Inside, Vita was huddled over in one of the chairs. Her dark gray gown was soaked in blood all down the bosom and onto the skirt. Her arms and shoulders were dark with it, and even her hands were scarlet.

Tryphena had collapsed on the floor, but no one was trying to a.s.sist her. Perhaps it was she who had screamed.

Clarice was on her knees in front of her mother, holding her by the arms. They were both shaking violently. Vita seemed to be attempting to speak, but she could not catch her breath, all she could do was sob and gasp.

"Oh G.o.d!" Mallory stumbled as if he too might lose his balance. "Mama! What happened? Has somebody sent for the doctor? Get bandages-water-something!" Instinctively he turned to Dominic.

Dominic bent to Clarice, taking her by the shoulders.

"Let us see, my dear," he said gently. "We must see where the wound is to stop it bleeding."

Reluctantly, still shuddering, Clarice allowed herself to be helped up by Mallory, who clung onto her, his knuckles white. Still no one went to Tryphena.

"Let me see," Dominic ordered, looking at Vita's ash-white face.

"I'm not hurt," she whispered, her voice grating in her throat. "At least-not much. Just-bruises, I think. I don't even know. But-" She stopped and looked down at the blood all over herself, almost as if she had not really seen it before. Then she looked up at Dominic again. "Dominic-Dominic...he tried to kill me! I-I had to...defend myself! I only meant ..." She swallowed with such a constriction of her throat that she choked, and he had to hold her while she coughed until she could find her breath again. "I only meant to fight him off"...just so I could get away. But he was insane!" She held up her right arm, where the imprint of a b.l.o.o.d.y hand showed clearly around her wrist. "He had hold of me!" She seemed amazed, as if she could still hardly believe it. "I ..." She swallowed again. "I managed to reach for the paper knife. I thought if I could stab his arm, he would have to let go of me and I could escape." Her eyes were fixed on his, wide and almost black. "He moved...he moved, Dominic! I only meant to stab his arm."

He felt sick. "What happened?"

"He moved!" she repeated. "His arm was there! He was holding me. His hands were around my throat! The look in his face! It wasn't the man I know at all. It wasn't Ramsay! He was terrible, full of hate and such-such anger!"

"What happened?" he repeated more firmly.

Her voice sank. "I struck at his arm, to make him let go of me, and he moved. The knife caught his neck...his...throat, Dominic-I think he's dead!"

They all remained frozen for seconds. A log blazed up in the fireplace in a shower of sparks.

Clarice turned her head and leaned against Mallory's shoulder, and wept. He clung to her, burying his cheek in her hair.

On the floor, Tryphena started to sit up.

Dominic left Vita and went over to the bell rope and pulled it, far harder than he had intended, but his hands were tingling as if they were numb, and he was trembling.

"Get Emsley to bring some brandy and fetch the doctor," he said to Mallory. "I'll go upstairs." He did not bother to ask Vita if it was the study. He a.s.sumed it was. Ramsay had barely left it in the last week.

He went along the top corridor and opened the study door.

Ramsay was lying near the desk, half on his back, one leg a little crooked under him. There was a gash on his throat and a wide, deep pool of crimson blood puddling on the carpet beside him. There was nothing in his hands, but there were smears of blood on them, staining his cuffs. His eyes were wide open, and he looked surprised.

Dominic knelt down and felt a desperate sadness engulf him. Ramsay had been his friend, had held out kindness and hope when he had needed it. Now he had drowned in an ocean Dominic had not even comprehended. He had watched it happen, and not been able to save him. His sense of loss filled him with pain-and a bitter knowledge of having failed.

9

PITT WAS SITTING by the fire in the parlor with his feet on the fender when the telephone rang. It was so unusual an occurrence that he never left Gracie to answer. by the fire in the parlor with his feet on the fender when the telephone rang. It was so unusual an occurrence that he never left Gracie to answer.

Charlotte looked up from her sewing with surprise, meeting his eyes questioningly.

He shrugged and stood up. The instrument was in the hall, and he had to go out into the comparative chill, but he found himself shivering even before his feet were on the linoleum. He picked up the speaker.

"h.e.l.lo? Thomas Pitt here."

He barely recognized the voice on the other end. "Thomas? Is that you?"

"Yes. Who is it? Dominic?"

