by Anne Perry
“I know that he drinks too much, but then gentlemen often do. I know that he gambles, but I imagine he can afford to. I know that poor Chloe was enamoured of him, that he swept her off her feet and she saw in him all sorts of romantic dreams. I know he took her with him into his social world where standards are quite different from ours, and where they do all kinds of terrible things for amusement. And I believe if she had stayed among her own kind, gentlemen of moderate means and respectable family, she would not now be dead.” The tears were running down her face as she stopped at last. “Forgive me.” She reached for her handkerchief and began to cry quietly.
Charlotte put her arms round her and held her tightly. She felt a terrible pity for her because there was nothing she could do, and guilt because she had raked it all up again and made her talk of it. Charlotte held on to her, rocking a little, as if Mrs. Abernathy were a child, not a woman her mother’s age.
On the way home she could think of nothing to say to her mother or to Sarah, but they were too busy with their own concerns to notice. All evening she sat almost silent, replying only when necessary, and then somewhat at random. Dominic made one or two comments on her absentmindedness, but even for him she could not abandon her anxiety.
If Mrs. Abernathy were right, then George Ashworth was not merely reprobate but positively dangerous, and might even be implicated in murder. It seemed stretching reason too far to suppose the existence of more than one murderer in Cater Street; therefore, he must have also killed Lily and the Hiltons’ maid, if indeed he were actually involved. Perhaps several of his friends in drunken madness had waylaid. . The thought was appalling.
But the worst consideration was Emily. Might not Emily, however much she wished not to, somehow become aware of his guilt? And if she did, and betrayed her knowledge in his presence, perhaps she too would be found dead in the street?
But Charlotte had no proof. Perhaps it was all in the imagination of Mrs. Abernathy, distorted by grief, desperately needing someone to blame, preferring any answer to the unknown. And if Charlotte told Emily her suspicions, without proof, Emily would surely disbelieve them, and with some heat. She might even, in defiance, tell George Ashworth, just to prove her trust in him, and thus provoke her own death.
What was the right thing to do? She looked round their faces as they all sat in the withdrawing room after dinner. Whose advice could she ask? Papa was looking at the newspaper, his face grim. He was very probably reading about the stock market. He would be ill-disposed to interruptions at the moment, and he had appeared to approve of Ashworth.
Mama was embroidering. She looked pale. Grandmama had not yet forgiven her for her fears over Papa and his visit to Mrs.-whatever her name was. Grandmama had been dropping small, barbed remarks for days. And there was no use asking Grandmama anyway; she would immediately either tell everyone directly or else drive them mad with innuendos until someone dragged it from her.
Emily was playing the piano. Next to her Sarah was playing bezique with Dominic. Could she ask Sarah? Part of her longed to ask Dominic, to have something to share with him, to ask his advice. And yet within her there was also a growing resistance, a fear that Dominic would not meet the standard of wisdom she needed, that he would give her an answer that was not decisive, did not commit him.
She had no deep confidence in Sarah either, but there was no one else. She found an opportunity to approach her on the landing before retiring.
“Sarah?”
Sarah stopped in surprise. “I thought you had gone to bed.”
“I want to speak to you.”
“It cannot wait until morning?”
“No. Please come into my bedroom.”
When the door was closed Charlotte stood against it, and Sarah sat on the bed.
“I went to see Mrs. Abernathy today.”
“I know.”
“Did you know that George Ashworth was closely acquainted with Chloe just before she was killed?”
Sarah frowned.
“No, I didn’t. I’m sure Emily doesn’t know either.”
“So am I. And Mrs. Abernathy believes that he took Chloe to places very unsuitable for a decent woman, and that it was through him that she may well have met whoever killed her, at least that the association was in part responsible-”
“Are you quite sure of what you’re saying, Charlotte? I know you don’t care for Lord Ashworth. Are you not perhaps letting your prejudices run away with you?”
