Cater Street Hangman

Chapter Five

The wretched policeman returned the following day, questioning Maddock first, then Caroline, then finally asking if he could see Charlotte again.

“Why?” Charlotte was tired and this morning the deep unhappiness of fear and the reality of death had settled upon her. The blindness of the first shock had passed. She had gone to sleep on tragedy, and wakened to find it still with her.

“I don’t know, dear,” Caroline replied, still in the doorway. She held the door open for her daughter. “But he asked for you, so I suppose he must think you can help somehow.”

Charlotte stood up and walked out slowly. Caroline touched her arm gently.

“Do be careful before you speak, my dear. We have had a great tragedy; don’t let your distress, or your concern for Maddock, provoke you into saying something you may afterwards regret because it has led to conclusions you did not foresee. Do not forget he is a policeman. He will remember everything you say, and try to see meanings beneath it.”

“Charlotte never thought before she spoke in her life,” Sarah said crossly. “She’ll lose her temper, and I can’t blame her. He is a most disgusting person. But the least one can do is behave like a lady, and say as little as possible.”

Emily was sitting at the piano.

“I think he admires Charlotte,” she said, touching the top note lightly with her finger.

“Emily, this is no time for levity!” Caroline said sharply.

“Can’t you ever think of anything but romance?” Sarah glared at her.

Emily smiled with a small uplift of the corners of her mouth.

“Do you think policemen are romantic, Sarah? I think Inspector Pitt is excessively plain, and of course he must be common, or he wouldn’t be a policeman. But he has the most beautiful voice, sort of surrounds you like warm treacle, and his diction and grammar are excellent. I suppose he is trying to better himself.”

“Emily, Lily is dead!” Caroline gritted her teeth.

“I know that, Mama. But he must be used to that kind of thing, so it won’t prevent him from admiring Charlotte.” She turned to her sister and regarded her objectively. “And Charlotte is very handsome. I dare say he doesn’t mind her tongue. He is probably used to indelicacy.”

Charlotte felt her face flaming. The thought of Inspector Pitt’s even entertaining such an idea about her was unbearable.

“Hold your tongue, Emily!” she fumed. “Inspector Pitt has no more chance of enjoying my attentions than-than you have of marrying George Ashworth. Which is just as well, because Ashworth is a gambler and a cad!” She pushed past Caroline and into the hall.

Pitt was in the smaller, rear sitting room.

“Good morning, Miss Ellison,” he smiled widely; it would have been charming in anyone else.

“Good morning, Mr. Pitt,” she said coldly. “I cannot think why you should have sent for me again, but since you have, what is it you want?”

She stared at him, trying to make him feel awkward, and instead thought for an appalling moment that she saw in his eyes the admiration Emily had spoken of. It was intolerable.

“Don’t stand there staring like a fool!” she snapped. “What do you want?”

His smile vanished.

“You seem very disturbed, Miss Ellison. Has something further happened to distress you? An event, a suspicion, something you remembered?” His light, intelligent eyes were on her face, waiting.

“You appear to suspect our butler,” she replied icily. “Which is naturally distressing to me, both because you are blaming someone in my home, and no doubt you will arrest him and put him in prison, and because, since I’m perfectly sure he didn’t do it, whoever did is still out in the streets. I would have thought that such a situation would be enough to distress any person of the slightest sensibility.”

“You leap to conclusions with the greatest of mental athleticism, Miss Ellison,” he smiled. “To begin with, we frequently arrest people, but we take them to court; we do not put them in prison. You might feel sure he is not guilty, and I am inclined to agree with you, but neither you nor I has the right to dismiss anyone from consideration until something is proved or disproved regarding their involvement in the affair. And to conclude, you are wrong in assuming that because I am still looking at Maddock, I have ceased to look elsewhere.”

“I do not wish for a lecture on police procedure, Mr. Pitt.” She could see his point, even that he was right, and it did nothing to help her temper.

“I thought it might be reassuring.”

“What is it you want, Mr. Pitt?”

“The night that Lily was killed, when was the last time you saw Maddock before he went to look for her?”

“I’ve no idea.”

“What did you do that evening?”

“I read. What can that possibly have to do with it?”

“Oh?” His eyebrows rose with interest. He smiled. “What did you read?”

She could feel herself colour with annoyance because her father would have disapproved of her books as something that was not becoming for a lady to wish to know about.

“That is not your concern, Mr. Pitt.”