"Yes." There was a gasp and a breath of relief. "Thomas...I'm in Ramsay Parmenter's study. Thank G.o.d for the telephone here. He's dead."

The first thought that came to Pitt's mind was suicide. Ramsay had felt the inevitable truth closing around him and he had taken the way out he felt most honorable. Perhaps he imagined it would save the church embarra.s.sment. The bishop would be pleased. At that thought Pitt found himself suddenly almost speechless with rage.

"Dominic!"

"Yes? Thomas...you'd better come-immediately. I ..."

"Are you all right?" There was no point in asking. There was nothing he could do to help the shock and the distress he heard through Dominic's voice. He had misjudged him. Dominic had not been to blame-probably not for anything. Charlotte would be happy.

"Yes-yes, I am." Dominic sounded wretched. "But, Thomas...it was an-an accident. I suppose you could say ..." His voice trailed off.

Pitt's first thought was to refuse to say anything of the sort. He would not lie to protect the bishop's interest. He cared for duty to truth, to the law, to Unity Bellwood. But there was no good to Unity served by exposing her tragedy, or Ramsay Parmenter's.

"Thomas ...?" Dominic's voice was urgent, uncertain.

"Yes," Pitt replied. "I don't know yet. How did he do it?"

"Do it?" For a moment Dominic sounded confused. "Oh...he-Thomas, he didn't kill himself! He attacked Vita-Mrs. Parmenter. He had some sort of...I don't know...brainstorm. He lost control of himself and tried to strangle her. She defended herself with a paper knife which was on the desk-it happened in his study-and in the struggle it slipped...and stabbed him. I'm afraid it was fatal."

"What?" Pitt was astounded. "You mean-Dominic, I can't cover that up!"

"I'm not asking you to!" Dominic was amazed. "Just come here before we have to call in the local constable...please!"

"Yes-of course. I'll come right away. Hold on." Without realizing what he had said, he put the earpiece back on its hook, missing it the first time because his hands were shaking. He walked back into the parlor.

"What is it?" Charlotte said immediately. "What's happened?" Her voice rose sharply with fear, and she was already getting to her feet.

"No." He shook his head. "It's all right. It's Parmenter. It was Dominic on the telephone. Parmenter tried to kill his wife, and in the struggle he was killed himself. I have to go there. Will you call the station to send for Tellman to meet me at Brunswick Gardens?"

Charlotte stared at him. "Mrs. Parmenter killed him in a struggle when he was trying to kill her?" Her voice rose to a squeak. "That's ridiculous! She's tiny! Well-she's small. She couldn't possibly kill him."

"With a knife," he explained.

"I don't care what with. She couldn't have taken a knife from him if he were trying to kill her with it."

"He wasn't. He was trying to strangle her. He must have utterly lost his sanity, poor man. Thank G.o.d he didn't succeed." He stopped, facing her for a long moment's silence. "At least this proves Dominic had no guilt in it."

She smiled at him very slightly. "Yes, there is that," she agreed. "Now, you had better go, and I'll get the message to Tellman."

He hesitated, as if to add something else, but there really was nothing more to say. He turned on his heel and went to the hall, putting his boots on and collecting his coat from its hook, and went out.

When he reached Brunswick Gardens there was already a carriage outside at the curb. The coachman was huddled up under his coat as if he had been there for some time, and lights streamed from the windows of the house below the half-lowered blinds, as if no one had bothered to draw the front curtains.

Pitt alighted, paid the cabby and told him not to wait. Emsley greeted him at the door, his hair wild from where he had run his hands through it, his face so pale it looked gray around the eyes.

"Come in, sir," he said hoa.r.s.ely. "The mistress is upstairs lying down, and Mr. Mallory is with her-and the doctor, of course. Miss Tryphena is-is gone to her room, I think. Poor Miss Clarice is trying to take care of everything, and Mr. Corde is upstairs in the study. He told me to send you up, if you'd be so good, sir. I don't know what everything is coming to...Just a few days ago everything was as usual, and now suddenly- this." The man looked close to weeping as he thought of the ruin of all he found familiar and precious, the daily life that created his world and was his purpose.

Pitt put his hand on Emsley's arm and gripped it. "Thank you. Perhaps it would be best if you were to close the door and all the downstairs curtains, then see if you can help Miss Clarice keep the servants calm. They are bound to be deeply distressed, but the house must still be run. People will need to eat, fires be kept going, the place cleaned and tidied. The more people can be busy, the less they will have time to be upset."