“I don’t believe so. What should I say to Emily?”
“Nothing. She wouldn’t believe you anyway.”
“But I must warn her!”
“Of what? All you can tell her is that Ashworth admired Chloe before he met her. That will help no one. And why shouldn’t he? Chloe was very pretty, poor little thing. I don’t doubt he has admired a great many girls, and will admire a great many more.”
“But what about Emily?” Charlotte demanded. “What if he really did have something to do with Chloe’s death? Emily could find out. She could even be next!”
“Don’t be hysterical, Charlotte!” Sarah said sharply. “Mrs. Abernathy is very old-fashioned and very narrow in her background. I daresay what appears very daring and immoral to her would be no more than ordinary high spirits to us. I have heard her express disapproval of the waltz! How stuffy is it possible to be? Even the queen waltzes, or she used to before she became old.”
“Mrs. Abernathy was talking about murder, not waltzing.”
“To us they are opposite ends of the pole, but to her they are not so far apart. In her mind a person capable of one may very well contemplate the other.”
“I didn’t know you had such a sense of humour,” Charlotte said bitterly. “But this is not the time to show it. What should I say to Emily? I cannot merely do nothing.”
“At least you haven’t told your dreadful policeman yet!”
“Of course I haven’t! And that observation is hardly helpful!”
“Sorry. Perhaps we had better have Emily in here and tell her-I don’t know precisely what. I suppose the truth?” As she spoke she stood up and came to the door.
Charlotte agreed. It was the best idea, and she was grateful for Sarah’s support. She stood aside for Sarah to leave.
A few moments later they were all in Charlotte’s bedroom, the door closed.
“Well?” Emily asked.
“Charlotte heard something today which we think you ought to know,” Sarah replied. “It’s in your own interest.”
“When people say that, it always means something unpleasant.” Emily looked at Charlotte. “All right, what is it?”
Charlotte took a deep breath. She knew Emily was going to be angry.
“George Ashworth was very well-acquainted with Chloe just before she was murdered. He took her to a great many places.”
Emily’s eyebrows rose. “Did you imagine I did not know that?”
Charlotte was surprised. “Yes, I did. But perhaps you do not know what kinds of places? Apparently they were places where moral women do not go.”
“You mean whorehouses?”
“Emily, please!” Sarah said sharply. “I appreciate you are angry, but there is no need to be coarse.”
“No, I do not mean-whorehouses!” Charlotte said sharply. “At least I don’t think I do. But this is not a matter to be taken lightly. Remember that Chloe is dead, and remember how she died. Mrs. Abernathy believes that it was her association with George Ashworth that led to her death, either directly or indirectly.”
Emily’s face was white. “You have not left me unaware that you dislike George, even perhaps that you are jealous, but this is spiteful and quite beneath you! Goodness knows, I am sorry enough for Chloe’s death, but it had nothing to do with George!”
“How do you know?”
“Because it is only your prudish spite that imagines it might have! I know George and you do not. Why on earth should he do such a thing?”
“I don’t know! But I am not telling you f
or spite, and it is very wrong of you to say so! I am telling you because I could not bear it if the same thing were to happen to you, if through George Ashworth you met someone who-”
Emily let out a sigh of impatience. “If Chloe mixed in bad company then it was because she had not the wit to recognize it. I hope you do not put me in the same category?”
“I really don’t know, Emily,” Charlotte said honestly. “Sometimes I wonder.”
Emily was defensive again. “So what are you going to do? Tell Papa?”
“What for? He could forbid you to see George Ashworth but you would still do whatever you wished-only secretly, which would be even worse. Just-just be careful!”
Emily’s face softened. “Of course I shall be careful. I suppose you mean well. But really sometimes you are-so pompous and such a prude I despair of you! Well, I’m too tired to stand here any longer. Good night.”
Charlotte stared at Sarah when Emily had gone.