Her answer seemed to amuse him. It suddenly occurred to her that he might have thought it was a romance, or old love letters.

“I was reading a book on warfare in the Crimea,” she said angrily.

His eyes widened in surprise.

“An unusual interest for a lady.”

“Possibly. What has it to do with Lily, which I’m told is your job here?”

“I take it you chose that opportunity because your father does not approve of your interest in such bloody and unfeminine subjects?”

“That is none of your concern either.”

“So you read alone; you did not call in Maddock or Dora to fetch you any refreshment, or alter the gas, or lock the doors?”

“I didn’t wish for any refreshment, and I’m quite capable of turning the gas up or down myself, or locking the doors.”

“Then you didn’t see Maddock at all?”

At last she realized what he was seeking. She was annoyed with herself for not having seen it before.

“No.”

“So he could have been out any time during the evening, as far as you know?”

“Mrs. Dunphy said he spoke to her. He only went out when Lily was late home, and-and he became worried.”

“So he says. But Mrs. Dunphy was alone in the kitchen. He could actually have gone out earlier.”

“No, he couldn’t. If I had called for anything I should have noticed his absence.”

“But you were reading a book your father did not approve of.” He was looking at her closely. His eyes were frank, as if there were no wall between them.

“He didn’t know that!” But even as she said it the sickening thought came that Maddock probably had known it. She had taken the book from her father’s study. Maddock knew the books well enough to spot which one was missing, and he knew her. She turned to face Pitt.

He merely smiled. “However,” he went on, dismissing the book with a wave of his hand. Really, he was a most untidy creature, so different from Dominic. He looked like a wading bird flapping its wings. “I can think of no reason why he should harbour any feelings against Miss Abernathy.” His voice lifted. “Was Miss Abernathy a friend of yours?”

“Not especially.”

“No,” he said thoughtfully. “From what I have been told, she would hardly have been your choice of company. A somewhat flighty girl, much given to laughter and rather frivolous pursuits, poor child.”

Charlotte looked at him. He was quite grave. Was he not sufficiently used to death in his job that it no longer moved him?

“She was not an immoral girl,” she said quietly, “just very young, and still a little foolish.”

“Indeed.” He gave a tight little grimace. “And not in the least likely to have had a liaison with someone else’s butler. I imagine her sights were set a good deal higher. She could hardly have remained in the kind of society she sought were she in any way engaged with a servant, even a superior one!”

“Are you being sarcastic, Mr. Pitt?”

“Quite literal, Miss Ellison. I do not always observe the rules of society, but I am quite aware of what they are!”

“You surprise me!” she said cuttingly.

“Do you disapprove of sarcasm, Miss Ellison?”

She felt her face flush; it had been the perfect barb.

“I find you offensive, Mr. Pitt. If you have some question to ask in connection with your business, please do so. Otherwise permit me to call Maddock to have you shown out.”

To her surprise he also blushed, and for once he did not look at her.

“I apologize, Miss Ellison. The last thing I wished was to offend you.”

Now she was confused. He looked unhappy, as if she had actually hurt him. She was at fault, and she knew it. She had been intolerably rude and he had so far forgotten himself as to give her as good in return. She had used her social advantage to fire the last shot. It was not something to be proud of; in fact it was an abuse of privilege. It must be rectified.

She did not look at him either.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Pitt. I spoke hastily. I am not offended at you, but a little more disturbed by. . by circumstances than I had allowed for. Please pardon my rudeness.”

He spoke quietly. Emily was right; he had a beautiful voice.

“I admire you for that, Miss Ellison.”

Again she felt acutely uncomfortable, knowing he was staring at her.

“And there is no need to fear for Maddock. I have no evidence on which to arrest him, and quite honestly, I think it is very unlikely he had anything to do with it.”

Her eyes flew up to meet his, to search and see if he were being honest.

“I wish I did have some idea who it was,” he went on seriously. “This kind of man does not stop at two, or three. Please, be most careful? Do not go out alone, even for the shortest distance.”

She felt a confusion of horror and embarrassment run through her: horror at the thought of some nameless madman stalking the streets, just beyond the darkened windows, and embarrassment over the depth of feeling in Pitt’s eyes. Surely it wasn’t conceivable that he actually-? No, of course not! It was just Emily’s stupid tongue! He was a policeman! Very ordinary. He probably had a wife somewhere, and children. What a big man he was, not fat, but tall. She wished he would not look at her like that, as if he could see into her mind.

