Cater Street Hangman

Chapter Three

It was the end of July, and Caroline was arranging flowers in the withdrawing room, thinking about the household accounts she ought to be doing instead, when Dora came in without knocking.

Caroline stopped, a long, white daisy in her hand. Really, she could not allow this extraordinary behaviour. She turned to speak, then saw Dora’s face.

“Dora? What is it?” She let the daisy drop.

“Oh, ma’am!” Dora let out a long wail. “Oh, ma’am!”

“Pull yourself together, Dora. Now tell me what has happened. Is it that butcher’s boy again? I’ve told you to report him to Maddock if he continues to be impertinent. He’ll soon sort out a tongue that runs away with a young man. Otherwise he’ll lose his employment. Maddock will tell him that. Now stop sniffling and go back to your work. And Dora, don’t come into the withdrawing room again without knocking. You know better than that.” She picked up the daisy from the sideboard and considered the vase again. There was too much blue on the left side.

“Oh no, ma’am,” Dora was still there. “It’s nothing to do with the boy. I dealt with that all right-threatened to set the dog on him, I did, after all the meat, you see!”

“We don’t have a dog, Dora!”

“I know that, ma’am, but he don’t.”

“You shouldn’t tell lies, Dora,” but there was no criticism in her voice. She considered it a fair retaliation. Her words were habit, those she thought she ought to say, certainly what Edward would expect of her. “Well, what is it then, Dora?”

Dora’s face bunched into a howl again as she remembered.

“Oh, ma’am! The murderer’s at it again! We’ll all be strangled if we set foot outside the door!”

Caroline’s immediate reaction was to deny it, to keep Dora from hysterics.

“Nonsense! You’re perfectly safe as long as you don’t go hanging around by yourself after dark, and no decent girl does that anyway! There’s nothing for you to be afraid of.”

“But ma’am, he tried it again!” Dora wailed. “He attacked Mrs. Waterman’s Daisy! Right out in the daylight, he did!”

Caroline felt a shiver of fear.

“What are you talking about, Dora? Are you just repeating a lot of silly gossip? Where did you hear that, from some errand boy?”

“No, ma’am. Mrs. Waterman’s Jenks told Maddock.”

“Really? Perhaps you had better send Maddock to me.”

“Now, ma’am?” Dora stood transfixed.

“Yes, Dora, right now.”

Dora scuttled out and Caroline tried to compose herself to arrange the rest of the flowers. The result was unsatisfying. Maddock knocked at the door.

“Yes, Maddock,” she said coldly. “Maddock, Dora tells me she was present when you and-Jenks, is it? — were talking about the two girls who were killed recently, and a new attack?”

Maddock stood stiffly, surprise showing on his usual poker face.

“No, ma’am! Mr. Jenks came round to bring a bottle of port from Mr. Waterman for Mr. Ellison. While he was in my pantry he told me I should keep our girls in, even in daylight, not send them on errands alone because their Daisy, or whatever her name is, had been attacked in the street the other day. Apparently she is a well-built girl, and not the fainting kind. She had a jar of pickles of some kind in her hand, and hit him over the head with it. She wasn’t hurt, and seemed quite in control of herself until she got home. Then, of course, she realized what could have happened to her, and burst into tears.”

“I see.” She was glad she had not criticized him too obviously, allowing herself room to retreat. “And where was Dora?”

“I can only presume, ma’am, that she was in the passage outside the pantry door.”

“Thank you, Maddock,” she said thoughtfully. “Perhaps you had better not send the girls on any errands, as Jenks suggests-at least for the time being. I wish you had told me this earlier.”

“I told the master, ma’am. He said not to worry you with it.”

“Oh.” Her mind raced over reasons why Edward should have done such a thing. What if she, or one of the girls, had gone out alone? Did he think only servants were attacked? What about Chloe Abernathy?

“Thank you, Maddock. You had better see if you can calm Dora a little; and suggest she stop listening at doors, while you are about it!”

“Yes, ma’am, certainly.” And he turned on his heel and went out, closing the door silently behind him.

