… he tried to kill me! I—I had to … defend myself! I only meant …” She swallowed with such a constriction of her throat that she choked, and he had to hold her while she coughed until she could find her breath again. “I only meant to fight him off” … just so I could get away. But he was insane!” She held up her right arm, where the imprint of a bloody hand showed clearly around her wrist. “He had hold of me!” She seemed amazed, as if she could still hardly believe it. “I …” She swallowed again. “I managed to reach for the paper knife. I thought if I could stab his arm, he would have to let go of me and I could escape.” Her eyes were fixed on his, wide and almost black. “He moved … he moved, Dominic! I only meant to stab his arm.”
He felt sick. “What happened?”
“He moved!” she repeated. “His arm was there! He was holding me. His hands were around my throat! The look in his face! It wasn’t the man I know at all. It wasn’t Ramsay! He was terrible, full of hate and such—such anger!”
“What happened?” he repeated more firmly.
Her voice sank. “I struck at his arm, to make him let go of me, and he moved. The knife caught his neck … his … throat, Dominic—I think he’s dead!”
They all remained frozen for seconds. A log blazed up in the fireplace in a shower of sparks.
Clarice turned her head and leaned against Mallory’s shoulder, and wept. He clung to her, burying his cheek in her hair.
On the floor, Tryphena started to sit up.
Dominic left Vita and went over to the bell rope and pulled it, far harder than he had intended, but his hands were tingling as if they were numb, and he was trembling.
“Get Emsley to bring some brandy and fetch the doctor,” he said to Mallory. “I’ll go upstairs.” He did not bother to ask Vita if it was the study. He assumed it was. Ramsay had barely left it in the last week.
He went along the top corridor and opened the study door.
Ramsay was lying near the desk, half on his back, one leg a little crooked under him. There was a gash on his throat and a wide, deep pool of crimson blood puddling on the carpet beside him. There was nothing in his hands, but there were smears of blood on them, staining his cuffs. His eyes were wide open, and he looked surprised.
Dominic knelt down and felt a desperate sadness engulf him. Ramsay had been his friend, had held out kindness and hope when he had needed it. Now he had drowned in an ocean Dominic had not even comprehended. He had watched it happen, and not been able to save him. His sense of loss filled him with pain—and a bitter knowledge of having failed.
9
PITT WAS SITTING by the fire in the parlor with his feet on the fender when the telephone rang. It was so unusual an occurrence that he never left Gracie to answer.
Charlotte looked up from her sewing with surprise, meeting his eyes questioningly.
He shrugged and stood up. The instrument was in the hall, and he had to go out into the comparative chill, but he found himself shivering even before his feet were on the linoleum. He picked up the speaker.
“Hello? Thomas Pitt here.”
He barely recognized the voice on the other end. “Thomas? Is that you?”
“Yes. Who is it? Dominic?”
“Yes.” There was a gasp and a breath of relief. “Thomas … I’m in Ramsay Parmenter’s study. Thank God for the telephone here. He’s dead.”
The first thought that came to Pitt’s mind was suicide. Ramsay had felt the inevitable truth closing around him and he had taken the way out he felt most honorable. Perhaps he imagined it would save the church embarrassment. The bishop would be pleased. At that thought Pitt found himself suddenly almost speechless with rage.
“Dominic!”
“Yes? Thomas … you’d better come—immediately. I …”
“Are you all right?” There was no point in asking. There was nothing he could do to help the shock and the distress he heard through Dominic’s voice. He had misjudged him. Dominic had not been to blame—probably not for anything. Charlotte would be happy.
“Yes—yes, I am.” Dominic sounded wretched. “But, Thomas … it was an—an accident. I suppose you could say …” His voice trailed off.
Pitt’s first thought was to refuse to say anything of the sort. He would not