bright in the younger man’s eyes.

“It is you who should be afraid of Pitt,” Mallory said triumphantly. “If he is anything like as clever as you suggest, whatever it is Unity knew, he’ll dig it up.”

“You look as if you would like that, Mal.” Clarice’s voice cut across them from the stairs, below and behind them both. Neither of them had heard her come up, even though the wood was uncarpeted. “Isn’t that rather unchristian of you?” She opened her eyes wide as if the question were innocent.

Mallory colored, but it was temper more than shame.

“I suppose you would like it to be me?” he continued, his voice brittle. “That would suit you nicely, wouldn’t it? Not your beloved father you are so quick to protect all the time, and not the curate he created out of God knows what. Only your brother. Does that fit in with whatever your morality is?”

“It is not you believing it is Dominic I object to,” she replied quite calmly. “That may be honest, I don’t know. It is your pleasure in it, your sense of some kind of victory that you still find him entangled in darkness and tragedy. I had not realized you hated him so much.”

“I—I don’t hate him!” Mallory protested, but now he was
defending himself, backed into a corner. “That’s a terrible thing to say … wrong—and … quite untrue.”

“No, it isn’t,” she said, coming up to the top step and onto the landing. “If you could have seen your own face as you spoke just now, you wouldn’t bother denying it. You are so afraid for yourself, you’ll blame everyone, and this is a wonderful chance to get back at Dominic because Unity found him so attractive, more attractive than you.”

Mallory laughed. It was an ugly, jerky sound, and there was no real amusement in it, only a tearing kind of humor at something that hurt, and that he could not share.

“You are stupid, Clarice!” he accused her. “You think you are so clever, but in reality you have always been stupid. You think you stand back and watch, and see everything. And you see nothing. You’re blind to Dominic’s real nature.” His voice was rising and getting louder. “Have you ever asked him where he was before he came here? Have you asked about his wife or why he chose to join the church now, at forty-five, and not in the beginning? Haven’t you ever wondered?”

Her face was grim and pale, but she did not look away from him. “I don’t take the same pleasure in unearthing people’s past weaknesses and grief as you do,” she answered unflinchingly. “I never even thought about it.” It was a lie. Dominic could see that in her eyes, and that she was hurt by it. He had not realized before that she was vulnerable. It had never occurred to him that, under the wild humor and the family loyalties, there was a woman capable of such feeling.

“I don’t believe you,” Mallory said flatly. “You are so desperate to have it be anyone but Father, you must have thought of Dominic.”

“I’ve thought of everyone,” she agreed very quietly. “But mostly I’ve thought about how we are going to cope with it when we do know. How are we going to treat that person? How are we going to treat each other? How are we going to make up for the things we have thought unjustly, the things we’ve said
and can’t take back and can’t forget?” She frowned very slightly. “How are we going to live with the knowledge of what we have seen in each other this last week that is ugly and self-serving and cowardly, but we hadn’t ever had reason to see before? I know you better than I ever wanted to, Mal; and I don’t like all of it.”

He was angry, but much more deeply than that, he was hurt. He tried to find something to say to justify himself, and nothing was good enough.

She must have seen the wound in him. “It isn’t over yet,” she said with a little shrug. “You can always change … if you want to. At least … maybe you can.”

“I don’t want anyone to be guilty,” he said stiffly, his cheeks pink. “But I must face the truth. Confession and repentance are the only way back. I know I didn’t kill her, therefore it was either Dominic or Father … or you! And why on earth would you kill her?”

“I wouldn’t.” She lowered her eyes, and her face was full of confusion and fear. “Will you let me pass, please? You are blocking the way, and I want to go and see Papa.”

“What for?” he asked. “You can’t help. And don’t go in there telling him comfortable lies. It will only make it worse in the end.”

Suddenly she lost her temper, swinging around on him furiously. “I’m not going to tell him anything, except that I love him! It is a pity that you can’t do that! You would be a lot more use to everyone if you could!” And she whirled away, banging her elbow against the newel, and oblivious of it, marched across the landing to the far corridor and up to Ramsay’s door. She threw it open without knocking and disappeared inside.

“Perhaps you had better go and read another book,” Dominic said acidly. “Try the Bible. You could look for the bit which says ‘A new commandment I give, that ye love one another’!” And he started down the stairs towards the hall.