She had intended this afternoon to go and see Martha Prebble. Without really understanding why, she always felt rather sorry for the woman, although she did not like her greatly. Perhaps it was because she disliked the vicar-which was quite stupid! He was doubtless a very good man, and probably suited Martha as well as most husbands suit their wives. One could not sensibly expect a vicar to be romantic; if he was honest, sober, well-mannered, and respected in the community, that was a great deal. To demand more was unreasonable, and Martha was eminently reasonable; even if she had not been as a girl, she would be by now!

Which brought Emily to her mind. It was all very well for her to accept occasional social invitations from Lord Ashworth, but one or two things Emily had said lately led Caroline to believe that she entertained ideas of a more permanent relationship. For Emily’s own sake she must be disabused of such romantic follies. Otherwise she would be quite seriously hurt later on, not only by the dissolution of her ambitions in that direction, but by the casting of very definite disadvantage on any future designs. People would be bound to think the worst. Other young men, less aristocratic, but far more practically within Emily’s reach, might well be put off-or their mothers would be, which was more to the point.

In view of Maddock’s warning it would be better not to go even as far as the vicar’s alone. She would take Emily with her, giving them an opportunity to talk privately. It was a delightful afternoon for a walk. Far better than taking Charlotte, which had also crossed her mind. Charlotte disliked the vicar and seemed unable or unwilling to conceal it. That was another thing; somehow to school Charlotte in the art of dissembling, masking her feelings. Apart from anything else, those feelings were far too violent to be becoming in a lady. She loved Charlotte dearly; she was the warmest, the quickest to sympathize, and had by far the sharpest sense of humour among her daughters, but she was impossibly forthright. There were times when Caroline despaired of her! If only she could learn a little tact before she ruined herself socially with some totally unforgivable gaffe. If only she would think before she spoke!

What kind of man would take her as she was? She was practically a social liability at times!

She surveyed the vase of flowers with exasperation, and decided she was in that frame of mind when further effort would only make the arrangement worse. Better find Emily and advise her that they were going to the vicar’s. Charlotte at least would be pleased!

The walk to Cater Street was a pleasure, full of sunlight and wind and the noise of leaves. They set out shortly after three, Emily a little reluctantly, but accepting it with good enough grace.

Caroline thought she had better approach the subject obliquely.

“Maddock tells me there has been another girl attacked in the street,” she began in a businesslike manner. Better get this over with also.

“Oh.” Emily seemed interested, but not as frightened as Caroline would have expected. “I hope she wasn’t seriously hurt?”

“Apparently not, but that may be a matter of good fortune rather than lack of intent on her attacker’s part,” Caroline replied sharply. She must frighten Emily enough to make sure she took no risks. A risk was so easy; an injury could be so permanent.

“Who was it? Anyone we know?”

“A servant of Mrs. Waterman’s. But that is hardly the point! You must not go out alone, any of you, until this lunatic is apprehended by the police.”

“But that might be forever!” Emily protested. “I’d planned to call on Miss Decker on Friday afternoon-”

“You don’t even like Miss Decker!”

“Liking her has nothing to do with it, Mama; she knows people whom I wish to know, or at least to be acquainted with.”

“Then you’ll have to take Charlotte or Sarah. You are not to go alone, Emily.”

Emily’s face hardened.

“Sarah won’t come. She’s going to Madame Tussaud’s with Dominic. It’s taken her a month to persuade him.”

“Then take Charlotte.”

“Mama!” Emily said with withering disgust. “You know as well as I do, Charlotte will ruin it. Even if she doesn’t actually say anything, her face will give her away.”

“I take it she doesn’t care for Miss Decker either?” Caroline said a trifle drily.

“Charlotte has no sense of what is practical.”

It was the perfect opening. Caroline took it immediately. “It seems to me that you have very little idea yourself, my darling. Your pursuit of Lord Ashworth is hardly destined for any permanent success, and you are seeing far too much of him for a temporary admiration. You will draw an unwelcome attention to yourself, you will find that you are remembered as Ashworth’s. . ” she hesitated, trying to find the right word.

“I intend to be Ashworth’s wife,” Emily said with an aplomb that staggered Caroline. “Which seems to me to be excellently practical.”

“Don’t be ridiculous!” Caroline said sharply. “Ashworth won’t marry a girl with neither family connections nor money. Even if he were minded to, his parents certainly wouldn’t permit it.”

Emily stared straight ahead of her and continued marching down the street.

“His father is dead, and he is quite equal to his mother. There is no point in trying to dissuade me. I have made up my mind.”

