Please … please tell Phinnie that …”
He avoided her eyes. “Delphinia is very distressed. She has now lost all possibility of reconciliation with her mother, and this terrible manner of her death has cast a dark shadow over her forthcoming wedding. I asked her if she wished to send any message to you, perhaps of comfort or support. She declined. I’m … sorry.”
It was another blow. Maybe she should have expected it. Phinnie was as changeable as the spring weather athome. But this hurt. Surely Phinnie knew her better than to imagine she would have killed anyone, let alone a frail old woman she had never even met?
But of course Phinnie would not be thinking, only grieving, and fearing that the scandal of murder would affect the Albright family, and spoil the longed-for wedding to Brent.
“I shall contact the best lawyer I can afford, Miss Pitt, and perhaps this matter may be dealt with before your family has to be informed.” Mr. Albright rose to his feet. “I am very sorry your visit to us has ended in this way.”
She watched him go out the far door without turning back, his perfectly tailored shoulders stiff, his white hair gleaming in the light. He had said nothing about putting up bail to have her released. Perhaps, considering the charge, it was not possible anyway. She would stay here, hungry, aching, and cold to the bone. Christmas was ten days away—they might not bring her to trial before then. And when they did—then what? Oh, please heaven he would tell her father, and he would come and shatter this nightmare!
O fficer Flannery came to see Jemima late in the afternoon, as it was already getting dark. She saw him in the same bare interview room where she had been charged, sitting on the same wooden-backed chair.
He looked different without his police hat. He had thick dark hair with a heavy curl in it. He looked tired and cold.
“Are you all right?” He asked her the same question Mr. Albright had, and with something of the same anxiety.
“I cannot tell you anything further,” she said more stiffly than she had meant to. It was her only defense against showing the fear and misery she felt. “I did not see Mrs. Cardew alive, except for a few moments in the park the previous afternoon, when she turned toward us and looked up at the snow on the branches. I would not even know it was the same woman if Harley 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.
“Did Miss Cardew know that her mother was in the city?” he asked.
“Of course not!” Jemima protested. “That is what Harley 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 now think that it is possible she
did
know,” Flannery replied.
Jemima was astonished. Suddenly nothing made sense. “If she knows it is because
he
told her! But why would he do that?” She was utterly confused. “Harley wanted the whole wedding to be a high-society event, with no hint of scandal to mar it. He told me he was even willing to pay Maria Cardew to stay away.”
“That would’ve been 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 the only thing in your favor is that he says it is possible that Miss Cardew
He avoided her eyes. “Delphinia is very distressed. She has now lost all possibility of reconciliation with her mother, and this terrible manner of her death has cast a dark shadow over her forthcoming wedding. I asked her if she wished to send any message to you, perhaps of comfort or support. She declined. I’m … sorry.”
It was another blow. Maybe she should have expected it. Phinnie was as changeable as the spring weather athome. But this hurt. Surely Phinnie knew her better than to imagine she would have killed anyone, let alone a frail old woman she had never even met?
But of course Phinnie would not be thinking, only grieving, and fearing that the scandal of murder would affect the Albright family, and spoil the longed-for wedding to Brent.
“I shall contact the best lawyer I can afford, Miss Pitt, and perhaps this matter may be dealt with before your family has to be informed.” Mr. Albright rose to his feet. “I am very sorry your visit to us has ended in this way.”
She watched him go out the far door without turning back, his perfectly tailored shoulders stiff, his white hair gleaming in the light. He had said nothing about putting up bail to have her released. Perhaps, considering the charge, it was not possible anyway. She would stay here, hungry, aching, and cold to the bone. Christmas was ten days away—they might not bring her to trial before then. And when they did—then what? Oh, please heaven he would tell her father, and he would come and shatter this nightmare!
O fficer Flannery came to see Jemima late in the afternoon, as it was already getting dark. She saw him in the same bare interview room where she had been charged, sitting on the same wooden-backed chair.
He looked different without his police hat. He had thick dark hair with a heavy curl in it. He looked tired and cold.
“Are you all right?” He asked her the same question Mr. Albright had, and with something of the same anxiety.
“I cannot tell you anything further,” she said more stiffly than she had meant to. It was her only defense against showing the fear and misery she felt. “I did not see Mrs. Cardew alive, except for a few moments in the park the previous afternoon, when she turned toward us and looked up at the snow on the branches. I would not even know it was the same woman if Harley 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.
“Did Miss Cardew know that her mother was in the city?” he asked.
“Of course not!” Jemima protested. “That is what Harley 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 now think that it is possible she
did
know,” Flannery replied.
Jemima was astonished. Suddenly nothing made sense. “If she knows it is because
he
told her! But why would he do that?” She was utterly confused. “Harley wanted the whole wedding to be a high-society event, with no hint of scandal to mar it. He told me he was even willing to pay Maria Cardew to stay away.”
“That would’ve been 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 the only thing in your favor is that he says it is possible that Miss Cardew
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