"Oh...yes." Emsley nodded. "Yes sir. Of course, you are quite right. We don't want people losing control of themselves, getting hysterical. Helps n.o.body. I'll see to it, sir." And he went off looking purposeful.

Pitt climbed the now-familiar black staircase and went along the landing corridor to Ramsay Parmenter's study. He opened the door and saw Dominic sitting behind the desk, white-faced, his dark hair, flecked with tiny threads of gray, falling forward over his brow. He looked ill.

"Thank G.o.d you're here." He stood up shakily, turning sideways, compelled to stare beyond the desk and down, where Pitt could not see.

Pitt closed the door behind him and walked around the chair. Ramsay Parmenter was crumpled on the floor where he had fallen, a huge pool of blood soaked deep into the carpet near his neck, which was gashed with a fearful wound. It must have been a very violent struggle. His shirt was torn at the front, and there were two b.u.t.tons ripped off his jacket, as if someone had tried desperately to pull him by his clothes. His eyes were closed, but there was no peace in his face, only a sense of amazement, as if at the very last moment he had realized what he was doing and the horror of it had overwhelmed him.

"I-I closed his eyes," Dominic said apologetically. "Perhaps I shouldn't have, but I couldn't bear to leave him lying staring like that. They were open. Does it matter?"

"I don't think so. Did the doctor see him? Emsley said the doctor was here."

"No...not yet. He's with Vita...Mrs. Parmenter."

"How is she?"

"I don't know. She seemed to be all right; I mean, she wasn't injured, at least not seriously. I'm sorry, I am not being very lucid." He looked at Pitt desperately. "I feel as if I failed about about as thoroughly as I could." His face puckered. "Why couldn't I help him before it got to this? What happened? Why didn't I see it was so-so...that he was drowning? I should have been able to give him enough faith to hold on, to let someone understand. We shouldn't any of us, least of all me, who professes to be a pastor of souls, we shouldn't let anyone be this utterly alone!" He shook his head a little. "What's the matter with us? How can we live in the same house, sit at the same table, for G.o.d's sake, and let one of us die of loneliness?" as thoroughly as I could." His face puckered. "Why couldn't I help him before it got to this? What happened? Why didn't I see it was so-so...that he was drowning? I should have been able to give him enough faith to hold on, to let someone understand. We shouldn't any of us, least of all me, who professes to be a pastor of souls, we shouldn't let anyone be this utterly alone!" He shook his head a little. "What's the matter with us? How can we live in the same house, sit at the same table, for G.o.d's sake, and let one of us die of loneliness?"

"'That is usually where it happens," Pitt said realistically. "It is in being hemmed in by others who see only the outside of you, the image of you they have painted from their own minds, that you suffocate. Shepherds and woodsmen don't die of loneliness; it's people in cities. It is the invisible walls that we can't see that prevent us touching. Don't blame yourself." He looked at Dominic closely. "Sit down. Perhaps you had better take a good stiff brandy. It won't help anyone if you are taken ill."

Dominic retreated to the chair beyond the desk and sat down heavily. "Can you keep the details out of the newspapers? I suppose I shall have to tell the bishop."

"No, you won't. We'll let Commissioner Cornwallis do that." Pitt was still standing over Ramsay's body. "What was the quarrel about, do you know?"

"No. I can't remember whether she said."

"Did anybody hear it?"

"No. No, the first thing we knew was when Mrs. Parmenter came into the withdrawing room. Or more exactly"-he screwed up his face with the effort to clear his mind and speak coherently-"I was in the conservatory with Mallory. We were talking. I heard-we heard...a scream. We both got up and went back to the withdrawing room. It was Tryphena who had screamed, but she had fainted by then...at seeing the blood, I suppose."

"I was thinking of the servants."

"Oh. I don't know. It was close to the time the servants have dinner. I expect they were in their hall. I didn't think to ask."

"Probably just as well. I'll come to it fresh." Pitt turned and looked at the door. There was a key in the lock. "If you would prefer to go to your own room, or see if you can help downstairs, I'll secure it here."

"Oh." Dominic hesitated, staring down at Ramsay on the floor. "I feel...can't we move him now you've seen him?"

"Not until the doctor has."