“And you have the temerity to say that Charlotte is impractical,” Caroline said in dismay as they turned into Cater Street. “At least keep your own counsel and don’t say anything-committing-in front of the vicar.”

“I shouldn’t dream of saying anything of any sort at all in front of the vicar,” Emily replied sharply. “He doesn’t understand such things.”

“I’m sure he understands them, but as a man of the cloth he would not be interested. All men are equal before God.”

Emily gave her a look that stripped bare her own dislike of the vicar and made her feel a hypocrite. It was an uncomfortable feeling, especially when it was generated by one’s own youngest child.

“Well, if you imagine you’re going to be a lady, you’ll have to learn to exercise good manners, even to those you dislike,” Caroline said sharply, aware that the reminder was possibly as timely to herself as to Emily.

“Like Miss Decker,” Emily looked sideways at her with a tiny smile.

Caroline could think of no reply, and fortunately they were at the Prebbles’ door.

Ten minutes later they were in the back parlour. Martha Prebble had ordered tea and was sitting on the overstuffed sofa facing them. Incredibly, Sarah was also there, deep in conversation. She did not seem the least surprised to see them. Martha apologized for the vicar’s absence in a tone that left Caroline feeling that in some way Martha Prebble was perhaps as relieved as they were.

“So good of you to help, Mrs. Ellison,” Martha said, leaning forward a little. “I sometimes wonder how this parish would survive if it were not for you and your good daughters. Only last week Sarah was here,” she smiled sideways at Sarah, “helping with our charity for orphans. Such a delightful girl.”

Caroline smiled. Sarah had never been any concern, except perhaps briefly when both she and Edward had wondered if Dominic had been a wise choice. But it had proved excellent, and everyone was happy with it-except perhaps Charlotte. Once or twice she had thought. . but Martha Prebble was talking again.

“. . course we must help these unfortunate women. In spite of what the vicar says, I feel some of them are the victims of circumstance.”

“The poorer classes do not have the advantages of proper upbringing, such as we have,” Sarah nodded in agreement.

Really, Sarah was pompous at times: just like Edward. Caroline had missed the beginning of the conversation, but she could guess. They were planning an evening lecture, with a collection plate and tea and refreshments afterwards, in aid of unmarried mothers. It was something Caroline had been drafted into in a moment of absentmindedness.

Martha Prebble’s face showed a sense of loss for a moment, as if she had meant something quite different. Then she recollected herself.

“Naturally. But the vicar says it is our duty to help such people, whatever their station, however they came to-fall.”

“Of course.”

Caroline was delighted when the maid came in with the tea. “Perhaps we had better discuss the programme. Who did you say was going to address us? I’m afraid if you mentioned it I must have forgotten.”

“The vicar,” Martha replied, and this time her face was unreadable. “After all, he is best qualified to speak to us on the subjects of sin and repentance, the weaknesses of the flesh, and the wages of sin.”

Caroline winced at the thought, and privately thanked providence she had brought Emily and not Charlotte. Heaven only knew what Charlotte would have made of that!

“Very suitable,” she said automatically. It ran though her mind that it was also totally useless, except to those who felt better for expressing such sentiments. Poor Martha. It must at times be very trying to live with so much rectitude. She looked across at Sarah. She wondered if it had ever occurred to her to consider such things? She looked so bland, so satisfied to agree. What thoughts were there behind her pretty face? She turned to Martha again, who was staring at Sarah. Was that grief in her face, hunger for a daughter she had never had?

“Oh I do so agree with you, Mrs. Prebble,” Sarah was saying eagerly. “And I’m sure the whole community looks to you for a lead. I promise you we shall all be there.”

“My dear, you may promise for yourself,” Caroline added in haste, “but you cannot for others. I shall certainly attend, but we cannot speak for Emily or Charlotte. I have an idea Charlotte has a previous engagement.” And if she had not, Caroline would soon contrive one for her. The evening would be bad enough without the kind of disaster Charlotte could cause with a few ill-considered remarks.

They all turned to Emily, who opened her eyes with apparent innocence.

“When did you say the occasion was, Mrs. Prebble?”

“Next Friday week, in the evening, at the church hall.”

Emily’s face fell.

