Free Brunswick Gardens by Anne Perry Page B

be known. But Dominic recalled his past acquaintance with Pitt too vividly to nurse that illusion. Pitt had gone for now, but he would be investigating evidence, details, possibly things no one else had thought of. He would examine the body. He would see the mark on the shoes, and sooner or later, the mark on the conservatory floor. He would know about Unity’s going in to see Mallory. He would question and argue and reason until he knew why.
    He would be very cautious, but he would probe into every detail of life in Brunswick Gardens. He would unearth any quarrel between Ramsay and Unity; he would uncover their personal weaknesses, all the little sins that might have nothingwhatever to do with Unity’s death but were painful and so very much better hidden.
    Dominic was alone in the library. He closed his eyes and could have been back in Cater Street ten years before, feeling the prickle of fear in the air around him. He remembered with a flush of embarrassment that Charlotte had been in love with him then. He really had not known it until it was almost too late. Pitt knew it. Dominic had seen it in his eyes. The shadow of dislike was still there.
    Cater Street seemed like a world away. Hundreds of things had happened to him since then, good things and bad. But for the moment he could have been there, ten years younger, more arrogant, more frightened. He could be married to Sarah; they could all be afraid of the “Hangman,” who had killed again and again in the neighborhood. They could be looking at each other, wondering, suspecting, discussing things about frailties and deceits they would so much rather not know but could not forget.
    Pitt had persistently uncovered everything until he knew the answer. He would do that now. And as before, Dominic was afraid, both of what that answer would be and of what the process of finding it would uncover about himself and those things in the past he would rather forget. It was easier here, in the Parmenter house, because they saw him as he wished to see himself: young in his calling, making occasional mistakes, but dedicated and whole of heart. Only Ramsay knew what had gone before.
    Without making a conscious decision to do it, Dominic found himself going to the far end of the hall and through the door into the servants’ quarters. Since Ramsay was in his study, and hardly in a position or a frame of mind to do it, perhaps it fell to Dominic to reassure the servants, offer them whatever comfort and reminder of duty they needed. Mallory did not seem inclined to, and he already knew the feelings in the house over his conversion to “Popery,” as they called it, even though they had known him since childhood. Some of the more devoutamong them even regarded it as a betrayal. Perhaps that very fact made it cut the deeper.
    The first person he encountered was the butler, a portly, usually comfortable man of middle years who managed the household with avuncular pleasantries masking an excellent discipline. However, today he looked deeply disturbed as he sat in the pantry checking and rechecking his cellar stocks, having counted the same things three times over and still unable to remember what he was doing.
    “Good morning, Mr. Corde,” he said with relief at being interrupted. He stood up. “What can I do for you, sir?”
    “Good morning, Emsley,” Dominic replied, closing the door behind him. “I came to see how everyone is after this morning’s events …”
    Emsley shook his head. “I just don’t understand it, sir. I know what they’re saying, but I can’t see how it’s possible. I’ve served in this house for thirty years, since before Mr. Mallory was born, and I just don’t believe it, no matter what Stander and Braithwaite say they heard.”
    “Sit down,” Dominic invited, and sat on the other chair to make Emsley comfortable.
    “The sergeant came in here, sir,” Emsley continued, accepting gratefully. “Asked a lot of questions that seemed pointless. None of