Paragon Walk (21 page)

Emily did not know what answer was expected to this. “Indeed?” she said noncommittally.

“And what is more,” Miss Lucinda continued, “I think it is something perfectly scandalous, and it is our duty to put a stop to it!”

“Yes.” Emily was floundering now. “It would be.”

“I think it is something to do with that Frenchman,” Miss Lucinda said with conviction.

Miss Laetitia shook her head.

“Lady Tamworth says it is the Jew.”

Emily blinked. “What Jew?”

“Why, Mr. Isaacs, of course!” Miss Lucinda was losing patience. “But that is nonsense. Nobody would entertain him, except for business necessities. I think it has to do with those parties at Lord Dilbridge’s. I don’t know how poor Grace bears all of it.”

“All of what?” Emily asked. She was not sure whether there was anything remotely worth listening to in all this.

“All that goes on! Really, Emily, my dear, you must concern yourself with what occurs in your immediate neighborhood, you know. How else can we control it? It is up to us to see that standards are maintained!”

“She has always been very concerned about standards,” Miss Laetitia put in.

“It’s as well!” Miss Lucinda snapped. “Someone needs to be, and there are more than enough of us who are not!”

“I have no idea what is going on.” Emily was a little embarrassed by the obvious meaning between them. “I do not go to the parties at the Dilbridges’, and quite honestly, I didn’t know that they hold any more than most people do in the summer.”

“My dear, neither do I actually ‘go’ to them. And I dare say they don’t. But it’s not the number, it is the nature that matters. I tell you, Emily, my dear, there is something very strange going on, and I mean to uncover it!”

“I would be careful, if I were you,” Emily felt obliged to caution her. “Remember that there have been very tragic occurrences. Do not place yourself in danger.” She was thinking rather more of the sensitivities of those Miss Lucinda might press with her curiosity than of any peril to Lucinda herself.

Miss Lucinda stood up, thrusting out her bosom.

“I am of dauntless courage when I see my duty clearly before me. And I shall expect your help, if you discover anything of importance!”

“Oh, indeed,” Emily agreed, knowing perfectly well she would consider nothing that entered Miss Lucinda’s realm of “duty” important.

“Good! Now I must call on poor Grace.”

And before Emily could find suitable words to point out the lateness of the hour, she gathered Miss Laetitia in her wake and swept out.

Emily was standing outside in the garden at dusk, her face upward toward the evening breeze, the frail, sweet scent of roses and mignonette drifting across the dry grass. There was a single, brilliant star out already, although the sky was blue-gray and there was still color in the west.

She was thinking about Charlotte, knowing she had no garden, no room for flowers, and feeling a little guilty that chance had given her so much for no effort of her own. She determined to find a graceful way of sharing it a little more, without making Charlotte feel aware of it—or Pitt. Apart from the fact that he was Charlotte’s husband, Emily liked Pitt for himself.

She was standing quite still, facing the breeze, when it happened, a shrill, tearing scream that went on and on, shattering the night. It reverberated in the stillness, then came again, sickeningly, thick-throated.

Emily froze, her skin crawling. The evening was heavy with silence.

Then somewhere there was a shout.

Emily moved, picking up her skirts and running back into the house, through the withdrawing room, the hall, and out of the front door, shouting for the butler and the footman.

Out in the front driveway she stopped. Lights were coming on along the Walk, and a man’s voice was calling out two hundred yards away.

Then she saw Selena. She was running along the middle of the road, her hair ragged down her back and the bosom of her dress ripped open, showing white flesh.

Emily started toward her. Already she knew in her heart what it was. There was no need to wait for Selena’s gasping, sobbing words.

She fell into Emily’s arms.

“I’ve been —violated!”

“Hush!” Emily held on to her hard. “Hush!” She was talking meaninglessly, but it was the sound of a voice that mattered. “You’re safe now. Come on, come inside.” Gently she led her, weeping, across the carriageway and up the stairs.

Inside she closed the withdrawing room door and sat her down. The servants were all outside, searching for the man, any stranger, anyone who could not explain themselves—although it did occur fleetingly to Emily that all the man need do was join in the hunt to pass into virtual invisibility!