“Oh, how most unfortunate. I have promised to do a favour for a friend, to visit an elderly relation with her; you understand of course that she would not make the journey alone. And visits mean so much to the elderly, especially when they are not in the best of health.”

Emily, you liar, Caroline thought, afraid lest it show in her face. But she had to concede, lie though it was, Emily did it uncommonly well!

And so the visit progressed: polite, largely meaningless conversation; excellent tea, hot and fragrant; rather gluey cakes; and everyone hoping the vicar would not return.

They all walked home together, Sarah and Emily talking, Sarah the more. Emily seemed a little short of temper. Caroline came a step or two behind them, her mind still on Martha Prebble, and what manner of woman she must be to enjoy living with the vicar. Had he perhaps been very different when he was young? Heaven knew, Edward was pompous enough at times; perhaps all men were. But the vicar was infinitely worse. Caroline had often ached to laugh at Edward, even at Dominic; only a lack of courage had prevented her. Did Martha also long to laugh? It was not a face of laughter. In fact the more she thought about it, the more it seemed a face of suffering: strong-boned, reflecting deep feelings; not a face of peace.

A month later the whole event was only an embarrassing memory. Charlotte was delighted to have been prohibited from attending and had agreed, as fervently as was politic, that she might well say something to cause ill-feeling-inadvertently, of course.

Tonight it was gusty and cold for August. Mama, Sarah, and Emily had all gone to a further affair at the church hall, and since Martha Prebble had a summer cold, it was all the more necessary that it should be well supported by people like Mama, capable of organizing, seeing that those in charge of the catering attended to details, that things were done on time, and all was adequately tidied up afterwards. Again, Charlotte was happy to remain at home, with a quite genuine headache.

She thought it might be caused by the heavy, stormy weather, and she opened the garden doors to let in the air. It worked surprisingly well, and by nine o’clock she felt much better.

At ten o’clock she closed the doors as it was now dark. Sitting with the darkness intruding she felt a little vulnerable, remembering that there was nothing between the garden and the street except the rose wall. She had been reading a book her father would not have approved of, but a perfect opportunity since both he and Dominic were also out.

It was half past ten, and quite dark outside, when Mrs. Dunphy knocked on the withdrawing room door.

Charlotte looked up.

“Yes?”

Mrs. Dunphy came in, her hair a little untidy, her apron screwed up in her fingers.

Charlotte stared at her in surprise.

“What is it, Mrs. Dunphy?”

“Perhaps I shouldn’t ought to bother you, Miss Charlotte, but I don’t rightly know what to do about it!”

“About what, Mrs. Dunphy? Can’t it wait till tomorrow?”

“Oh no, Miss Charlotte. It’s Lily.” Mrs. Dunphy looked wretched. “She’s gone out with that Jack Brody again, and she isn’t back. It’s gone half past ten, Miss Charlotte, and she’ll have to be up at six in the morning.”

“Well don’t you worry about it,” Charlotte said a little sharply. She loathed trying to sort out domestic wrangles. “If she feels terrible tomorrow, perhaps she’ll learn not to stay out too late in future.”

Mrs. Dunphy caught her breath in exasperation.

“You don’t understand, Miss Charlotte! It’s half past ten and she hasn’t come home yet! I never did like that Jack Brody. Mr. Maddock has said a number of times he was no good, and Lily ought to tell him to be on his way.”

Charlotte had noticed that Maddock had a very ready regard for Lily, which would predispose him to disapprove of Jack Brody, or anyone else with whom she stepped out.

“I wouldn’t take Maddock’s view very seriously, Mrs. Dunphy. He’s probably harmless enough.”

“Miss Charlotte, it’s nearer eleven than ten, and it’s dark outside and Lily’s out there somewhere with a man that’s no good! Mr. Maddock’s been out to look for her. He’s out there now, but I think you should do something.”

Charlotte realized for the first time exactly what Mrs. Dunphy was afraid of.

“Oh, don’t be foolish, Mrs. Dunphy!” she burst out, not because it was foolish, but because she was afraid now too. “She’ll be back presently, and you can send her in here to me. I’ll make it plain to her that if she does this again we shall dismiss her. You’d better tell Maddock when he comes back, and then go to bed yourself. Maddock will wait up.”

“Yes, Miss Charlotte. Do you-do you think she’ll be all right?”

“Not if she ever does this again. Now go back to the kitchen and don’t worry about it.”