“No,” she said with a quick swallow. “I assure you I have no intention of going out unaccompanied. We none of us shall. Now if there is nothing more I can tell you, you must persist in your enquiries-elsewhere. Good day, Mr. Pitt.”

He held the door open for her.

“Good day, Miss Ellison.”

It was late afternoon and she was alone in the garden, picking off dead rose heads, when Dominic came over the grass towards her.

“How very tidy,” he looked at the rose bushes she had done. “Funny, I never thought of you as so-regimented. That’s more like Sarah, tidying up after nature. I would have expected you to leave them.”

She did not look at him; she did not want the disturbing emotion of meeting his eyes. As always, she said what she meant.

“I don’t do it to be tidy. Taking off the dead heads means the plant doesn’t put any more goodness into them, seeds and so forth. It helps to make them bloom again.”

“How practical. And that sounds like Emily.” He picked a couple off and dropped them into her basket. “What did Pitt want? I would have thought he’d asked us everything possible by now.”

“I’m not really sure. He was very impertinent.” Then she wished she had not said it. Perhaps he had been, but she had also been rude, and it was less forgivable in herself. “It may be his way of. . of surprising people into frankness.”

“A little redundant with you, I would have thought?” he grinned.

Her heart turned over. Habit, familiarity all vanished and it was as if she had just met him again, enchanted. He was everything that was laughing, masculine, romantic. Why, oh why could she not have been Sarah?

She looked down at the roses in case he read it all in her eyes. She knew it must be naked there. For once she could think of nothing to say.

“Did he go on about Maddock?” he asked.

“Yes.”

He snapped off another dead head and dropped it into the basket.

“Does he honestly think the poor devil was so besotted by Lily that when she chose Brody instead he followed after her and killed her in the street?”

“No, of course not! He wouldn’t be so stupid,” she said quickly.

“Is it so stupid, Charlotte? Passion can be very strong. If she laughed at him, mocked him-”

“Maddock! Dominic?” she faced him without thinking. “You don’t think he did, do you?”

His dark eyes were puzzled.

“I find it hard to believe, but then I find it hard to believe anyone would strangle a woman with a wire like that. But someone did. We only know one side of Maddock. We always see him very stiff and correct: ‘yes, sir,’ ‘no, ma’am.’ We don’t ever think what he feels or thinks underneath.”

“You do think so!” she accused.

“I don’t know. But we have to consider it.”

“We don’t! Pitt might have to, but we know better.”

“No we don’t, Charlotte. We don’t know anything at all. And Pitt must be good at his job, or he wouldn’t be an inspector.”

“He’s not infallible. And anyway, he said he didn’t think that Maddock was involved; he just had to exhaust all the possibilities.”

“Did he say that?”

“Yes.”

“Then if he doesn’t think it’s Maddock, why does he keep coming here?”

“I suppose because Lily worked here.”

“What about the others, Chloe and the Hiltons’ maid?”

“Well, I suppose he goes there, too. I didn’t ask him.”

He stared at the grass, frowning.

She longed to say something wise, something he would remember, but nothing came to her but a storm of feelings.

He took off the last rose and picked up the basket.

“Well, I suppose he’ll either arrest someone, or declare it an unsolved crime,” he said drily. “Not a very comforting thought. I think I’d rather anything than that.” And he walked back into the house.

She followed after him slowly. Papa and Sarah and Emily were all in the withdrawing room, and as she came in after Dominic, Mama also entered from the other door. She saw the basket of flower heads.

“Ah, good. Thank you, Dominic.” She took them as he held them out.

Edward looked up from the newspaper he was reading.

“What did that policeman ask you this morning, Charlotte?” he asked.

“Very little,” she replied. Actually all she could clearly remember was how rude she had been, and the relief that he did not seriously suspect Maddock.

“You were in there long enough,” Emily observed. “If he was not asking you questions, what on earth were you doing?”

“Emily, don’t be foolish!” Edward said tersely. “And your comments are in poor taste. Charlotte, please answer me a little more fully. We are concerned.”

“Really, Papa, he seemed only to be going over the same things again, about Maddock, what time he went out, what Mrs. Dunphy said. But he did admit that he did not believe Maddock guilty himself, only that he had to pursue every possibility.”

“Oh.”

She had expected relief, even joy; she could not understand the silence that greeted her.

“Papa?”

“Yes, my dear?”

