on the potato pan and turned around to face him. She saw again how tired he was. His hair was as untidy as usual, even though it had been cut recently. The light caught on the gray at his temples. His skin was pale and there were fine lines around his eyes she had not noticed before, although they must have come slowly.
“A very pleasant girl named Julia,” she replied as lightly as she could, as if she had not seen the tension in him. “She is rather studious and she likes Jemima because Jemima makes her laugh and forget to be self-conscious. I know her mother—not well, but enough to be certain Jemima is quite safe there. And before you ask, yes, Julia is fourteen as well, and she has no older brothers.”
Pitt lowered his head wearily. “Am I being ridiculous?” he asked.
Charlotte sat down on the chair opposite him. “Yes, my dear, completely. But I might think less of you if you weren’t.” She reached out her hand and put it lightly over his on the table, stopping his fingers in their nervous movement. “How could we look at people living our worst nightmare and feel nothing? If that happened, I would think Special Branch had changed you from the man I love to an efficient person I could only respect.”
He was quite still for several moments, and she had no idea what he was thinking. She wanted to ask, but knew it would be intrusive.
“I don’t know what to do,” he said suddenly, avoiding her eyes. “I looked at Isaura Castelbranco a couple of days ago. She has courage, and immense dignity; in a way, more composure than her husband. But she’s broken inside. Whoever did this has destroyed far more than just one person. The pain he’s inflicted is beyond measure, and it will go on all their lives. Even if we catch the rapist, it seems a poor sort of justice, doesn’t it?”
“I don’t know,” she said honestly. “Maybe, at times. But don’t we all need there to be justice, however cold the comfort of it is? What safety is there for anyone if people can do what this man did and then walk away free? If there’s no price, why shouldn’t he do it again, whenever he wishes to and has the chance? And surely if there’s no public justice, won’t there be people who’ll look for it privately? What are the chances they’ll take it from the wrong person? Or the right person, but who was guilty only of being intimate with the wrong person, not of rape?”
Pitt pushed his hair back hard as he straightened and leaned again against the hard frame of the chair. “Isaura knows it is Neville, and she’s right, prosecution would only make it worse.”
Charlotte was stunned. “But you told me Vespasia had said it couldn’t be him! Quixwood was there! You must make absolutely certain that the ambassador doesn’t take—”
“Isaura didn’t tell him anything,” he cut across her. “She won’t. She knows as well as you do that the temptation to take revenge would one day be more than he could resist. She didn’t even confirm to him that Angeles was raped, although I imagine he suspects.”
She frowned, tense now.
“You are sure?”
“Yes.” There was no uncertainty, no equivocation in his voice. “By the way, I questioned the maid.” He winced as he spoke. “Angeles was bleeding and badly bruised. Whoever it was, he must have used considerable force.”
Charlotte thought about it for several moments, her mind racing. The pain inside her was not only for Isaura Castelbranco, but for every other woman who lived with fear or grief, or who would do so in the future; everyone else who felt humiliated and helpless.
“But she did say it was Forsbrook?” she said aloud.
“Apparently that is what Angeles told her mother. But if Quixwood is telling the truth, she must have been mistaken. Perhaps someone even pretended to be Forsbrook. That’s not impossible. I’ve asked a few questions …” He smiled bleakly. “Don’t look like that. I was discreet. I asked people about functions over the last month or two, who attended and any incidents concerning the Portuguese. This damned Jameson Raid is an excellent cover for all kinds of inquiries.”
Charlotte had forgotten about the Jameson trial. It was on everybody’s lips, and yet it had held no meaning for her, because of the other things she had heard being discussed. There was pity for Isaura Castelbranco, certainly; however,