“Yes, thank you, Miss,” and Mrs. Dunphy went out, still twisting her apron in one hand.

It was half an hour later, after eleven, when Maddock came in.

Charlotte put down her book. She was just about to go to bed herself. There was no point in waiting up for the others. Although they were later than she had expected. Church hall affairs usually finished by ten. Perhaps there was a lot of clearing up to do, and then they would have to find a carriage home. Papa was at his club, and she could not remember where Dominic had said he was going.

“What is it, Maddock?”

“It’s after eleven, Miss Charlotte, and Lily still isn’t home. With your permission, I think we should contact the police.”

“The police! Whatever for? We can’t get the police out because our servant girl is out with an undesirable man! We’ll be the laughingstock of the neighbourhood. Papa would never forgive us. Even if she is. . ” she looked for the word “. . loose enough to stay out all night.”

Maddock’s face tightened.

“Neither of our girls is immoral, Miss Charlotte. There is something wrong.”

“All right then, if not immoral, foolish, thoughtless.” Charlotte was beginning to be really frightened herself now. She wished Papa were here, or Dominic. They would know what to do. Was Lily really in danger, should she call the police? The very thought of speaking to the police was frightening, demeaning. Respectable people did not have to call the police. If she did, would Papa be furious? Her mind raced with possibilities, of rumours of disgrace, of Papa’s face red with anger, of Lily lying in the road somewhere.

“All right, perhaps you’d better call them,” she said very quietly.

“Yes, ma’am. I’ll go myself, and lock the door behind me. And don’t worry, Miss Charlotte. You’ll be perfectly safe here with Mrs. Dunphy and Dora. Just don’t let anyone in.”

“Yes, Maddock. Thank you.”

She sat down to wait. Suddenly the room seemed chill and she huddled further into the cushions on the sofa. Had she done the right thing? Wasn’t it a little hysterical to send Maddock out for the police just because Lily was no better than she should be? Papa would be furious. It would be talked about. Mama would be thoroughly embarrassed. It reflected on the morality of the whole household.

She stood up to call Maddock back, then realized it was too late. She had only just sat back on the sofa, shivering, when the front door opened and closed. She froze.

Then Sarah’s voice came clearly. “I’ve never been so tired in all my life! Does Mrs. Prebble normally do all that herself?”

“No, of course not,” Caroline said wearily. “It’s just that with her being ill she didn’t contact the people who normally help.”

The door to the withdrawing room opened.

“Why, Charlotte, what on earth are you doing sitting there like a child huddled in the half-dark? Are you ill?” Caroline came forward quickly.

Charlotte was so glad to see her she felt the tears prickle in her eyes. It was ridiculous. She swallowed hard.

“Mama, Lily hasn’t come back. Maddock’s gone to tell the police!”

Caroline stared.

“Police!” Emily said incredulously, and then her disbelief changed to anger. “What on earth are you thinking of, Charlotte? You must be mad!”

Sarah came up behind her.

“What will the neighbours say? We can’t have the police here just because a servant girl has run off with someone!” She looked around as if she expected to see him materialize. “Where’s Dominic?”

“He’s out, of course!” Charlotte snapped. “Do you think if he were here he’d have gone to bed?”

“You should never have left Charlotte alone,” Emily said, anger sharpening her tone.

“Well, possibly Mama didn’t know Lily was going to pick tonight to get lost!” Charlotte could hear her voice cracking. In her mind she saw Lily lying in the street. “She might be dead or something, and all you are thinking of is making silly remarks!”

Before anyone could take it any further the door opened and closed again and Edward came in through the open doorway of the withdrawing room.

“What’s the matter?” he said immediately. “Caroline?”

“Charlotte sent for the police because Lily has run away,” Sarah said furiously. “I expect we’ll be the talk of the street tomorrow!”

Edward stood aghast, staring at Charlotte.

“Charlotte?” he demanded.

“Yes, Papa.” She could not look at him.

“What on earth possessed you to do such a foolish thing, child?”

“She was afraid something. . ” Caroline began.

“Be silent, Caroline,” he said sharply. “Charlotte? I’m waiting!”

Charlotte felt her tears disappear in rebellion. She looked at him, as angry as he was now.

