immediately prior to coming here?” Pitt began.
“Oh … she was assisting Dr. Marway with his library,” Ramsay replied straightaway. “He specializes in translations of ancient works, and he has many of them in the original Latin and Greek, of course. It was a matter of classifying and reorganizing.”
“And he found her satisfactory?” This was an extraordinary conversation. Ramsay was talking about a woman with whom it seemed he had had an affair, and then murdered, and he looked absentminded about it, as if it were only of peripheral importance to him, something else consumed his real attention, and yet he did not wish to be discourteous or unhelpful, so he was prepared to do his best to answer.
“Oh, commendably so. He said she was exceptionally gifted,” he said sincerely. Was it to justify his choice? He certainly had not liked her personally. Or was he seeking to deflect suspicion away from himself now?
“And before then?” Pitt persisted.
“If I remember correctly, she was coaching Reverend Dav-entry’s daughters in Latin,” Ramsay said with a frown. “He told Unity they improved quite beyond his highest expectations. Before you ask me, prior to that she translated some Hebrew scrolls for Professor Allbright. I did not enquire further than that. I felt no necessity.”
Pitt smiled but saw no answering light in Ramsey’s face. “And her personal life, her standards of conduct?”
Ramsay looked away. Obviously the questions disturbed him. His voice was quiet and troubled, as if he blamed himself. “There were some remarks about her manner, her political views were rather extreme and unattractive, but I discounted that. I did not wish to judge when it was not my place. In my opinion, the church should not be political … at least not in a discriminatory sense. I am afraid I have since come to regret my decision.” His hands on the top of the desk were clenched uncomfortably, fingers locked around each other.
“I think in my desire to be tolerant, I failed to defend what I believe in,” he continued, examining his hands without appearing to see them. “I … I had not met anyone like Miss Bellwood before, anyone so … so aggressive in their desire to change the established order, so full of anger against what she perceived to be unjust. Of course, she was quite unbalanced in her views. No doubt they sprang from personal experience of some unhappy sort. Perhaps she had sought some position for which she was unsuited, and rejection had embittered her. Possibly it was a love affair. She did not confide in me, and naturally I did not ask.” He looked up at Pitt again. His eyes were shadowed, and all the lines of his face tense, as if inside himself he were locked in an almost uncontrollable emotion.
“What were her relationships with the rest of the household?” Pitt asked. There was no purpose in trying to appear casual. They both knew why he asked and what implications would follow from any answer, no matter how carefully worded.
Ramsay stared at him. He was weighing all the possibilities of what he might say, what evasions he could escape with. It was clear in his face.
“She was a very complex person,” he said slowly, watching Pitt’s reaction. “There were times when she would be charming and made most of us laugh with the readiness of her wit, although on occasion it could be cruel. There was an … an anger in her.” His mouth tightened, and his hands fiddled with a penknife on the desk top in front of him. “Of course, she was opinionated.” He gave a tiny, rueful laugh, hardly any sound at all. “And she had no reluctance in expressing herself. She quarreled with my son about his religious opinions, as she did with me … and with Mr. Corde. I am afraid it was in her nature. I do not know what else I can add.” He looked at Pitt in a kind of desperation.
Pitt thought of Vespasia’s words. He wished he knew more about these quarrels, but Ramsay was not going to tell him.
“Were they ever personal, Reverend Parmenter, or always to do with religious faith or opinion?” He did not expect a useful answer, but he was interested in watching how Ramsay would choose to reply. They both knew that one of them in the house must have pushed her.
“Ah …” Ramsay’s hands tightened on the knife. He began tapping it rapidly on the blotting paper, a nervous, almost twitching motion. “Mallory