Catherine’s reputation, at the very least.” His mouth turned down in a bitter twist. “People are now suggesting that Angeles Castelbranco was with child, and that was why she killed herself.”
“Like you said, it’s doubtful she wanted to go out that window,” Narraway said with some heat. “Judging by what you know, I don’t believe she thought of anything except getting away from Forsbrook and his taunts.”
“I agree,” Pitt said. “But if I say so, then Pelham Forsbrook will defend his son.” The misery and the anger were cut deep in his face. “How does anyone prove Neville is truly to blame for anything beyond cruel words and insensitive behavior?”
Narraway clenched his fists, hardly aware of it until his nails dug into the flesh of his palms. “I refuse to be so bloody helpless!”
“Good.” Pitt smiled bleakly. “When you discover how to accomplish that, please share it with me.”
Narraway rose to his feet. “Can’t you at least prove Angeles wasn’t with child? There would have been signs, surely?”
“That isn’t the point,” Pitt answered wearily. “If she thought she was, or could have been, then her reputation is equally ruined.”
Narraway no longer had the energy for this. He felt a coldness close around him, in spite of the warmth of the day and the sunlight streaming through the window. The brightness seemed curiously far away. He should recall what he had come for and ask Pitt, before the opportunity slipped away.
“I haven’t dealt with rape before,” he said. “What kind of proof do the police look for if the victim is dead and can’t say anything herself?”
Pitt thought for several moments. “I’m not sure that they would try to prove rape,” he said at last. “If she was badly beaten that might be enough to convict the guilty party. That is a crime, and the jury would read more into it, under the circumstances. The sentence could be just as heavy; obviously she could not have done that to herself. If you can prove the accused was there, and no one else could have been, it should be sufficient.”
“I see. Then that is the approach I shall take.” Narraway rose to his feet. “Thank you.”
Pitt relaxed a fraction. “It was good to see you,” he replied.
NARRAWAY WAS STILL TURNING the matter over in his mind early that evening. He sat with the windows open onto the deepening colors as the sun lowered toward the horizon. He was startled when his manservant knocked discreetly and stood in the doorway to say that Mrs. Hythe was in the entryway and wished to speak with him.
“Shall I bring tea, my lord?” he added with elaborate innocence. “Or a glass of sherry, perhaps? I don’t know the lady sufficiently well to guess.”
“But you know her sufficiently well to assume that I will see her?” Narraway said a trifle waspishly. He was tired, more by frustration than action, and would have been happy to forget the whole issue of the Quixwood case for a few hours.
“No, sir,” the manservant replied, his eyes momentarily downcast. “But I know you, my lord, well enough to be certain you would not refuse someone in considerable distress, and who is counting on you to be of help.”
Narraway stared at him and did not see even a flicker of irony in the man’s face. “You should have been a diplomat,” he said drily. “You are far better at it than most of those I know.”
“Thank you, my lord.” A light glinted for a moment in the man’s eyes. “Shall I bring tea or sherry?”
“Sherry,” Narraway answered. “I would like it, whether she would or not.”
“Yes, my lord.” He withdrew silently and a moment later Maris Hythe came in. Her face was as charming as before, with the same blunt gentleness, but she could not hide the fact that she was both tired and frightened. Instantly Narraway regretted his self-absorption.
He rose to his feet and invited her to sit down in the chair facing the window and the deepening sunset.
“I apologize for coming uninvited, my lord,” she said a little awkwardly. “Normally I would have had better manners, but I am frightened, and I don’t know of anyone else who might help.”
Narraway sat down opposite her, leaning forward a little as if he too were tense. “I assume the situation has worsened with regard to Mr. Knox’s investigation? I haven’t spoken to him for a day or two. What has happened?”
Her answer was forestalled by the return of the manservant with a