“If the whole street is going to talk about us,” she replied distinctly, “I would prefer it were because we were worried unnecessarily than because we didn’t care enough to see if she was all right when she was lying somewhere hurt!”

“Charlotte, go to your room!”

Wordlessly, head high, she went out and up the stairs. Her bedroom was cold and dark, but she could only think of the colder and darker streets outside.

She woke in the morning tired and heavy-headed. She remembered last night. Papa was almost certainly still angry, and poor Lily would reap the worst of it, possibly even a dismissal. Maddock was probably in for an unpleasant patch, too. She must remember not to make it worse for him by letting Papa know it was he who had suggested the police.

And of course if Lily were dismissed it would upset the whole household until a replacement was found. Mrs. Dunphy would be thoroughly aggrieved. Dora would be run silly. And Mama would discover all over again how hard it was to come by a respectable girl, never mind to train her.

It was still early but there was no point in lying in bed. Anyway, better to get it over with than to lie fearing and building it into ever larger proportions.

She had ventured as far as the downstairs hall when she saw Dora.

“Oh, Miss Charlotte!”

“What’s the matter, Dora? You look terrible. Are you ill?”

“Not properly speaking, I’m not. But isn’t it terrible, Miss?”

Charlotte’s heart sank. Surely Papa had not turned Lily out into the street in the middle of the night?

“What is, Dora? I went to bed before Lily came back.”

“Oh, Miss Charlotte,” Dora swallowed, her eyes round. “She never did come back. She must be lying murdered in the street somewhere, and we all in our beds like we didn’t care!”

“She doesn’t have to be anything of the sort!” Charlotte snapped, trying to convince herself. “She’s probably lying in bed, too, in some miserable room with Jack what’s-his-name.”

“Oh no, Miss, it’s wicked of you to say-” She blushed violently. “I’m sorry, Miss Charlotte, but you didn’t ought to say that. Lily was a good girl. She’d have never done that, and without giving notice even!”

Charlotte changed the subject.

“Did the police come, do you know? I mean, Maddock went for them.”

“Yes, Miss, a constable came, but he seemed to be of a mind that Lily was no better than she should be, and had simply run off. But then I always reckon police is no better than they should be either. All the low sorts of people they mix with, I dare say. Stands to reason, don’t it?”

“I don’t know, Dora. I’ve never known any police.”

Breakfast was a formal and very grim affair. Even Dominic looked unusually glum. He and Papa departed for the day, and Emily and Mama went to the dressmaker’s for fittings. Sarah was in her room writing letters. Funny what an enormous correspondence she had. Charlotte could never find above two or three people to write to in a month.

It was half past eleven and Charlotte was painting surprisingly successfully, for the gray mood she was in, when Maddock knocked and opened the door.

“What is it, Maddock?” Charlotte did not look up from her palette. She was mixing a muted sepia for leaves in the distance, and wished to get it exactly right. She enjoyed painting, and this morning it was particularly soothing.

“A person, Miss Charlotte, to see Mrs. Ellison, but since she is not in, he insisted on seeing someone.”

She abandoned the sepia.

“What do you mean, ‘a person,’ Maddock? What kind of a person?”

“A person from the police, Miss Charlotte.”

Fear rippled through Charlotte. It was real at last! Or were they come to complain about having been bothered over a domestic matter?

“Then you’d better show him in.”

“Do you wish me to remain, Miss, in case he becomes a nuisance? You can never tell with police persons. They are used to a different class of neighbourhood altogether.”

Charlotte would very much have liked his moral support.

“No, thank you, Maddock. But stay in the hall so I can call for you, please.”

“Yes, Miss.”

A moment later the door opened again.

“Inspector Pitt, ma’am.”

The man who came in was tall and looked large because he was untidy; his hair was unruly, and his jacket napped. His face was plain, a little Semitic, although his eyes were light and his hair no darker than brown. He appeared intelligent. His voice when he spoke was unusually beautiful, quite incongruous against his somewhat scruffy appearance. He looked Charlotte up and down keenly, irritating her already.

“I’m sorry to have to tell you when you are alone, Miss Ellison, but we cannot afford to waste time. Perhaps you would like to sit down?”

Instinctively she refused.

“No, thank you,” she said stiffly. “What is it you want?”

“I’m sorry, I have bad news. We have found your maid, Lily Mitchell.”

