by Anne Perry
“None at all. I have done so, and if it had been received differently, I would not have troubled you.”
He smiled. “Of course. Don’t worry.” He put out his hand, as if to touch her arm, and then withdrew it self-consciously. “I shall have Lord Ashworth observed, discreetly. I shall do all I can to see Emily comes to no harm, although I cannot protect her from a possible serious fright.”
“That will do her no harm at all,” Charlotte said tersely. She was overwhelmingly relieved. “Thank you, Inspector. I—I am glad—of your help.”
He coloured faintly, and turned to leave. “Are you going to remain with Mrs. Lessing until after the funeral?”
“Yes. Why?”
“No reason. Good night . . . Miss Ellison. Thank you for your assistance.”
“Good night, Inspector Pitt.”
It was over a week later, after the funeral, when Charlotte returned from the Lessings’. She had been forbidden to travel alone, not only by Pitt, but by Papa. She was more than pleased that it was Dominic who came in the cab to collect her.
Even the memory of the funeral, the finality of it, the pathetic black, Mrs. Lessing’s grief, could not drive away the pleasure of seeing Dominic, being alone with him. When he met her eyes it was as if he had touched her. His smile warmed her through, melting the chill of fear and helplessness. She sat in the cab beside him, and for a moment everything else was shut out, no past and no future.
They talked of trivialities, but she did not care. It was being with him that mattered, knowing that all his attention was turned towards her.
The cabdriver unloaded her box and Maddock carried it in. She followed behind on Dominic’s arm. It was a marvellous feeling.
It collapsed as soon as she entered the withdrawing room. Sarah looked up from the sofa where she was sitting sewing. Her face darkened as soon as she saw them.
“You are not entering a ballroom, Charlotte,” she said tartly. “Nor, unless you are feeling faint, do you need someone to hang on to like that!”
Emily was at the piano and looked downward at her hands with an uncomfortable colour creeping up her face.
Charlotte stopped still, her arm, in spite of the warmth and closeness of Dominic, suddenly feeling dead.
Perhaps she was holding him too closely; she could not deny she had done it consciously. Now she was self-conscious, and guilty. She sought to free her arm, but Dominic was still gripping her, and his grip tightened.
“Sarah?” he said with a frown. “Charlotte has just returned home from a visit of charity. Would you have me allow her to come in alone?”
“I would have you welcome her, naturally,” Sarah was annoyed, and her voice was tight and hard. “But not to make an entrance, clinging to each other like that!”
Charlotte deliberately freed herself, her face flaming.
“I’m sorry if you were offended, Sarah, but until you spoke, it was no more than excitement at being home again.”
“And now that I have spoken, what is it?” Sarah demanded.
“Well, you have certainly taken much of the pleasure from coming home.” Charlotte was beginning to become angry herself. This was unjust. Her foolishness did not warrant this degree of criticism, and not publicly.
“You have only been round the corner!” Sarah snapped. “Not to Australia!”
“She has been staying with Mrs. Lessing to help her through her worst time, which was an act of particular generosity.” Dominic was growing sharper himself. “It cannot have been easy or very pleasant, under the circumstances.”
Sarah glared at him.
“I know perfectly well where she’s been. You don’t need to be so sanctimonious about it. It was charitable, certainly, but hardly as saintly as you make it seem.”
Charlotte could not understand it. She looked at Sarah’s face: there was something almost like hatred in it. She turned from it, feeling sick and shaken. Emily would not meet her eyes. She swivelled back to Dominic.
“That’s right!” Sarah stood up. “Look to Dominic! That’s just what I would expect, except that you should do it behind my back!”
Charlotte could feel the blood flaming in her cheeks, even her brow, because she loved Dominic, had always loved him—but she was blushing for her thoughts, not her deeds. For her deeds, the accusation was unjust.
She drew her breath in deeply and let it out.
“Sarah, I don’t know what it is you think, but if it is anything improper, or in any way unfair or unjust to you, then you are wrong, and your charge does you no credit. It is not true, and I believe you know me well enough to have known that before you spoke.”