“You can’t do any more,” Sarah said quietly. “And honestly, I don’t think Ashworth had anything to do with it. It’s just Mrs. Abernathy’s imagination. Don’t worry about it. Good night.”
“Good night, Sarah. And thank you.”
Chapter Eight
On the second of October, autumn rain cooling the streets, Maddock knocked on the withdrawing room door after dinner and came in immediately. His trousers were splattered with rain, and his face was gray.
Edward looked up, opened his mouth to question his behaviour, and then saw him. He stood up sharply.
“Maddock! What’s the matter, man? Are you ill?”
Maddock stiffened and swayed a little on his feet. “No, sir. If I might speak to you outside, sir?”
“What is it, Maddock?” Edward obviously was afraid now, too. The room was silent.
Charlotte stared at them, cold knotting up inside her.
“If I might speak to you in confidence, sir?” Maddock asked again.
“Edward,” Caroline said very quietly, “if something has happened, we shall have to know. Maddock had as well tell us all as leave us in suspense.”
Maddock looked to Edward.
“Very well,” Edward nodded. “What is it, Maddock?”
“There has been another murder, sir, in an alley off Cater Street.”
“Oh, my God!” Edward went sheet-white and sat down hard on the chair behind him. There was a low moan from Sarah.
“Who was it?” Caroline said so quietly she could barely be heard.
“Verity Lessing, ma’am, the sexton’s daughter,” Maddock answered her. “A constable has just come from the police to tell us, and warn us all to stay in the house, and not to let the maids out, even into the areaway.”
“No, of course not,” Edward looked stunned, staring into the room blindly. “Was it the same-?”
“Yes, sir, with a garotting wire, like the others.”
“Oh, my God.”
“Perhaps I had better go and check all the doors again, sir? And close the shutters on the windows. It would reassure the women.”
“Yes,” Edward agreed absently. “Yes, do that, please.”
“Maddock?” Caroline called as he turned to leave.
“Yes, ma’am?”
“Before you do, please bring us a bottle of brandy and some glasses. I think we could do with a little-help.”
“Yes, ma’am, certainly.”
A moment after he had brought them in and left there was another clatter outside as Dominic came in, shaking the rain off his jacket.
“Should have taken a coat,” he said, looking at his wet hands. “Didn’t expect the change.” His eyes moved from their faces to the brandy and back again. “What’s the matter? You look awful! Come to think of it, there were people all over the street. Mama?” He frowned, peering at her. “Grandmama’s not ill, is she?”
“No,” Edward answered for Caroline. “There’s been another murder. You’d better sit down and have some brandy, too.”
Dominic stared at him, his face blanching. “Oh God!” He drew in his breath and let it out. “Who?”
“Verity Lessing.”
Dominic sat down. “The sexton’s daughter?”
“Yes.” Edward poured him some brandy and passed the glass.
“What’s happening?” Dominic said bewilderedly. “Was this in Cater Street, too?”
“In an alley just off it,” Edward replied. “I suppose we must face it; whoever this madman is, he is someone who lives here, near Cater Street; or else he has business here, some reason to come here regularly.”
No one answered him. Charlotte watched his face. All she could think of was her overwhelming relief that he had been home all evening, that this time when Pitt came-as she did not doubt he would-there would be no questions for Papa.
“I’m sorry,” Edward went on. “We can no longer pretend it is some creature from the criminal slums invading us by mischance.”
“Papa?” Emily said tremulously. “You don’t imagine it could be-could actually be someone we know, do you?”
“Of course not!” Sarah said sharply. “It must be someone quite deranged!”
“That doesn’t mean it isn’t someone we know.” Charlotte painfully gave expression to the thoughts that had been forming in her mind. “After all, someone must know him!”
“I don’t know what you mean?” Sarah frowned at her. “I don’t know anyone deranged.”
“How do you know that you don’t?”
“Of course I don’t!”
Dominic turned to her. “What are you trying to say, Charlotte? That we wouldn’t know if someone were as mad as this?”
