or prudent. We had a fearful quarrel. He seemed to lose all … sanity! His whole bearing altered until he was like a madman.” Her hands gripped at the embroidered linen of the sheet. “He threw himself at me, saying I had no right to violate his privacy by looking at his personal letters.” Her voice dropped even lower. “He called me all sorts of … frightful things: a thief, a philistine, an intruder. He said I had spoiled his life, dried up his passion and his inspiration, that I was a … a leech, a drain on his spirit, unworthy of him.” She stopped abruptly. It was a moment or two before she could continue. “He was almost incoherent with rage. He seemed to have lost all control of himself. He threw himself at me, with his hands out, and caught me by the neck.” She put her fingers up towards her throat but did not touch it. It was red where his hands had been and was already beginning to darken into bruising.
“Go on,” Pitt said gently.
She lowered her hands slowly, watching his face. “I couldn’t argue with him, I couldn’t speak. I tried to fight him off, but of course he was far stronger than I.” She was breathing very hard, gulping. He could see her breast rise and fall. “We struggled back and forth. I don’t remember exactly now. His grip was getting tighter all the time. I could hardly breathe. I was afraid he meant to kill me. I … I saw the paper knife on the desk. I reached for it and struck at him. I meant to stab his arm, so the pain of it would make him let go of me and I could escape.” She shook her head, her eyes wide. “I couldn’t cry out. I couldn’t make a sound!” She stopped again.
“Of course,” Pitt agreed.
“I … I struck at his arm, at his shoulder, where I wouldn’t miss. If I struck lower down I was afraid I would only catch sleeve.” She took a very deep breath and let it out silently. “I drove it with all my strength, before I fainted from lack of air. He must have moved.” She looked paper white. “I caught his neck.” Her voice was so low it was barely a whisper, as if the strangling hands were still choking her. “It was terrible. It was the worst moment of my life. He fell back … staring at me as if he couldn’t believe it. For an instant he was himself again, the old Ramsay, sane and wise and full of tenderness. There was … blood … everywhere.” Her eyes filled with tears. “I don’t know what I did then. I was so filled with horror … I—I think I went to kneel where he fell. I don’t know. It was all a blur of horror, of grief.… Time stood still.” She swallowed, her throat tightening. It must have hurt. “Then I went downstairs to get help.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Parmenter,” he acknowledged gravely. While she had been speaking he had been watching her face, her hands, and looking discreetly at the deep bloodstains on her dress. Everything he saw was consistent with her account of what had happened and with what he had seen in the study. There was no cause to doubt the tragedy as she had told it to him. “I am sure you would now like to bathe and change your clothes, and perhaps take the sedative the doctor left for you. I shall not need to disturb you further tonight.”
“Yes. Yes, I should.” She gave a little shiver and pulled the sheet higher up over her, but she did not say anything else.
Pitt left her and went back to the study. He must speak to the doctor, to both her daughters, and either he or Tellman should speak to the servants. Somebody might have heard something. Not that it would help if they had; it was simply a matter of being thorough.
It was nearly midnight when he arrived at Cornwallis’s rooms and the manservant let him in. The man had already retired and had been awakened by the doorbell. He had a dressing robe on over hastily donned trousers, and his hair stood on end at the back where his comb had not reached it.
“Yes sir?” he said a little stiffly.
Pitt apologized. “I imagine Mr. Cornwallis has gone to bed, but I am afraid I need to see him urgently.