Anne Perry - Southampton Row

SOUTHAMPTON
ROW

Anne Perry

Ballantine Books New York

Table of Contents

With thanks to Derrick Graham for his assistance
in research and for his excellent ideas

A Ballantine Book

The Ballantine Publishing Group

Copyright 2002 by Anne Perry

All rights reserved under International

and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. Published

in the United States by The Ballantine Publishing Group, a division of

Random House, Inc., New York, and simultaneously in Canada

by Random House of Canada Limited, Toronto.

Ballantine is a registered trademark and the Ballantine colophon is a trademark of Random House, Inc.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are a product of the authors imagination or are used fictitiously.

www.ballantinebooks.com

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

Perry, Anne.

Southampton Row / Anne Perry. 1st ed.

p. cm.

1. Pitt, Charlotte (Fictitious character)Fiction. 2. Women detectives
EnglandLondonFiction. 3. Pitt, Thomas (Fictitious character)Fiction.
4. PoliceEnglandLondonFiction. 5. London (England)Fiction.
6. Police spousesFiction. I. Title.

PR6066.E693 S68 2002

823.914dc21 2001052664

eISBN: 978-0-345-45502-4

v3.0

CHAPTER
FIFTEEN

There was little to be salvaged from the ruins of the house on Southampton Row, but the fire engines did at least stop the flames from spreading to the house to the south, or across Cosmo Place to the north.

There was no question that it was the curtains catching fire and the flames spreading to the gas brackets which had caused the first explosion, which had then cracked other gas mains throughout the north part of the house. Gas had leaked out, and as soon as the open flame had reached it, it had made a bomb out of the parlor and its immediate surrounds.

Pitt and Narraway were fortunate to be no more seriously hurt than a few scratches and bruises, and clothing that would never again be fit to wear. It would be late tonight, or even tomorrow morning, before it would be safe for anyone to go into the ruins to look for what was left of Lena Forrest and Bishop Underhill.

And unless there was a connection between Maude Lamont and Voisey in the papers they already had, there was no way in which they could prove such a thing now. Certainly there would be nothing in Southampton Row, nor would Lena Forrest be able to speak again.

The solution, for what its worth, Narraway said when the firemen had asked them all they wished and were satisfied there was nothing more to add.

Pitt knew what he meant. There was little satisfaction in it, except that of the mind, and perhaps that Rose Serracold was not guilty. But there was none of the connection to Voisey they had hoped for. It was there, but impossible to prove, which made it more acutely painful. Voisey could look at them and know they knew very clearly what he had done, and why, and that he would succeed.

Im going to Teddington, Pitt said after a moment or two as they walked along the footpath out of the way of the horses and the fire engines. Even if theres nothing I can prove, I want to know that Francis Wray didnt kill himself.

Ill come with you, Narraway said flatly. He gave a thin smile. Not for your sake! I want to catch Voisey enough to take any chance there is, no matter how slight. But first one of us had better tell Bow Street whats happened here. Weve solved their case for them! He said that with considerable satisfaction. Then he frowned. Why the devil isnt Tellman here?

Pitt was too tired to bother with a lie. I sent him to Devon to move my family. He saw Narraway start. Voisey knew where they were. He told me so himself.

Did he get there?

Yes. Pitt said it with infinite satisfaction. Yes, he did!

Narraway grunted. There was no comment worth making. The darkness seemed to be gathering on all sides around Pitt, and facile remarks would be worse than useless. Ill tell Wetron about this, he said instead. You might tell Cornwallis. He deserves to know.

I will. And someone has to tell the Bishops wife. It will be a while before the firemen get to know who he is.

Cornwallis will find someone, Narraway said quickly. You havent time. And you cant go looking like that anyway.

They reached the end of the pavement at the corner of High Holborn. Narraway hailed the first empty hansom that passed.

Isadora returned home after having told Cornwallis about the Bishops going to Southampton Row. She arrived in the house feeling miserable and horribly ashamed because the step she had taken was irrevocable. She had made her husbands secret public, and Cornwallis was a policeman; he could not keep such a thing in confidence.

It was possible the Bishop was actually the person who had killed the unfortunate spirit medium, although the more she thought about it, the less did she actually believe he had done it. But she had not the right to conceal information on the strength of her own beliefs when they were not knowledge. Somebody had killed Maude Lamont, and the other people there that evening seemed equally unlikely.

She had thought she knew her husband, but she had been completely unaware of his crisis of faith, the terror inside him. It could not have arisen suddenly, even if it had seemed so to him. The underlying weakness must have been there for years, perhaps always?

How much do we ever know other people, especially if we dont really care, not deeply, not with compassion and the effort to watch, to listen, to stretch the imagination and to stop placing self to the front? The fact that he did not know her, or particularly want to, was not an excuse.

She sat thinking all these things, not moving from her chair, not finding anything to comfort herself with or even anything there was purpose in doing until he should return, either with or without the proof he sought.

What would she say to him then? Would she have to tell him that she had been to Cornwallis? Probably. She would not be able to lie to him, to live in the same house, sit across the meal table and make idiotic conversation about nothing, all the time hiding that secret.

She was still sitting doing nothing, her mind consumed in thought, when the maid came to say that Captain Cornwallis was in the morning room and said he must see her.

Her heart lurched, and for a moment she felt so dizzy she could not stand up. So it was Reginald who had killed the medium! He had been arrested. She told the maid that she would come, and then as the girl stood staring at her, she realized she had spoken only in her mind.

Thank you, she said aloud. I shall see him. Very slowly she stood up. Please do not interrupt unless I send for you. I... I fear it may be bad news. She walked past the girl and out of the door, across the hall and into the morning room, closing the door behind her before she faced Cornwallis.

At last she looked at him. He was very pale, his eyes fixed as if something had shocked him so profoundly he was slow to react in the most physical sense. He took a step towards her, then stopped.

I... I know of no gentle way to tell you... he began.

The room swam around her. It was true! She had not even really thought it could be, not even a moment ago.

She felt his hands on her arms, holding her, almost supporting her weight. It was ridiculous, but her legs were buckling under her. She staggered back and sank into one of the chairs. He was leaning over her, his face tense with overwhelming emotion.