was worst. He takes his calling very seriously, and I am afraid he does not have a developed sense of humor. Dominic, Mr. Corde, is older and a trifle more accustomed to dealing with … women. He did not fall so … readily.” He regarded Pitt with undisguised distress. “Superintendent, you are asking me to make statements which may incriminate either my son or my curate, a man I have taught and cared for for many years, and now a guest in my home. I cannot do it. I simply don’t know! I … I am a scholar. I do not observe personal relationships a great deal, not closely. My wife …” He changed his mind; the retreat was clear in his expression. “My wife will tell you that. I am a theologian.”
“Is that not based on the understanding of people?” Pitt enquired.
“No. No, not at all. On the contrary, it is the understanding of God.”
“What use is that if you do not also understand people?”
Ramsay was perplexed. “I beg your pardon?”
Pitt looked at him and saw confusion in his face, not the superficial failure to understand what Pitt had said, but the far deeper darkness of corroding doubt that he understood himself. Ramsay Parmenter was tormented by a void of uncertainty, fear of wasted time and passion, of years spent pursuing the wrong path.
And all that came into focus in Unity Bellwood, in her sharp tongue and incisive mind, her questions, her mockery. In one terrible moment had rage at his own futility exploded in physical violence? To destroy self-belief was perhaps the greatest threat of all. Was his crime a defense of the inmost man?
But the more he knew of Ramsay Parmenter, the less did Pitt find it possible to imagine that he had once been Unity’s lover. Did he know who was? Mallory or Dominic? His son or his protégé?
“Unity Bellwood was almost three months with child,” he said aloud.
Ramsay froze. Nothing in the room made the slightest motion or sound. From outside a dog barked, and the wind moved very faintly in the branches of the tree close to the window.
“I’m sorry,” Ramsay said finally. “That is extremely sad.”
It was the last response Pitt had expected. Looking at Ramsay’s face, amazement and sorrow were all he saw. There was certainly no embarrassment—and no guilt.
“Did you say three months?” Ramsay asked. Now there was fear as he realized the implications. The little color there was drained from his cheeks. “Then … are you saying …?”
“It is most likely,” Pitt replied.
Ramsay bent his head. “Oh dear,” he said very quietly. He seemed to be struggling for breath. He was obviously in acute distress, and Pitt wished there were something he could do to help him, at least physically if not emotionally. He was as helpless as if there were a thick wall of glass between them. The longer he knew Ramsay, the less he understood him and the less could he believe unequivocally in his guilt for Unity’s death. The only explanation lay in some kind of madness, a division in his mind which managed to divorce the act, and the persons which had driven it, from the man he was now.
He looked up at Pitt. “I suppose you think it must have been someone in this house, which means either my son or Dominic Corde?”
“It seems extremely likely.” Pitt did not mention Ramsay himself.
“I see.” He folded his hands carefully and stared at Pitt, his eyes full of distress. “Well, I cannot help you, Superintendent. Either possibility is unbelievable to me, and I think I should say nothing further to you that might prejudice your judgment. I do not wish to wrong either man. I am sorry. I realize that is no help to you, but I find myself too … too disturbed in my mind to think or act clearly. This is … overwhelming.”
“Can you at least tell me where Dominic Corde was living when you first met him?”
“The address? Yes. I suppose so. Although I do not know what assistance that will be. It is several years ago now.”
“I know. I should still like it.”
“Very well.” Ramsay opened one of the desk drawers and produced a piece of paper. He copied what was written on it onto another piece and pushed it across the polished surface of the wood towards Pitt.
Pitt thanked him and took his leave.
He did not go back to the police station for Tellman, who was occupied on the final details of