“I thought I did! I only discovered how blind I had been while you were away doing your charity turn at Mrs. Lessing’s! You are the perfect hypocrite, Charlotte. I never even suspected you.”
“And you were right,” Charlotte heard her own voice coming from a long way away. “There was nothing to suspect. It is now that you are wrong, not before.”
She felt Dominic take her arm again, and moved to loose herself, but he was holding her tightly.
“Sarah,” he said quietly. “I don’t know what you imagine, and I don’t wish to know. But you owe Charlotte an apology for whatever your thoughts are, and for having voiced them.”
She looked at him squarely, her lip curled with disgust. “Don’t lie to me, Dominic. I know, I am not guessing.”
His face went blank with complete surprise. “Know what? There isn’t anything to know!”
“I know, Dominic. Emily told me.”
It was the first time Charlotte had seen Dominic really angry. Suddenly Emily looked frightened, too frightened to move.
“Emily?”
“There’s no point in appealing to Emily, or trying to bully her.” Sarah stepped forward.
“Bully Emily?” Dominic raised his eyebrows in harsh amusement. “Nobody ever bullied Emily in her life! It would be an impossibility.”
“Don’t try to be amusing!” Sarah snapped.
Charlotte disregarded them. She was staring at Emily.
Emily lifted her chin a little. “You told Inspector Pitt about George and Chloe Abernathy,” she said with only a slight tremor in her voice.
“Because I was afraid for you!” Charlotte defended herself, and yet felt guilty also. She knew Emily saw it as a betrayal, and however little Charlotte had meant it as such, the guilt remained.
“Afraid of what? That I might marry George, leaving you here alone, the only one of us not married?” She shut her eyes, her face white. “I’m sorry. That was a dreadful thing to say.”
“I thought he might have killed Chloe, and you might guess it one day, and that then he would have to kill you,” Charlotte said simply. She would have given anything she possessed for Dominic not to have been there, not to have heard this.
“You’re wrong,” Emily said quietly, her eyes still closed. “George has faults, faults you probably wouldn’t put up with, but nothing like that. Do you suppose I should think of marrying anyone who would be capable of murdering like that?”
“No. I think you would find out, and that is why he would kill you, too.”
“Do you hate him so much?”
“I don’t care about him!” Charlotte said in exasperation, almost shouting. “I was thinking about you!”
Emily said nothing.
Dominic was still angry. “So you made up something vicious about Charlotte, and told Sarah to get your revenge?” he accused.
Emily’s face tightened. She looked very young, and now also very ashamed. “I shouldn’t have told her,” she admitted, looking at Dominic.
“Then apologize and withdraw it,” Dominic demanded.
Emily’s face set. “I shouldn’t have said it, but that does not make it untrue. Charlotte is in love with Dominic. She has been ever since he first came. And Dominic is flattered by it. He enjoys it. I don’t know how much?” She left it a question, painful and suggestive.
“Emily!” Charl
otte pleaded.
Emily turned to her. “Can you take back what you said to Inspector Pitt? Can you make him forget it? Then why do you expect me to take back? You’ll have to live with it—just as I shall.” And she pushed past them and went out into the hallway.
Charlotte looked at Sarah.
“If you are waiting for me to apologize, you will wait in vain,” Sarah said stiffly. “Now perhaps you would be good enough to go upstairs and unpack. I would prefer to speak to my husband alone. You won’t be surprised that I have questions to ask!”
Charlotte hesitated, but there was nothing else to say, nothing that could do anything but make it worse. She disengaged herself from Dominic and turned to leave. Perhaps tomorrow there would be apologies, and perhaps not. But whatever was said, nothing would wipe out the memory of today; feelings could not be the same again. What she had said to Pitt was true. This was all like ripples on a pool, and perhaps the rings would never stop.
