Paragon Walk: A Charlotte and Thomas Pitt Novel
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In the posh London street of Paragon Walk, an unspeakable crime is committed: A young woman is brutally raped and murdered.
Once again, that incomparable team of sleuths Inspector Thomas Pitt and his young wife, Charlotte, set themselves against a vicious murderer. As the elegant masks of the wellborn suspects slip, it becomes appallingly clear that something ugly lurks behind the handsome façades of Paragon Walk–something that may lead to more scandal, and more murder.
Perhaps if you would tell me where you were on that evening, and if you saw or heard anything that might help us?” “I was here,” Fulbert replied with slightly raised eyebrows. He was more reminiscent of Afton than of Diggory, having something of Afton’s faintly supercilious expression, features that should have been handsome, but were not. Diggory, on the other hand, was less well constructed, but there was a pleasingness in the irregularity, character in the stronger, darker brows, something
the Cater Street hangman, made her remember murder, its close, suffocating terror, and the corroding acid of suspicion it brought in its wake. She had never been able to be subtle, least of all with Emily who knew her so well. “What was Fanny Nash like?” She wanted a woman’s opinion. Thomas was clever, but so often men missed the real things in a woman, things that were perfectly obvious to another woman. The number of times she had seen men taken in by a pretty girl who chose to seem
forgotten. There was no time for refreshments or gossip. Emily rushed her upstairs and presented her with an exquisite deep-lavender dress, far more elaborate and formal than anything she had seen Emily wear. There was a sort of grand dame effect to it she could not reconcile with Emily as she knew her. She held it up and stared over its regal neckline. “Oh,” Emily sighed with a faint smile. “It’s Aunt Vespasia’s. But I think you will look wonderful in it, very stately.” Her smile widened, then
monstrous as that is the identity of the rapist and murderer of Fanny.” He must still not patronize her or let her once suspect he was leading her. Her mouth twitched in bitter amusement. “Everyone desires their privacy, Mr. Pitt, but few of us need it to the point where we will kill our neighbors to preserve it. I think it would be ridiculous, without evidence, to suppose there are two such appalling secrets in the Walk.” “Exactly,” he agreed. She gave a very small sigh. “So that brings us
But she is a genius with sauces. I shall beg her for a recipe to impress Aunt Vespasia. That will flatter her, and then I can pass on to general conversation. I am convinced Hallam knows about what is going on. He has behaved like a man haunted for the last month or more. I think, in his own way, he is as frightened as Phoebe!” They were almost to the door. She stopped to let her shawl fall a little more gracefully, adjusted her hat, and then pulled the bell. The footman opened the door