"Well, cover him up, at least," Dominic protested. "What can the doctor tell you? It's pretty obvious what happened, isn't it?" He was taking his jacket off as he spoke.

Pitt put out his hand to restrain him. "When the doctor's seen him. Then you can take him to his own room and lay him out properly. Not yet. Come out and leave him. You've done everything you can. It's time to care for the living."

Dominic replied, "Yes, of course. Clarice must be feeling terrible...so grieved, so hurt."

"And Tryphena as well, I imagine." Pitt opened the door for Dominic.

Dominic turned in the doorway. "Tryphena didn't love him the way Clarice did."

Before Pitt could answer that, Tellman came up to the top of the stairs and across the landing. He looked tired and unshaven. He had already had a long and miserable day.

Pitt indicated the study door. "In there," he said tersely. "I'll send the doctor in a moment. Apparently it was an accident. When you've finished in here, and the doctor's been, secure it and return the key."

Tellman's face betrayed deep skepticism, but he said nothing. He glanced at Dominic, muttered something-possibly an attempt at sympathy-and disappeared into the study.

Dominic told Pitt which was Vita's room, then went downstairs. Pitt knocked. The door was opened after a moment or two by the same doctor he had seen at Unity's death. The doctor's face was pale and bleak, his eyes reflecting profound distress.

"Terrible business," he said quietly. "I had no idea it was so serious. I honestly thought he was simply a little...overwrought, depressed by the way public perception of religion had changed since Darwin's theories on evolution became known to the general reader...I daresay by word of mouth, in garbled fashion, to just about everyone." His voice betrayed his own view of it. "I had no idea it had disturbed the balance of his mind. I feel very guilty. I noticed nothing. He always seemed perfectly natural to me, simply...unhappy." He sighed. "It is not unusual, in my experience, for men in the church to have their periods of doubt and confusion. It is a heavy calling. One may put on a brave face to the world and preach a sermon every Sunday; it does not mean you cannot be lost in a desert of this sort yourself...for a period." His face was full of sadness. "I'm really very sorry."

"No one saw it coming," Pitt a.s.sured him, sharing the blame. "Where is Mrs. Parmenter? Is she injured?"

The doctor met his eyes steadily.

"A few bruises. I daresay they will be painful for a while, and disfiguring, but nothing that will last. Her left shoulder is rather wrenched, but it will mend with time." He still looked surprised and confused. "Thank heaven she is a supple woman, in good health, and of considerable courage. She must have fought hard for her life." His lips tightened. "As for her emotional state, that is another matter. I cannot answer for that. She has extraordinary courage, but I have left a sedative for her, which she refused to take until she had spoken with you, knowing that you would have to question her about the tragedy. But do please be as brief as you can. Exercise whatever pity and discretion your duty allows."

"I will," Pitt promised. "Now, I would appreciate it if you would look at the body of the Reverend Parmenter and tell me all you can of his death. My sergeant is in the study. He'll let you in and lock up after you."

"I doubt I can offer you any a.s.sistance, but of course I'll look. There will have to be an inquest, I presume?"

"Yes, of course there will, but please do it anyway." Pitt stood back to allow the doctor to pa.s.s, then went in and closed the door.

It was a large room, beautifully furnished, feminine and less exotic than the more public areas of the house. Nevertheless there were marks of Vita's individual and daring taste, splashes of oriental color: peac.o.c.k blue, lacquer red.

Vita Parmenter was sitting on her bed, propped up by pillows. The first thing Pitt was aware of was the blood. It soaked the front of her gown and splashed scarlet on the pale skin of her throat. It made the more obvious her ashen, almost gray face, with feverish eyes. Her maid, Braithwaite, was standing a few feet away, a gla.s.s in her hand. She looked exhausted.

"I am sorry to have to intrude upon you, Mrs. Parmenter," Pitt began. "If there were any alternative I would not."

"I understand," she said very quietly. "You are only doing your duty. Anyway, I think it is probably easier to speak of it now than to start again tomorrow morning. There is something about telling someone-outside the family-which relieves one of some of the burden. Does that sound...selfish?" She looked at him earnestly.

"No." He sat down on the dressing chair without waiting for her to invite him. "It makes excellent sense. Please tell me what happened as exactly as you can remember."

"Where shall I begin?"

"Wherever you wish."