spiritual. I’d lay a wager with you that if we search the house, probably the study, we’ll find the original Latin or Greek or Hebrew, or whatever, of these letters.” Again she waved her hand at them, touching her cup with the sleeve of her gown. “They were probably written by some early saint who fell away, or was drawn into temptation by some wretched woman, no doubt branded an eternal sinner for her ability to draw the said saint away from the path of sanctity. But whoever he was, we’ll find one original from which each pair of these is taken.” She pushed them across to him, her face shining with certainty.
He took them slowly and placed them side by side, comparing the passages as she pointed to them. She was right. All through they were essentially the same ideas expressed in different ways, or by two personalities who were utterly unlike in all their perceptions, their emotions, their use of words, every way in which they saw the world both without and within.
“Yes …” he said with rapidly growing assurance also. “Yes … they are! Ramsay and Unity were never in love. These are only one more issue over which they couldn’t agree. He saw them as declarations of divine love; she saw them as passionate love between a man and a woman, and interpreted them as such. He kept them all because they were part of whatever it was he was working on.”
She smiled back at him. “Exactly. It makes infinitely more sense. The idea of Ramsay being the father of her child can be forgotten completely.” She made a sweeping movement with her hand and nearly knocked the milk jug onto the floor.
Pitt moved it to a safer place.
“Which leaves Mallory,” she said with a frown. “And he swears he did not leave the conservatory, and yet that he didn’t see Unity, either. And we know she went in there while he was there, because of the stain on her shoe.”
“And he didn’t leave the conservatory during that time,” he agreed, “because there was no stain on his shoes.”
“You checked?”
“Of course I checked. So did Tellman.”
“So she went in … and he didn’t leave … so he lied. Why? If he could prove he didn’t leave the conservatory, what difference does it make if she went in and spoke to him or not?”
“None,” he conceded. He drank his tea. Actually, he was getting hungry. “I’ll make some toast.” He stood up.
“You’ll burn it,” she observed, standing also. “Perhaps I should make breakfast? Would you like eggs?”
“Yes, please.” He sat down again quickly, smiling.
She gave him a look of swift understanding of exactly what he had done, but was quite happy to cook, after directing him to stoke the fire again.
It was about half an hour later when they were enjoying bacon, eggs, toast and marmalade and a fresh pot of tea that she returned to the subject.
“It doesn’t make a great deal of sense as it is,” she said with her mouth full. “But if we could find the originals of those letters, we could at least be sure there was no affair between Ramsay and Unity. Apart from coming closer to the truth, don’t you think in honor we should do that? Her family must be heartbroken. Mrs. Parmenter must feel utterly betrayed. I couldn’t bear it if I thought you could write letters like that to someone else.”
He nearly swallowed his bacon whole.
She burst into laughter. “All right, they are not quite your way of putting things,” she agreed.
“Not quite …” He gulped with difficulty.
“But we should go and look,” she urged, reaching for the teapot.
“Yes, I’ll have Tellman do it tomorrow.”
“Tellman! He wouldn’t know a clerical love letter if it landed on his breakfast table in front of him.”
“Not very likely,” he said dryly.
“I think we should go. Today would be a good time.”
“It’s Sunday!” he protested.
“I know that. There will probably be no one at home.”
“There’ll be everybody at home!”
“No, there won’t. They are a church family. They’ll all be at the Sunday service. There’ll probably be a memorial for Ramsay. They’ll be bound to be there.”
He hesitated. He wanted to spend the day quietly at home with his wife and children. On the other hand, if they could find the letters it would prove that Ramsay was innocent at least of that. Which would not help a great deal.
But the longer he thought of it, the more he was driven to