“He said she was an arrogant and stupid woman, for all her supposed brains, that she was too obsessed by her ideas of freedom to see that what she was actually talking about was chaos, disorder and destruction,” she said. “He said she was like a dangerous child, playing with the fire of ideas, and one day she was going to burn down the house, and everyone would perish with her.”
“Did Miss Bellwood reply?”
“She shouted that he was an arbitrary old man.” She closed her eyes. The words obviously embarrassed her. “And he was too intellectually limited and emotionally crippled to be able to look with honesty at reality.” She hurried the words to get them out as quickly as she could. “That’s what she said, and wicked, ungrateful it was.” She stared at Pitt challengingly. “Where would she be, I’d like to know, if it wasn’t for gentlemen of importance, like Mr. Parmenter, giving her a chance to work for them?”
“I don’t know. Was there anything else?” he prompted.
Her lips tightened.
“I do realize you hate repeating her words, Miss Braithwaite, and that it is far from your own opinion.”
She shot him a look of gratitude. “Well, she said he was a spiritual coward trading in superstition and fairy stories because he had not the courage to face the truth,” she said bitterly.
“It sounds like a very unpleasant quarrel indeed,” he observed with a leaden feeling inside. “And you heard him follow Miss Bellwood out onto the landing?”
“I think so. I was trying not to hear. It … it wasn’t meant for anyone else, sir. I bent over and started putting the linen in the drawers. And I wouldn’t hear their feet, because the corridor and the landing’s carpeted. Next thing I heard was her giving a little cry, and then a sort of thump, and then her calling out.”
“What words did she call out?”
“I … I don’t know as I’m not sure now,” she equivocated, but the lie was naked in her face. She concentrated on her tea, setting the cup down carefully on the table near her.
“What did she say, Miss Braithwaite? I am sure you can remember if you try.”
She did not reply.
“Do you not wish to help the police discover the truth of what happened?” he persisted.
“Well, yes, of course … but …”
“But what you heard is so damning to someone that you would rather protect him than repeat it.”
She was thoroughly alarmed.
“No … I … you’re puttin’ me in the wrong, sir, and I’ve done nothing.”
“What did you hear, Miss Braithwaite?” he said gently. “It is very wrong indeed to lie to the police or to conceal evidence. It makes you a part of whatever happened.”
She looked horrified and her voice was sharp with fear. “I’ve no part in it!”
“What did you hear, Miss Braithwaite?” he repeated.
“She said, ‘No … no, Reverend!’ ” she whispered.
“Thank you. And what did you do?”
“Me?” She was surprised. “Nothing. Their quarrels is none of my business. I finished with the linen and started tidying the room. Then I heard Mr. Stander call out that there was something terribly wrong, and of course I went to see what it was, like we all did.” She met his eyes unhappily. Her voice dropped. “And there was Miss Bellwood lying on the floor in the hall.”
“Where was the Reverend Parmenter?”
She was sitting very still, her knees close together, her hands folded.
“I don’t know. The study door was closed, so I suppose he was in there.”
“You didn’t pass him in the corridor?”
“No sir.”
“Did you see anyone else?”
“No … no, I don’t think so.”
“Thank you. You have been most helpful.” He wished she could have told him something different, something that would make murder less likely, but he had pressed her hard, and she had told him the truth as she knew it.
He went upstairs and spoke to Stander, Parmenter’s valet, who said very much the same. He had been brushing a suit in the dressing room and had caught only the occasional word, but he had heard Unity Bellwood cry out and then say ‘No, no, Reverend!’ as nearly as he could remember, and then Mrs. Parmenter call for help. He was extremely reluctant to admit it, but he knew Miss Braithwaite had heard the same, and he did not equivocate.
Pitt could no longer put off speaking to Ramsay Parmenter himself and asking him for his own account of what had happened. He dreaded it. If Parmenter denied his