“Are you not relieved? The police do not suspect Maddock. Inspector Pitt said as much.”

“Then whom do they suspect?” Sarah asked. “Or didn’t they tell you that?”

“Of course they didn’t!” Edward frowned. “I’m surprised they told her so much. Are you sure you understood correctly? It was not perhaps wishful thinking?”

It was almost as if they did not want to believe her.

“No, I didn’t misunderstand. He was perfectly plain.”

“What exactly did he say?” Caroline asked quietly.

“I can’t remember, but I was not mistaken in his meaning, of that I am perfectly sure.”

“Well, that’s a relief,” Sarah said, putting down her sewing. She sewed very beautifully; Charlotte had envied her that for as long as she could remember. “Now perhaps the police won’t return.”

Emily smiled. “Yes, they will.”

“What for, if they don’t suspect Maddock?”

“To see Charlotte, of course. Inspector Pitt admires Charlotte greatly.”

Edward drew in a sharp breath. “Emily, this is not an occasion for frivolity. And the less fortunate imaginings of some policeman are not of interest to us. No doubt many men of ordinary background admire women who are above them, but have more sense than to let it be known.”

“But the police have no reason to come back, no real reason,” Sarah pressed.

“That is the most real of reasons,” Emily was not easily suppressed. “Crimes come and go; loves last longer.”

“Some do,” Dominic said drily.

“Well, it’s obviously someone from the criminal classes,” Sarah said, ignoring them both. “I don’t know why they even considered it could be otherwise. It seems incompetent to me.”

“No,” Charlotte said quickly. “It isn’t!”

Edward turned to her in surprise.

“Isn’t what, my dear?”

“Isn’t someone from the criminal classes. They only kill if they can’t help it, either to escape or something of that sort, or else for revenge. They only attack people they don’t know in order to rob. And Lily was not robbed.”

“How do you know all this?”

Charlotte was conscious that they were all looking at her. “Inspector Pitt told me. And it makes sense.”

“I don’t know why you should expect the criminal classes to make sense,” Sarah was impatient. “It will be some lunatic, someone who is quite depraved and does not know what he is doing.” She shivered.

“Poor devil,” Dominic spoke with feeling, and Charlotte was surprised by it. Why should he have such pity for a creature who had horribly killed three times?

“Spare your concern for Lily and Chloe and the Hiltons’ maid,” Edward said with a little snort.

Dominic looked around.

“Why? They’re dead. This poor animal is still alive, at least I presume he is.”

“Stop it!” Edward said sharply. “You’ll frighten the girls.”

Dominic gazed round at them. “I’m sorry. Although I think this is a time when a little fear might save your life.” He turned his head to Charlotte. “So Pitt doesn’t think it’s some madman from the underworld. What does he think?”

There was only one conclusion. She faced it as calmly as she could, but her voice still shook.

“He must think it is someone who lives here, somewhere near Cater Street.”

“Nonsense!” Edward sat up sharply. “I’ve lived here all my life. I know just about everyone within a radius of-of miles. There is no-lunatic of such monstrous proportions in this neighbourhood. Good heavens, if there were, does he not think we should know it? Such a creature could hardly pass unnoticed! He could not appear to be like the rest of us.”

Couldn’t he? Charlotte looked at him, then surreptitiously at Dominic. How much of people really showed in their faces? Did any of them even guess the wildness of feeling in her? Please heaven, no! If such madness, such tormented hatred as this creature felt was there to see, why was this man not known already? He must be seen by someone-family, wife, friends? What did they think, if they knew? Could you know something like that about someone, and not speak? Or would you refuse to believe it, turn away from the evidence, construe it as meaning something else?

What would she do-if she loved someone? If it were Dominic, would she not protect him from everything, die to do it, if necessary?

What a monstrous thought! As if anyone remotely like Dominic could have been involved in violence, the obscene anger that drove one to terrify and destroy, to linger in shadows along the street walls, hungering after fear.

What kind of man was he? She could only see him as a black shadow against mists. Had Lily seen his face? Had any of them? If she saw it herself, would it be a face she knew-a new nightmare, or a familiar one?

They were talking round her. She had missed it. Why did they accept that it could be Maddock so easily? It was almost as if they were grateful for a solution, as if any solution were better than none.

No, that was dreadful. But in spite of herself she could understand it. The suspicion was gone. Any knowledge, any fact to face was better than wondering, knowing he was still out there in the gaslit streets. Whatever the known was, it was better than the unknown, better than the police here, asking questions, suspecting.