Maybe when she had time to think, to compose herself, Selena would say less, be embarrassed or unclear.

Emily knelt down in front of her, taking her hands.

“What happened?” she said firmly. “Who was it?”

Selena lifted her face, flushed, her eyes wide and glittering.

“It was awful!” she whispered. “Violent hunger, like nothing I’ve ever known! I shall feel it—and smell it—as long as I live!”

“Who was it?” Emily repeated.

“He was tall,” Selena said slowly. “And slender. And God, how strong he was!”

“Who!”

“I—oh, Emily, you must swear before God you will say nothing—swear!”

“Why?”

“Because,” she swallowed hard, her body shivering, her eyes enormous, “I—I think it was Monsieur Alaric, but— but I cannot be sure. You must swear, Emily! If you accuse him, and you are wrong, we shall both be in terrible danger. Remember Fanny! I shall swear I know nothing!”

P
ITT WAS CALLED
, of course, and he left home immediately in the same cab that had brought the message, but by the time he reached Paragon Walk, Selena was dressed in a discreet gown of Emily’s and sitting on the big sofa in the withdrawing room. She was now much more composed. Her face was flushed, her hands white and knotted in her lap, but she told him quite coolly what had happened.

She had been returning from a brief visit to Grace Dilbridge, hurrying a little to be home before dark, when she had been attacked from behind by a man of above average height and quite phenomenal strength. She had been thrown to the ground on the grass by the rose bed, as near as she could judge. The next part was too appalling, and surely Pitt, as a delicate man, would not expect her to describe it? Sufficient to say she had been violated! By whom she did not know. She had not seen his face, nor could she describe anything else about him, except his enormous strength and the fierceness of his animal behavior.

He questioned her as to anything at all she might have noticed without realizing it: his clothing, was it of good texture or harsh; did he have a shirt beneath his jacket, white or dark? Were his hands rough?

She considered for only a moment.

“Oh,” she said, with a little flutter of surprise. “Yes, you are right! His clothes were good. He must have been a gentleman. I recall white shirt cuffs. And his hands were smooth, but”—she lowered her eyes—“very strong!”

He pressed her further, but she could tell him nothing more. He had not spoken, and presently she grew distressed and became unable to say anything more.

He was obliged to give up and fall back on the ordinary routine chasing of details. In a long and exhausting night, he and Forbes questioned every man on the Walk, obliging them to leave their beds angry and frightened. As previously, everyone could account in a perfectly reasonable way for his whereabouts, but none had complete proof that they could not have been outside for those few, vital moments.

Afton Nash had been in his study, but it opened onto the garden and, there was no reason why he could not have slipped out without being seen. Jessamyn Nash had been playing the piano and could not say whether Diggory was in the room all evening or not. Freddie Dilbridge had been alone in his garden room; he had said that he was considering some decorating changes. Grace was not with him. Hallam Cayley and Paul Alaric lived alone. The only bright aspect was that George had been in town, and it really did seem wildly improbable that he could have returned unseen to the Walk.

All the servants were questioned, and all the answers compared. A few had been occupied in activities they would have preferred to keep secret; there were three separate affairs and a card game where money of quite a high order had changed hands. Possibly there would be dismissals in the morning! But most either could account for themselves or were precisely where one would expect them to be.

At the end of it all, in a still, warm dawn, eyes gritting with sleep, his throat dry, Pitt knew nothing more of any worth.

It was two days after that that Pitt at last received his answer from Paris regarding Paul Alaric. He stood in the middle of the police station with it in his hands, more confused than ever. The Paris police could find no trace of him and apologized for the delay in their reply, explaining that they had sent to every major center in France inquiring, but still they could find no definite news. There were, of course, one or two families of that name, but none of their members fitted the description as to age, appearance, or anything else. And their whereabouts were already accounted for. Most certainly they had no records of such a person accused, much less convicted, of any indecent assaults upon women.

Pitt wondered why Alaric should lie as to his origin?

