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“That’s why I fight for women to retain some rights in their property,” he said harshly. “The law is blind. It gives them no protection. We speak publicly as if we honor and cherish our women, give them safety from the ills and strife of the world, the dark and the sordid battles of trade and politics, the uses and abuses of power-and yet we leave them open to being mere vehicles for gaining money that was intended for their protection from hunger and want, and the law offers nothing!”
“A law for married women to keep rights in their own property?” she said, filled with a sudden blaze of understanding.
“Yes! Both inherited and earned. That swine sent Amelia out to work to provide for his extravagances, but the law gave him the right to her wages even so.” The outrage in him was palpable, like a thing in the air.
She shared it-not the passion, because she had not been touched by it personally as he had, but in her mind the injustice was as great, and the need to amend it. “I see,” she said, and she meant it.
He drew in breath to argue, then looked at her more closely. “Yes, perhaps you do. I apologize. I was about to deny that possibility. I know you have also fought for reform, and often against extraordinary blindness. We are both seeking to protect those who are vulnerable and need the strong to defend them.” There was fury in his voice, and also a ring of pride.
Callandra was glad to hear it. The willingness to fight and courage were exactly what she needed, and her pity for his loss was now touched with admiration as well. “Do you have hope of achieving such a thing?” she asked with some eagerness.
He smiled very slightly. “I’ve worked towards it for the greater part of my career, and with the recent change in government I believe that it is within sight. There is a by-election coming up. If I can do this, I will have benefited both men and women, though they may not at first accept that. But surely justice is a boon for all.”
“Of course it is,” she agreed wholeheartedly.
There was a momentary interruption as the maid brought in the tray with the tea and set it out on the low table for them. She poured and then left.
Callandra was surprised how welcome the hot, fragrant drink was after all, and the tiny sandwiches of cucumber, and egg and cress. It gave her time to compose her thoughts.
She must address the purpose of her visit. He could not for a moment have thought she came simply to talk of good causes, however urgent.
She put down her cup. “As you know, I have engaged Mr. Monk to learn all the truth he can as to the events in Acton Street.” It was a rather overdelicate way of phrasing it, and the moment it had passed her lips, she wished she had been more frank. “I am afraid that much of what he has discovered is not what either you or I would have wished.”
His attention upon her was absolute, his eyes unwavering. “What has he discovered, Lady Callandra? Please be candid with me. Elissa was my daughter; I cannot afford to know less than the truth.”
“Of course not. I apologize if I seemed to be prevaricating,” she said sincerely. “We believed Dr. Beck could account for his time, that he was elsewhere with a patient, sufficiently far away to have made his involvement impossible. Unfortunately, he was mistaken in the times. I do not believe for an instant that he has any guilt at all, but he cannot prove it. Since he was her husband, naturally the police have to consider him suspect.”
“That is a regrettable comment upon human nature,” he said with a very slight tremor in his voice. “And more so upon the state of marriage. But I suppose it is true.” He ignored his tea, leaning a little forward across the table. He was a very tall man, and his knees were level with its surface. It was a feat of elegance that he could move without looking ungainly. “Please do not try to spare my feelings, Lady Callandra. You say you do not believe for an instant that my son-in-law could be guilty-why not?” He tried to smile, and failed. It was a twisted grimace of pain. “I do not, either, but then I have known him for many years. Why do you not?”
She drew in her breath to answer truthfully, then realized the danger not only to herself but, by implication, to Kristian also.
“Because I have watched his work in the hospital,” she said instead. “But it is only my opinion, and will carry no weight with the police, or anyone else. I had hoped Mr. Monk would find some other person with a strong motive, and perhaps some evidence to implicate him, but so far he has not done so. However, another possibility has come to my attention.” She hated telling him of the gambling. Already she was all but certain he did not know, at least not the extent of it.
Pendreigh put his cup down and pushed it a little further into the middle of the table. His hand was trembling very slightly. “It seems to me quite obvious that the artists’ model was the intended victim, and Elissa was simply unfortunate enough to have witnessed the crime. Surely that is what the police are really pursuing? Any consideration of Kristian must be merely a formality.”
“I imagine so. Nevertheless, I would prefer to have forestalled them before this,” she answered.
“Exactly what has Monk found?” he asked.
This was the moment she could not avoid. “That Mrs. Beck gambled,” she answered, watching his face. “And lost very heavily.” She saw his eyes widen and something within him flinch, so deep it was visible more as a shadow than a movement. But she was convinced in that instant that he had not known. No man could have lied with the skill to blanch the color from his skin, to convey such pain within, and yet not move at all. “I. . I wish I had not had to tell you,” she stumbled on. “But the police are aware of it, and I am afraid it provides a very powerful motive. Many men have killed for less reason than to avoid ruin. It occurred to me that perhaps in desperation to pay debts she may have incurred an enmity. .” She drew in her breath. “Somehow. .” Did he understand enough not to need the ugly picture detailed?
He said nothing. He seemed too stunned to be able to respond. He stared into the distance, through her, as if seeing ghosts, broken dreams, things he loved taken from him.
“But I saw her regularly over the last half year since I moved to London!” he protested, still trying to push the reality from him. “She was just as well dressed as always. She never seemed in any. . difficulty!”
Callandra wished she could have avoided reason and gone with hope, but there was none that stood the light. “She will have chosen the times when she was winning to call upon you,” she pointed out. “With skill and imagination one can appear well dressed. One has friends. There are pawnshops. .”
Something died in his face. “I see.” The words were a whi
sper.
“I think she could not help it,” Callandra went on gently. She heard herself almost with disbelief. She was defending the woman who had driven Kristian to despair and the shadow of debtors’ prison. He was on the verge of being blamed for her murder. “Mr. Pendreigh. .”
He recalled his attention and turned his eyes to her, but he did not speak.
“Mr. Pendreigh, we must do what we can to help. You have said you do not believe Dr. Beck is guilty. Then someone else must be.”
“Yes. .” he said, then more abruptly, “Yes. . of course.” He focused his attention with difficulty. “What about the artist, Allardyce? I should be loath to think it was he, but it has to be a possibility. Elissa was extremely beautiful. .” For a moment his voice faltered, and he made an immense effort to bring it back into control. “Men were fascinated by her. It wasn’t just her face, it was a. . a vitality, a love of life, an energy which I never saw in anyone else. Allardyce loved to paint her. Perhaps he wanted more than that, and she refused him. He might have. .” He did not finish the thought, but the rest of it was obvious. It did not surprise her that he could not bear to put it into words.