She could understand, but at the same time she was ashamed of them for it, of herself for not saying something, exposing it. In a way she was allowing it, allowing them all to deceive themselves.

The conversation flowed round her and she had no heart to join in.

Emily had no such thoughts. And the following day the whole sordid business had receded to the dimension of a mere practical problem. Of course she was sorry about Lily, but Lily was beyond help now, and grieving would do her no good. Emily had never understood mourning. The most peculiar thing about it was that it was the most pious people who indulged in it, those who should have been the ones to rejoice! After all, they preached heaven and hell loudly enough. Surely to mourn was the gravest insult one could pay to the dead? It presupposed judgment was going to find them light in the balance.

Lily had been ordinary enough, but there was nothing in her to warrant damnation, so one could presume she was in a better place. Whatever sins she had committed, and they could only be small, were surely washed clean by the payment of her life.

So the whole matter was better forgotten, except for the rather squalid business of discovering who killed her. And that was the job of the police. All she and her family could do was take sufficient care to see they did not get in the way of this lunatic’s garotting wire.

The practical matters of real importance were the positive ones, such as discovering what everyone might wear at the party to be given by a certain Major and Mrs. Winter, to which George Ashworth was to escort her. It would be a serious setback if she were to find her dress duplicated, or nearly so. She aimed ultimately to set fashion rather than follow it, but in the meantime she must judge it to a nicety, so as not to appear merely eccentric. She would have to consult the Misses Madison, and Miss Decker-without their being aware of it, of course.

The police did not return for several days. Apparently they were conducting their investigations elsewhere, probably going back to the earlier deaths, talking to the Abernathys and the Hiltons. The whole affair was not discussed openly again, although they nearly all found themselves saying small things, letting thoughts slip out. They were mostly expressions of relief that the police were out of the house and had transferred their unwelcome presence, with its attendant speculation and scandal, to someone else. The other feeling that came through was the continuing anxiety about what might happen next, where this creature might be, if it were actually conceivable that he came from the immediate neighbourhood-someone’s manservant, or a small trader?

Emily gathered all her information, and procured a magnificent gown in the palest lilac, with delicate silver trim. She was in particularly good health; her skin was clear, far better than the elder Miss Madison’s, and her eyes bright. She had excellent colour, not too high, and her hair for once did everything she wished.

Ashworth called for her in his coach, naturally paying his respects to the family before departing. Mama was very civil, Papa even more so, but Charlotte was as uncompromising as usual.

“Your sister Charlotte has little liking for me, I think,” Ashworth observed as soon as they were alone. “It’s a pity. She’s a handsome creature.”

Emily knew she had nothing to fear from Charlotte, but it might be wise not to be too readily available to Ashworth. It was more than possible he hankered more for the chase than for the prize.

“Indeed she is,” she agreed. “And you are not the only one to have noticed it.”

“I should hardly think so.” Then he looked at her with a smile. “Or were you being particular? Tell me, if you know a nice piece of gossip?”

“Only that our police inspector seems much taken with her, to Charlotte’s fury!”

He laughed outright. “And knowing you, you have not let it go unmarked. Poor Charlotte, how very irritating to be admired by a policeman, of all things!”

Their arrival was all Emily could have hoped for, indeed have planned. And thereafter for at least the first two hours all went well; but later she found Ashworth’s attention wandering not only to his drinking and gambling companions, but especially to one Hetty Gosfield, a conspicuous girl of somewhat indelicate charms, but influential parentage and, worse than that, money. She had always known that Ashworth had an admiring eye for a pretty woman, and she had not expected to hold his entire attention, or even the larger part of it, without considerable work. But this Gosfield woman was beginning to be a threat.

Emily watched as Ashworth, at the far side of the room, smiled into the eyes of Hetty Gosfield, and Hetty laughed happily back. A quarter an hour later the situation was much the same.

Emily took a deep breath and considered. Above all things she must not make a scene. Ashworth abhorred any vulgarity that was not his own; even when he found it amusing, he still despised it. She would have to be far subtler than that; put the Gosfield woman in the wrong.

It took her some time to work it out, as her attention was divided between carrying on a conversation with Mr. Decker without talking too apparent nonsense, controlling her temper, and coming to a satisfactory plan of action.