Then he recalled that Alaric had never said anything about his origin. Everyone else had said he was French, but Alaric himself had said nothing at all, and Pitt had never seen reason to ask. Freddie Dilbridge’s accusation was probably exactly what Grace had said it was—a desire to attract attention away from his own friends. Who easier to accuse than the only foreigner?

Pitt dismissed the Paris reply and went back to the practical investigation.

The investigation proceeded through the long, hot days, tedious question after question, and gradually Pitt was obliged to turn his attention to other crimes. The rest of London did not suddenly cease from robbery, deceit, and violence, and he could not spend all his hours on one mystery, however tragic or dangerous.

Life slowly resumed a more normal pattern in the Walk. Of course, Selena’s ordeal was not forgotten. Reactions to it varied. Oddly enough, Jessamyn was the most sympathetic. It was as if the old enmity between them had been entirely swept away. It fascinated Emily, because not only did they show a new friendship toward each other, there seemed to be a glow of satisfaction about it in both of them, as if each felt in her own way she had won a signal victory.

Jessamyn was all solicitude for Selena’s appalling experience and coddled her on every reasonable occasion, even prompting other people to the same concern. Of course, it did have the byproduct of allowing no one to forget the incident, a fact which Emily noted with some amusement and passed on to Charlotte when visiting her.

And curiously, Selena herself did not seem to mind. She colored deeply and her eyes were bright when it was referred to, always obliquely, of course—no one could wish to be vulgar enough to use unpleasant words—but she seemed to take no offense at its mention.

Naturally there were others who regarded it quite differently. George studiously avoided the subject altogether, and Emily permitted him to do so for some time. She had originally decided to dismiss her knowledge of his involvement with Selena, provided it never happened again. Then one morning an opportunity presented itself which was too good to miss, and almost without being conscious of it, she found herself taking advantage.

George looked up over the breakfast table. Aunt Vespasia was down early this morning and had helped herself delicately to apricot preserve with walnuts in, and a little very thin toast.

“What are you going to do today, Aunt Vespasia?” George inquired politely.

“I shall endeavor to avoid Grace Dilbridge,” she replied, “which will not be easy, since I have certain calls to make, as a matter of duty, and no doubt she will have the same ones. It will require some forethought to see that we do not come across each other at every step and turn.”

George said the automatic thing, partially because he was not really listening.

“Why do you wish to avoid her? She’s harmless enough.”

“She is excessively tedious,” Aunt Vespasia said smartly, finishing her toast. “I used to think that her suffering and the continuous, eyes-upturned expression of it was the nadir of boredom. But that was easy to take compared with her views on the subject of women who are molested, the general bestiality of men, and certain woman who contribute to everyone’s misfortune by encouraging them. That is more than I can bear.”

Emily spoke, for once, a fraction before she thought, her natural feelings for Selena stronger than her usual caution.

“I would have thought you might agree with her, at least in some respects?” she said, turning to Vespasia, a little edge to her voice.

Vespasia’s gray eyes widened.

“To disagree with Grace Dilbridge and yet have to listen to her with civility is part of the normal trials of Society, my dear,” she replied. “To be obliged by honesty, to agree with her, and to say so, is more than should be asked of anyone! It is the first and only time we have agreed about anything of moment, and it is intolerable. Of course Selena is no better than she should be! Even a fool knows that!” She stood up and dusted an imaginary crumb off her skirt.

Emily lowered her eyes for a long moment; then looked up at George. He turned from Aunt Vespasia, going out of the door, and back at Emily.

“Poor Aunt Vespasia,” Emily said carefully. “It is most trying. Grace is so very self-righteous, but one has to admit that on this occasion she is right. I dislike speaking ill of my own sex, especially of a friend, but Selena has behaved in the past in a way to—not quite invite.” She hesitated. “Misunderstanding as to her—” She stopped, her eyes holding George’s, staring across at him. His face was pale, stiff with apprehension.

“What?” He asked in the silence.

“Well—” She smiled very brightly, a cool, wise little smile. “Well, she has been a little—free—with herself, hasn’t she, my dear? And that sort of person attracts—” She let it go. She knew from his face that he had understood perfectly. There were no more secrets,