Charlotte tried to stand quite still, upright, although her knees were weak. She could feel the blood drain from her face.

“Where?” her voice was a squeak. This wretched man was staring at her. She did not normally dislike people on sight-no, perhaps that was not quite true-but this man certainly inspired it. “Well?” she said, keeping her voice level.

“In Cater Street. Perhaps you had better sit down?”

“I’m perfectly all right, thank you.” She tried to freeze him with a glance, but he seemed oblivious to it. Quite firmly he took her arm and guided her backwards into one of the hardbacked chairs.

“Would you like me to call one of your maids?” he offered.

That incensed her. She was not so feeble she could not conduct herself decently, even in the face of shocking news.

“What is it you wish to do that cannot wait?” she said with great control.

He wandered slowly round the room. Really, the man had no manners at all. Still, what could you expect of the police? He probably could not help it.

“Your butler reported last night that she had gone out walking with a man called Jack Brody, a clerk of some sort. What time did you require her to come home?”

“Half past ten, I think. I’m not sure. No, maybe ten o’clock. Maddock could tell you.”

“With your permission, I shall ask him.” It sounded more like a statement than a request. “How long was she in your employ?”

It all sounded so final, so much in the past.

“Four years, about. She was only nineteen.” She heard her voice drop suddenly, and a sharp memory of Emily came back to her, Emily as a baby, Emily learning to walk. It was ridiculous. Emily had nothing in common with Lily, except that they were both nineteen.

The wretched policeman was staring at her.

“You must have known her fairly well?”

“I suppose so.” She realized just how little she did know. Lily was a face around the house, something she was used to. She did not know anything about the girl behind the face at all, what she cared about, or was afraid of.

“Had she ever stayed out before?”

“What?” She had temporarily forgotten him.

He repeated the question.

“No. Never. Mister-?” She had forgotten his name, too.

“Pitt, Inspector Pitt,” he filled in for her.

“Inspector Pitt, was she-was she strangled, like the others?”

“Garroted, Miss Ellison, with a strong wire. Yes, exactly like the others.”

“And-and was she also-mutilated?”

“Yes. I’m sorry.”

“Oh.” She felt weakness overwhelm her, and horror, and pity.

He was watching her. Apparently he saw nothing but her silence.

“With your permission, I’ll go and speak to the other servants. They probably knew her better than you did.” There was something in his tone of voice that implied she did not care. It made her angry-and guilty.

“We don’t pry into our servants’ lives, Mr. Pitt! But in case you think we are not concerned, it was I who sent Maddock for the police last night.” She coloured with anger as soon as she had said it. Why on earth was she trying to justify herself to this man? “Unfortunately you were not able to find her then!” she added sharply.

He accepted the rebuke silently, and a moment later he was gone.

Charlotte stood staring at the easel. The painting which had seemed delicate and evocative a quarter of an hour ago was now only so many gray-brown smudges on paper. Her mind was full of blurred images, dark streets, footsteps, fighting for breath, and above all fear, and the dreadful, intimate attack.

She was still staring at the easel when her mother came in. Emily’s voice floated from the hall.

“I’m sure it will look perfectly dreadful if she leaves it as loose as that. I shall appear to be quite fat! It’s so unfashionable.”

Caroline had stopped, staring at Charlotte.

“Charlotte, my dear, what is it?”

Charlotte found her eyes filling with tears. In an agony of relief she ran into her mother’s arms and almost crushed her, holding her so tightly.

“Lily. Mama, she’s been strangled, like the others. They found her in Cater Street. There’s a terrible policeman here now, this moment! He’s talking to Maddock and the servants.”

Caroline touched her hair gently. It was an infinitely soothing gesture.

“Oh dear,” she said softly. “I was so afraid of that. I never really imagined Lily had run off; I suppose I just wanted to think so because it was so much preferable to this. Your Papa will be so angry at having the police here. Does Sarah know?”

“No. She’s upstairs.”

Caroline pushed her away gently.

“Then we had better collect ourselves and prepare to face a good deal of unpleasantness. I shall have to write to Lily’s parents. It is only right that they should hear from a member of the family, someone that knew Lily. And we were responsible for her. Now go upstairs and wash your face. And you had better tell Sarah. Where did you say this policeman was?”