When at last she moved it was with decisiveness. She knew one of Ashworth’s young friends passably well, the Honorable William Foxworthy-empty-headed, possessing more money than good taste, and of an exhibitionistic temperament. It was not hard to attract his attention. He was at one of the tables playing cards. He saw her watching him. She waited until he won.

“Oh, excellent, Mr. Foxworthy!” she applauded. “What skill you have. Indeed, I swear I have never seen anyone cleverer-except Lord Ashworth, of course.”

He looked up sharply.

“Ashworth? You think he is cleverer than I?”

She smiled sweetly.

“Only at cards. I have no doubt you excel him in many other things.”

“I don’t know about other things, Miss Ellison, and I assure you I have a greater skill at cards.”

She gave him a gentle look, full of patience and total disbelief.

“I’ll show you!” He stood up, the pack in his hand.

“Oh, pray, don’t trouble yourself,” she said quickly. It was going extremely well, exactly as she had intended. “I’m sure you are most able.”

“Not able, Miss Ellison.” He was stiff now, full of outraged pride. “That implies mere indifference. I am better than Ashworth. I’ll prove it.”

“Oh, please. I didn’t mean to disturb your game,” she protested, still loading her voice with disbelief.

“You doubt me?”

“Do you wish me to be honest?”

“Then you leave me no option but to beat Ashworth, and oblige you to believe me!” He strode across the room towards Ashworth, who was still totally engaged with Hetty Gosfield.

“George!” he said loudly.

“Oh, please!” Emily cried plaintively, but did not follow him beyond the first few paces. She must not be seen to have instigated this, or the whole purpose would be destroyed.

It worked marvellously. Foxworthy disrupted the tete-a-tete, demanding to prove his superiority. Ashworth could not resist, and Hetty Gosfield argued at first, but as Ashworth became annoyed with her because she was being tiresome and drawing a vulgar attention to them, she sulked and went away with someone else.

After it was all over Emily found herself with Ashworth again.

“Beat him,” he said with satisfaction.

“Of course,” Emily smiled. He apparently had no idea that the exercise had nothing to do with skill at cards. “I had presumed you would.”

“I can’t bear vulgarity,” he went on aggrievedly. “Bad taste for a woman to make an exhibition of herself.”

Again Emily agreed, although privately she thought it was no worse for a woman than for a man; but that was not the way society saw it, and she knew the rules well enough to play by them, and too well to imagine one could break them and still win.

It was only when she was at home, lying in bed staring at the gaslight patterns on the ceiling, reflected from the lamps outside, that she reviewed the evening. There was no question in her mind that she still intended to marry George Ashworth, but there must be a weighing of his faults, a decision as to which might reasonably be changed, and which she would have to learn to live with, and herself change. Perhaps it was too much to require of any man of breeding and wealth that he should be faithful, but she would most certainly require that he be discreet in his liaisons. He must never make her an object of public sympathy. When the time was right, she must make that quite clear.

Again, he might gamble his own money as much as he chose, but never mortgage that which she might in good conscience regard as his provision for her-in other words their house, the wages of servants, a carriage and good horses, and a dress allowance sufficient to permit her to appear as becomes a lady.

She fell asleep, still thinking of the practicalities.

The following Thursday she went with Sarah to visit the vicar and Mrs. Prebble for tea, and to discuss the forthcoming church bazaar.

“But what if the weather is inclement?” Sarah asked, looking from one to another of them.

“We must trust in the Lord,” the vicar replied. “And September is frequently the most delightful month of the year. Even if it rains, it is unlikely to be cold. I don’t doubt our faithful parishioners will suffer it with good grace.”

Emily profoundly doubted it, and was glad that Charlotte was not there to express her opinion.

“Is it not possible to arrange some form of shelter, in case of misfortune?” she asked. “We can hardly rely upon the Lord to favour us above others.”

“Us above others, Miss Ellison?” The vicar raised his eyebrows. “I fear I have not grasped your meaning.”

“Well, perhaps others may require rain,” she explained. “Farmers?”

The vicar looked at her coolly. “We are about the Lord’s business, Miss Ellison.”

There was no courteous answer to that.

“It may be quite easy to arrange to borrow some tents,” Martha said thoughtfully. “I believe they have some at St. Peter’s. No doubt they will be happy to lend them to us.”

“It will be something of a social occasion,” Sarah observed. “People will be wearing their best clothes.”

“It is a church bazaar, Miss Ellison, to raise money for charity, not for women to disport themselves.” The vicar was cold, his disapproval obvious.