Chapter Nine
THE FOLLOWING DAY Dominic went into the city as usual, and on returning home was due to go out and dine with a retired brigadier and his wife. It was an occasion Sarah had been looking forward to for some time, but when he returned home he found her in a mood that reflected none of the excitement and pleasure he had expected. She seemed remote, not merely preoccupied but positively offended by his presence. He tried all the usual tactics. He complimented her on her gown; he told her all he knew about the brigadier’s wife and her social connections; he assured her she would be more than equal to the occasion. He kissed her without disarranging either her hair or her gown. None of it was to any effect; she withdrew from his touch and avoided his eyes.
There was no opportunity to ask her what was annoying her. On two or three occasions during the evening he tried to speak to her without being overheard, but each time either they were interrupted, or she changed the subject and drew some other person’s attention to them.
In the carriage on the way home they were alone for the first time.
“Sarah?”
“Yes?” She kept her face away.
“What is it, Sarah? You’ve been behaving like—like a stranger all evening. No, that’s not true, a stranger would have shown better manners.”
“I’m sorry you find my manners inadequate.”
“Stop playing, Sarah. If there’s something wrong, tell me.”
“Something wrong!” She turned to face him, her eyes blazing in the flashes of gaslight from the street. “Yes, something is very wrong, and if you are not aware that it is wrong, then you have a sense of morality that is despicable. I really haven’t anything to say to you.”
“Morality about what? Oh, for God’s sake! You’re not still making a fuss because I took Charlotte’s arm when she came home yesterday? That’s ridiculous, and you know it. You’re just looking for an excuse for a row. At least be honest.”
“Looking! I don’t have far to look, do I? You are busy admiring my sister, holding her hand, whispering to her, and heaven knows what else! And you think I have to look for something to quarrel over?” She turned away again, her voice choking.
He put his arm towards her, but she was dead to his touch.
“Sarah! Don’t be ridiculous! I have no interest in Charlotte, except that she’s your sister. I like her, nothing else. For heaven’s sake, I knew Charlotte when I married you. If I’d wanted her, I would have asked for her!”
“That was six years ago! People change,” she sniffed, and then was obviously angry with herself for what she considered a vulgarity.
He was sorry, not wanting to hurt her, but the whole thing was preposterous. He could not help being irritated for a whole evening spoiled—and now a silly argument when they were both tired!
“Sarah, that’s stupid! I haven’t changed, and I don’t think you have. And as far as I can see, Charlotte hasn’t either. But Charlotte hasn’t anything to do with this anyway. Surely you can see Emily just said whatever she did because she’s in love with George Ashworth and Charlotte told the policeman—what’s his name?—that Ashworth knew Chloe a lot better than he’d said. You’ve got to have enough wisdom to see that, and discard it for the nonsense it is!”
“Why do you lose your temper if you’re not guilty?” she said calmly.
“Because it’s so damn silly!” he exploded in exasperation.
“I have just found out that you are in love with my sister, and she with you, and I am silly because it upsets me!”
“Oh, Sarah, for heaven’s sake stop it,” he said wearily. “That’s none of it true, and you know it. I have never been remotely interested in Charlotte, except as a sister-in-law; she’s intelligent, has a wit, and a mind of her own—none of them very feminine attributes, which you’ve been the first to point out—”
“Inspector Pitt doesn’t seem to mind!” she said accusingly. “He’s in love with her; anyone can see that!”
“For God’s sake, Sarah! What have I in common with some wretched policeman! And I should imagine Charlotte is embarrassed by the whole affair, if indeed it’s true. He’s—working class! He’s not more than a tradesman! And why shouldn’t he admire Charlotte, as long as he remembers his place? She’s a very handsome woman—”
“You think so!” Again there was accusation in her voice, almost triumph.
“Yes, I do!” His own voice rose in anger. Really she was being very stupid and very tiresome indeed. He was tired, and in no mood for this. He had been patient all evening, but his patience was rapidly coming to an end. “Now please don’t pursue it any more. I have done nothing whatsoever that requires apology, or deserves your criticism.”