Inspector Pitt returned in the evening, when Edward and Dominic were home, and insisted on speaking to them all again. He was very persistent and authoritative.

“I’ve never heard of such nonsense!” Edward said furiously when Maddock came to announce him. “The fellow’s impertinence is beyond words. I shall have to speak to his superior. I will not have women involved in this sordid affair. I shall speak to him alone. Caroline, girls, please withdraw until I send Maddock for you.”

They all stood up obediently, but before they could reach the door, it opened and the untidy figure of Pitt came striding in.

“Good evening, ma’am,” he bowed to Caroline. “Evening,” he said and took in everyone else, his eyes lingering a moment longer on Charlotte, to her annoyance. Sarah turned to look at her with disgust, as if she were somehow responsible for this creature coming into the drawing room.

“The ladies are just leaving,” Edward said stiffly. “Will you be so good as to stand aside and let them pass.”

“How unfortunate,” Pitt smiled cheerfully. “I had hoped to speak to them in your presence, for moral support, as it were. But if you prefer I speak to them alone, then of course-”

“I prefer that you do not speak to them at all! They can know nothing of this affair whatsoever, and I will not have them distressed.”

“Well, of course we shall be very grateful for anything that you know, sir-”

“I know nothing either! I don’t interest myself in the romantic affairs of servant girls!” Edward snapped. “But I can tell you all that the family knows of Lily. I can tell you about her service record, her references, where her family lives, and so on. I imagine you will want to know that?”

“Yes, although I don’t suppose it’s in the least relevant. However, I do require to speak to your wife and daughters. Women are very observant, you know; and women observe other women. You would be surprised how much might miss your eye, or mine, but not theirs.”

“My wife and daughters have more to interest them than the romances of Lily Mitchell.” Edward’s face was growing redder and his hands were clenched.

Sarah moved a little closer to him.

“Really, Mr. . ” She dismissed his name. “I assure you, I know nothing whatsoever. You would be better employed questioning Mrs. Dunphy, or Dora. If Lily confided in anyone, it would be one of them. Find this wretched man she was walking out with.”

“Oh, Mrs. Corde, we already have done. He says he left Lily at the end of the street, within sight of this house, at ten minutes before ten. He had to be back at his lodgings himself at ten o’clock, or be locked out.”

“You’ve only got his word for that,” Dominic spoke for the first time. He was leaning back in one of the chairs, looking a little flushed, but the most composed of them all. Charlotte’s heart lurched as she turned to him. He looked so calm; Papa was ridiculous beside him.

“He was in his lodging-house by ten o’clock,” Pitt replied, looking down at Dominic with a faint pucker between his eyes.

“Well, he could have killed her before ten o’clock, couldn’t he?” Dominic persisted.

“Certainly. But why should he?”

“I don’t know,” Dominic crossed his legs. “That’s up to you to find out. Why should anyone?”

“That’s right,” Sarah moved closer to Dominic, visibly allying herself with his theory. “You should be there, not here.”

“At least he had the discretion not to come in daylight,” Emily whispered to Charlotte. “Poor Sarah’s frying!”

“Don’t be spiteful,” Charlotte whispered back, although silently she agreed, and she knew Emily knew it.

“You believe it was him, do you, Mrs. Corde?” Pitt raised his eyebrows.

“Of course! Who else would it be?”

“Who indeed?”

“I think it’s perfectly obvious,” Edward found his tongue again. “They had some sort of lovers’ quarrel, and he lost his temper and strangled her. We’ll make all the arrangements for the funeral, of course. But I don’t think you need to bother us again. Maddock can tell you anything else you need to know of a practical nature.”

“Not strangled, sir, garotted.” Pitt held his hands up, pulling tight an invisible wire. “With a wire he just happened to be carrying, no doubt in case of such a contingency.”

Edward’s face was white.

“I shall report you to your superiors for impertinence!”

Charlotte felt an idiotic desire to giggle. No doubt it was hysteria.

“Did he also kill Chloe Abernathy?” Pitt enquired, “and the Hiltons’ maid as well? Or have we two hangmen loose in Cater Street?”

They stared at him in silence. He was a ludicrous figure in their quiet withdrawing room-with ludicrous, ugly, and frightening suggestions.

Charlotte felt Emily’s hand creep into hers, and she was glad to hang on to it.

No one answered Pitt.