Sarah blushed in embarrassment, and Emily charged to her defence in a manner worthy of Charlotte.

“Surely to appear on the business of the Lord one would wish to wear one’s best, Vicar,” she said blandly. “We can still behave with decorum. We do at church, where you would not expect us to come higgledy-piggledy.”

A curious expression flickered across Martha’s face, something like triumph and fear at the same time, and an obscure humour also, gone before it could be recognized.

“True, Miss Ellison,” the vicar said piously. “Let us hope everyone else has the sense of duty and fitness that you do. We must set an example.”

“We must also hope that people enjoy themselves,” Martha offered. “After all, they will be little likely to part with their money if they feel miserable.”

Emily glanced at the vicar.

“We are not a public amusement,” he said icily.

Emily could think of nothing less likely to amuse the public than the vicar’s frozen face. “Surely we can be happy,” she said deliberately, “without being remotely like a public amusement?” As if Charlotte were at her elbow, she went on. “In fact, the very knowledge that we are in the service of the Lord will be a source of joy to us.”

If it ever occurred to the vicar’s mind that she was being sarcastic, there was no sign of it in his face. But she caught Martha’s eye, and wondered if perhaps Martha would like to have said the same herself?

“I’m afraid you are not wise in the ways of the world,” the vicar said, looking down at her, “as indeed it becomes a woman not to be. However, I must advise you that people are not as happy in the Lord’s work as they should be, else the world would be a far better place, instead of the vale of sin and frailty it is. Alas, how weak is the flesh, even though the spirit would have it otherwise!”

There was no answer to that either. Emily turned her attention to the practical details; these at least she was extremely good at, although they interested her not at all. But it was only fair she did not leave them all to Sarah.

On the way home they were both quiet for a long time, till they were within half a mile of their own house. Sarah pulled her wrap a little closer round her.

“It is far cooler than I expected,” she said with a little shiver. “It looked as if it would be warm.”

“You’re tired,” Emily sought the obvious explanation. “You have been working very hard on this-affair.” She decided to omit the adjective that came to her tongue.

“I can’t leave poor Mrs. Prebble to do everything. You have no idea how hard that woman works.” Sarah walked a little more quickly.

She was quite correct. Emily had very little idea of what Martha Prebble might do with her time. It had never interested her to think of it.

“Does she? At what?”

“At raising money for the church, at visiting the sick and the poor, at running the orphanage. Who do you suppose arranged the outing for them last month? Who do you think laid out old Mrs. Janner? She had no family and she was as poor as a mouse.”

Emily was surprised.

“Martha Prebble did?”

“Yes. Sometimes others help, but only when they feel like it, when it suits them, or when they think someone else is watching who will praise them for it.”

“I didn’t know that.”

Sarah pulled her shawl closer round her again.

“I think that’s why Mama sometimes puts up with her rather funny ways, and with the vicar. I must admit myself, they are a little trying at times; but one must bear in mind the work they do.”

Emily stared ahead of her. Such thoughts obliged her admiration, in spite of her profound dislike of the vicar and, by association, of Martha also. People were full of the most curious traits.

Caroline also was thinking of the vicar and Martha Prebble, but less kindly. She had been aware of Martha’s work, especially with orphans, long enough for the surprise to have faded. She also understood some of the loneliness of a woman who has had no children and who is driven by both family and circumstances to labour for those who are not her own. It must frequently be an anonymous, thankless task.

But a little of their company, especially the vicar’s, was sufficient for a long time.

“A very worthy woman,” Grandmama observed. “A fine example to others of the parish. A pity there are so few who follow her. You must be pleased with Sarah. She’s turning out very well.”

Caroline thought it made her sound like a cake or a pudding, but she knew Grandmama did not appreciate levity at her expense.

“Yes,” Caroline agreed, still looking at her sewing. There seemed to be far more linen to mend than she had remembered. But it was a long time since they had been short of a maid, in fact since before Sarah was married.

“Pity you can’t do something about Charlotte,” Grandmama went on. “I really don’t know how you’re ever going to get that girl married. She doesn’t appear even to be trying!”

Caroline rethreaded her needle. She knew why Charlotte did not try, but it was none of Grandmama’s business.

“She certainly is different in her tastes from Emily,” she said noncommittally. “And in her tactics. But then there is no reason why they should be the same.”

“You ought to speak to her,” Grandmama insisted. “Point out the practicalities to her. What is going to happen to her if no one marries her? Have you considered that?”

