Resurrection Row by Anne Perry

not yet sure of the other’s.
    She still looked away from him. “Yes, I am.” She picked at the fringe of the settee. Her hands were very smooth, used to embroidery and arranging flowers. She was impelled to say more, not simply to leave the subject. “Why do you ask?”
    Now he was more delicate. “Do you think someone else might be jealous of your friendship? I have met Mr. Corde; he is a most charming man, and eligible for marriage.”
    The color deepened in her face, and, perhaps feeling its heat, her embarrassment became more painful.
    “That may be, Mr. Pitt.” Her eyes came up sharply. He had not noticed before, but they were golden hazel. “But I am newly a widow—” She stopped. Possibly she realized how pompous it sounded. She began again. “I cannot imagine anyone being so deranged as to do such a thing because of a social envy, even over Mr. Corde.”
    He was still sitting opposite her, only a few feet away. “Can you think of any kind of sane reason for a person to do it, ma’am?”
    There was silence again. The fire crackled and fell in sparks. He reached forward for the tongs and put on another piece of coal. It was a luxury to burn fuel without thought of price. He put on a second piece, and a third. The fire blazed up in yellow heat.
    “No,” she said gently. “You are quite right.”
    Before he could say anything else, the door swung open and a stout old lady in black came in, banging ahead of herself with a stick. She surveyed Pitt with disdain as he automatically stood up.
    Alicia stood up also. “Mama, this is Inspector Pitt, from the police.” She turned to Pitt. “My mother-in-law, Lady Fitzroy-Hammond.”
    The old lady did not move. She did not intend to be introduced to a policeman as if he were a social acquaintance, and certainly not in what she still considered her own house.
    “Indeed,” she said sourly. “I had assumed so. I imagine you have some duties to attend to, Alicia? The house does not grind to a halt because someone has died, you know. You cannot expect the servants to supervise themselves! Go and see to the menus for the day and that the maids are properly employed. There was dust on the window ledge in the upstairs landing yesterday. I soiled my cuff on it!” She drew in her breath. “Well, don’t stand there, girl. If the policeman wants to see you again, he can call again!”
    Alicia glanced at Pitt, and he shook his head fractionally. She accepted his dismissal with the civility and the respect for the old that had been bred in her. After she was gone, the old lady waddled over to the settee and sat down, still holding her stick.
    “What are you here for?” she demanded. She had on a white lace cap, and Pitt noticed that underneath it her hair was not yet dressed. He guessed she had heard his arrival reported by a maid and risen hurriedly in order not to miss him.
    “To see if I can discover who disinterred your son,” he replied baldly.
    “What in goodness!—Do you imagine it was one of us?” Her disgust at his stupidity was immense, and she took care he should be aware of it.
    “Hardly, ma’am,” he answered levelly. “It is a man’s job. But I think it very likely it was directed at one of you. Since it has happened twice, we cannot assume it coincidence.”
    She banged her stick on the floor. “You should investigate!” she said with satisfaction, her fat cheeks tight inside their skin. “Find out everything you can. A lot of people seem to be what they aren’t. I would start with a Mr. Dominic Corde, if I were you.” Her eyes never wavered from his face. “Much too smooth, that one. After Alicia’s money, shouldn’t wonder. Take a good look at him. Sniffing round here before poor Augustus was dead, long before! Turning her head with his handsome face and easy manners—stupid girl! As if a face were worth anything. Why, when I was her age I knew twenty just like him.” She snapped her fingers sharply. “Courts of Europe are full of