She said nothing, but when they arrived home she went straight upstairs. When Dominic had spoken to Edward in the study and followed her up, she was already in bed, her back turned to him. He considered for a moment approaching her again, but he had no feeling of warmth, no desire. And honestly he was too tired for the effort, the hypocrisy. He undressed and went to sleep without speaking.
The following day he woke having forgotten the whole stupid affair, but he was stiffly reminded. When he returned home in the evening things were no better. There was also a certain coolness between Emily and Charlotte, but no one else seemed to observe it. Conversation was unusually restrained. Caroline spoke of neighbourhood trivialities which Edward did little more than acknowledge. Only Grandmama was voluble; she was full of speculation about what secrets gossip attributed to all the families, especially the men, in the vicinity of Cater Street. At last Edward told her rather testily to be silent.
The day after was no better, and on the following evening Dominic decided he would remain at his club for dinner. Sarah would come out of it sooner or later, but for the present she was being very tedious. He had no idea why she was doing it: he had never entertained any interest other than friendly in Charlotte. Sarah must know that. Women frequently did odd and inexplicable things; it was usually an obscure way of laying claim to attention, and after a little flattery they were back to normal. Whatever Sarah wanted this time, she was making rather too much of an issue of it. He was bored with it, and becoming genuinely angry.
He dined at his club again two evenings later. It was on the third occasion that he fell into conversation with four other men who lived within a mile or two of Cater Street. At first he had done no more than overhear, but his interest was drawn when they began to discuss the murders.
“ . . . wretched police all over the place, and they don’t seem to be accomplishing a damn thing!” one complained.
“Poor devils are as lost as we are,” someone else argued.
“More lost! Don’t even belong in our world, part of a different social class. Don’t understand us any more than we understand them.”
“Good God! You aren’t suggesting this lunatic is a gentleman?” There was amusement, incredulity, and the edge of anger in this voice.
“Why not?”
“Good God!” he was stunned.
“Well, w
e’ve got to admit it. If he were a stranger he would have been noticed by now.” The man leaned forward. “For the love of heaven, man, the way everyone feels at the moment, do you think any stranger could go unobserved? Everyone is looking over his shoulder; women daren’t even go next door alone; the men are all watching and waiting. Delivery boys practically clock in and out; they want themselves timed to prove where they were and when. Even cabbies don’t like coming to Cater Street any more. In the past week, two have been stopped by constables, only because they were strange faces.”
“You know,” the man opposite him frowned, “it’s just come to me what that old fool Blenkinsop was talking about the other day! I thought he was rambling at the time, but now I realize he was saying in a roundabout way that he suspected me!”
“Quite! That’s the most damnable thing about it: having people looking queerly at you, not precisely saying anything, but you know cursed well what’s going on in their minds. Even errand boys are getting above themselves.”
“You’re not alone, old fellow! Left my carriage for my wife and was out late. Had to get a cab home. Wretched cabbie asked my destination. I told him and the man had the impertinence to refuse me. ‘Not going to Cater Street,’ he said. I ask you!”
One of them caught Dominic in his peripheral vision. “Ah, Corde! You’ll know what we’re talking about. Dreadful business, isn’t it? Whole place turned upside down. Creature must be insane, of course.”
“Unfortunately it isn’t obvious,” Dominic replied, sitting down in the proffered chair.
“Not obvious? What d’you mean? I would have thought it could hardly be more obvious than to run around the streets garotting helpless women!”
“I mean it does not show in his demeanour at other times,” Dominic explained. “In his face, his actions, or in anything else. He must look exactly like anyone else, most of the time.” Charlotte’s words came back to him. “For all we know, he could be here now, any one of these extremely respectable gentlemen.”
“I don’t care for your sense of humour, Corde. Misplaced. Poor taste, if I may say so.”
“To make jokes about murder at all is poor taste. But I wasn’t joking; I was perfectly serious. Even if you don’t believe in the intelligence of the police, with feeling running as it is, if this man were visible for what he is, surely one of us would have spotted him before now?”