“Well, would you?” Charlotte looked back at him. “If it were so easy to see, wouldn’t those who do know him have said something, done something by now? After all, someone must know him-tradesmen, servants, neighbours-even if he doesn’t have a family!”
“Oh, but how awful.” Emily stared at her. “Imagine being servant to someone, or neighbour, and knowing they were-mad like that, that they killed women-”
“That’s what I’m trying to say!” Charlotte turned from one to another of them urgently. “I don’t think you would know, or he would have been captured long ago. The police have talked to all sorts of people. If someone knew, it would have come out by now.”
“Well, there are several people I can think of who are not all they seem to be on the surface,” Grandmama spoke for the first time. “I’ve always said you can’t tell what wickedness lies underneath the smooth face people show to the world. Some that appear saints are devils underneath.”
“And some that appear devils are still devils, no matter how far underneath you look,” Charlotte said instinctively.
“Is that remark supposed to mean anything?” Grandmama asked very tartly. “It’s time, young woman, that you learned to control your tongue! In my young day a girl your age knew how to behave herself!”
“In your day you were not faced with four murders in the streets where you lived.” Caroline came to Charlotte’s defence, and obliquely her own. “Or so you frequently inform us.”
“Perhaps that is why!” Grandmama returned.
“Why what?” Sarah asked. “We all know that Charlotte’s tongue runs away with her, but are you suggesting that it is responsible for Verity Lessing’s murder off Cater Street this evening?”
“You are impertinent, Sarah!” Grandmama snapped. “And it is quite unlike you.”
“I think you are being unfair, Grandmama,” Dominic smiled at her. He could usually charm her-he knew it, and used it. “We are rather badly shocked, both by the loss of someone we know, and the thought that the murderer may also be someone we know, or at least have seen.”
“Yes, mama.” Edward stood up. “Perhaps you should retire. Caroline will see that you are brought something to drink before you sleep.”
Grandmama stared at him belligerently.
“I do not wish to go to bed. I will not be dismissed!”
�
��I think it is better,” Edward said firmly.
Grandmama sat where she was, but she had met her match, and a few minutes later she allowed him to help her up and, with considerable ill grace, went to bed.
“Thank God,” Caroline said wearily. “It really is too much.”
“Nevertheless,” Dominic scowled, “we cannot avoid the truth that, as Charlotte said, it could be anyone-even someone we speak to, someone we have always felt perfectly at ease with-”
“Stop it, Dominic!” Sarah sat upright. “You will have us suspecting our neighbours, even our friends. We will become unable to conduct a proper conversation with anyone without wondering in our hearts if they could be the one!”
“Perhaps it would be as well,” Emily said thoughtfully, “until he is found.”
“Emily! How can you say such a thing, even in jest? And it is a bad enough time for humour of any sort.”
“Emily is not being humorous,” Dominic put in for her. “She is being eminently practical, as always. And to an extent she is right. Perhaps if Verity Lessing had been more suspicious, she would now be alive.”
A new thought occurred to Charlotte. “Do you think so, Dominic? Do you think that is why no one has heard screams-because whoever did it was known to each victim, and they were not afraid until it was too late?”
Dominic paled. Obviously he had not thought of it: his mind had been following his words, not leading them. His imagination was still far behind.
Charlotte was surprised. She thought he had seen the conclusion before her. “It would explain it,” she said unhappily.
“So would being taken by surprise from behind,” Sarah pointed out.
“I think this conversation is unprofitable,” Edward interrupted. “We cannot protect ourselves by indulging in speculation about all our acquaintances, and we may do them grave injustice. We will only end by frightening ourselves even more than is already unavoidable.”
“That is easy to say.” Caroline looked at her brandy glass. “But it will be very hard to do. From now on I believe I shall find myself thinking about people in a different way, wondering how much I really know about them, and if they are thinking the same of me, or at least of my family.”