“Yes, Grandmama, but frightening her will do no good, and even if she does not marry, she will survive. Better single than married to someone disreputable, or loose-living, or who could not provide for her satisfactorily.”

“My dear Caroline,” Grandmama said exasperatedly, “it is your duty as her mother to see that she does not! And it is also your duty to control this house in an organized fashion. When are you going to get another maid?”

“I have already made enquiries and Mrs. Dunphy has seen two, but they were not satisfactory.”

“What was the matter with them?”

“One was too young, no experience; the other had a reputation that was undesirable.”

“Perhaps if you’d checked Lily a little more closely she wouldn’t now be murdered! This sort of thing doesn’t happen in a well-ordered house.”

“It didn’t happen in the house!” Caroline was stung to sharpness at last. “It happened in Cater Street. And you are quite irresponsible to suggest, even by implication, that Lily brought it upon herself in any way, or that she was immoral. And I won’t have it said in my house.”

“Well, really!” Grandmama stood up, her hands tight, her face flushed. “No wonder Charlotte doesn’t know how to keep a civil tongue in her head, and Emily’s chasing after that ne’er-do-well just because he has a title. She’ll do nothing but make a fool of herself, and you’ll be to blame. I told Edward when he married you that he was making a mistake, but of course he was enamoured of you and didn’t listen. Now Charlotte and Emily will have to pay for it. Well, don’t say afterwards that I didn’t warn you!”

“I wouldn’t dream of it, Grandmama. Do you want dinner upstairs or will you be sufficiently recovered in time to come down for it?”

“I am not ill, Caroline. I am merely very disappointed, though not surprised.”

“One can recover from disappointment as well as illness,” Caroline said drily.

“You are immodest, Caroline, and unfeminine. No wonder Charlotte is a shrill. If you’d been my daughter, I would have seen to it that you grew up to be a lady.” And without giving Caroline a chance to reply to that, she went out and closed the door behind her with a sharp clack.

Caroline sighed. There was more than enough to do, enough trouble, without Grandmama aping a prima donna. Still, she ought to be used to it by now, only she resented the criticism of Charlotte. The slander against Lily was painful in a different and deeper way.

What kind of person would kill a harmless, penniless girl like Lily Mitchell? Only a madman. A madman straying from the criminal world, or a madman who looked like any of the rest of them, except at night, when he saw a young woman alone in the streets? Could it even be someone she herself had seen?

Her thoughts were interrupted by Edward coming in.

“Good evening, my dear.” He kissed her on the cheek. “Have you had a pleasant day?” He looked at the linen and frowned. “Still no replacement for Lily? I thought you were seeing one or two today.”

“I did. Nothing suitable.”

“Where are the girls? And Mama?” He sat down, stretching comfortably.

“Do you wish some refreshment before dinner?”

“No, thank you. I stopped at my club.”

“I thought you were a little late,” she said as she glanced at the clock.

“Where are they?” he repeated.

“Sarah and Dominic are dining with the Lessings-”

“The who?”

“The Lessings, the sexton and his family.”

“Oh. And the others?”

“Emily is with George Ashworth again. I wish you would speak to her, Edward. I don’t seem to make any impression.”

“I’m afraid, my dear, she will have to learn by the bitterness of experience. I doubt she will listen to anyone. I could forbid her, of course, but they would be bound to see each other at social occasions, and it would only lend an air of romance to the affair, which would strengthen it in her eyes. It would defeat its purpose in the end.”

She smiled. She had not credited him with such perception. She had made the suggestion only to safeguard herself.

“You are quite right,” she agreed. “It will probably blow past of its own accord, in time.”

“And Charlotte and Mama?”

“Charlotte is to dinner with young Uttley, and Grandmama is upstairs, in something of a temper with me, because I would not let her say that Lily was immoral.”

He sighed.

“No, we must not say so, although I fear it may well be true.”

“Why? Because she was killed? If you believe that, then what about Chloe Abernathy?”

“My dear, there are many ways of the world that you do not know, and it is better that it should be so. But it is more than possible that Chloe brought it upon herself also. Unfortunately,” he hesitated, “even well-born girls form liaisons, alliances-,” he left it hanging. “One doesn’t know-there may be-jealousies, revenges. Things it is better we do not discuss.”

And Caroline had to be content with that, although she found herself unable to believe it wholly or to dismiss it from her thoughts.