“I see.” Hythe rose to his feet and went to the door. He excused himself and disappeared for several minutes, returning accompanied by a young woman who at first glance seemed quite ordinary-looking, apart from the steadiness of her gaze. Her hair was the color of honey and had a deep, natural wave.
Narraway rose to his feet immediately.
Hythe introduced her as his wife.
“How do you do, Lord Narraway?” Maris Hythe said with interest. Her voice was soft and surprisingly deep, giving her a gravity that her smooth, candid face belied.
“How do you do, Mrs. Hythe?” he replied. “I am sorry to intrude on your evening with such an unhappy subject.”
She sat down gracefully and the men followed her lead.
“That is hardly of any importance, if we can assist you in any way.” She dismissed it with a slight gesture of one hand. “I liked Catherine very much. She was funny and wise and brave. I have no idea who could have wanted to kill her, but if I can help you find him, then all my time is yours.” She looked at him gravely, waiting for his answer.
He told her of his conversation with Flaxley, and then later with Quixwood, explaining why he needed to know Catherine’s friends, but always skirting around the subject of rape. However, he was not subtle enough to deceive her.
“Was his intention robbery?” she said very quietly, almost under her breath. “Or did he attack her … personally?”
There was nothing to be gained by evasion, and he needed her help. “I am afraid it was the latter. The details of that would be better not spoken of.”
“I see.” She did not argue with him, nor respond to her husband’s sudden look of surprise and distress.
“Perhaps if I give you a list of her most recent engagements,” Narraway suggested, “then you can tell me who you remember as also being present, and who might have become close to her recently. I realize it is distasteful, but—”
“We understand,” Hythe interrupted him. He glanced at Maris and then back at Narraway, holding out his hand for the list.
Narraway passed it to him, and watched as he and Maris read it together.
For half an hour they mentioned names back and forth, and Narraway learned something of each of the events Flaxley had described. Hythe appeared to have enjoyed those he had also attended, and there was pleasure in his voice as he told of each. If the grief Hythe exhibited as he remembered Catherine was artificial, he was a superb actor.
But Narraway had known people every bit as convincing who would kill without hesitation if their own needs were thwarted or their safety in jeopardy. Quixwood was right: Hythe and Catherine had clearly been good friends, and Maris also, especially where music was concerned. If there had been an affair between Catherine and Hythe, then it was well concealed. But he had to grant that it was easily possible. Everything Hythe said seemed to be true, and yet looking at the tenseness in his shoulders, the awkward way he sat, without moving, Narraway grew increasingly certain that he was concealing something that mattered, something that frightened him.
Maris explained that she was close to one of her sisters, recently widowed, and she spent much of her time helping her, offering comfort, simply being there so her sister was not alone. Alban Hythe could not account for his time on most of these occasions, including the night of Catherine’s murder.
The three conversed for nearly two hours. Afterward, Narraway thanked them both and left, walking out into the soft dusk of the summer evening, the last light fading pink in the west. He was saddened by the possibility that Alban Hythe had begun an affair with Catherine because of her loneliness and his temporary solitude, and perhaps a weakness in both of them, played on by the depth of intellectual understanding and mutual love of the interesting, beautiful and creative.
But what terrible change in their seeming friendship had led to such violence? Had he wanted more and she refused him? Or had she wanted more, possibly even a commitment, and he refused her? Had she threatened his safety in some way and he responded from a fearful darkness in his character she had not for a moment imagined?
Narraway walked along the pavement toward the lights of the main thoroughfare and felt sadness overwhelm him. His anger at Hythe also returned, for the life and passion that, he was beginning to