Cater Street Hangman

Chapter Six

It was a week later that Caroline finally succeeded in engaging a new maid to take Lily’s place. It had not been easy because although there were plenty of girls seeking a good position, many of them were unskilled, and many had reputations and references that were less than satisfactory. And, of course, since Lily’s death and the manner of it were known, it was not the most pleasing prospect for a respectable girl seeking employment.

However, Millie Simpkins seemed the best applicant they were likely to get, and the situation was becoming most awkward without someone in the position. The next thing would be that Mrs. Dunphy would find she could not cope, and use the shortage of help as an excuse to give her notice as well.

Millie was a pleasant enough girl, sixteen years old. She appeared to have an accommodating and willing nature, and was clean and passably neat. She lacked any great experience, this being only her second position, but that could be all to the good. If she had few set ways, then she could be taught, moulded into the pattern of this household. And perhaps most important of all, Mrs. Dunphy took to her immediately.

It was Wednesday morning when Millie knocked on the door of the rear sitting room.

“Come in,” Caroline replied.

Millie came in, a coat over her arm, and dropped a funny little curtsey.

“Yes Millie, what is it?” Caroline smiled at her. Poor child was nervous.

“Please, ma’am, this coat is-rather spoiled, ma’am. I don’t rightly know how to mend it. I’m sorry, ma’am.”

Caroline took it from her and held it up. It was one of Edward’s-smart, a formal jacket with velvet collar. It was a moment or two before she found the tear. It was in the sleeve, in the lower section at the back of the arm. How on earth could anyone tear themselves in such a place? She explored it with her fingers, pulling the pieces apart. It was almost as if a sharp claw had ripped it, about two inches long.

“I’m not surprised,” Caroline agreed. “Don’t worry about it, Millie. I’ll see what I can do with it, but we might well have to send it to a tailor, get a new piece set in.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Millie’s relief was almost painful.

Caroline smiled at her. “You did the right thing to bring it to me. Now you’d better go back and get on with the plain linen, and I believe there’s a petticoat of Miss Emily’s that’s torn.”

“Yes, ma’am.” She dropped another awkward little curtsey. “Thank you, ma’am.”

After she had gone Caroline looked at the coat again. She could not remember Edward’s having worn that coat for a long time, weeks in fact. Where could he have done that? Obviously he would not have worn it with such a tear. Why had he not asked her to do something about it at the time? He could not have failed to notice it. It was a coat he frequently wore to his club. In fact he had worn it-the night Lily was killed. She could remember quite clearly his coming in and being so angry with Charlotte for having sent for the police. The picture came to her mind: the gaslight on the wall hissing a little, throwing a yellowish light on the claret-coloured velvet. They had all been too busy with fear and anger to think of clothes. Perhaps that was why he had forgotten it?

It took her most of the afternoon to mend the tear. She had to pull threads from the seams to darn it invisibly, and even so she was not entirely satisfied with it. Edward was home fairly early and she mentioned it straight away, more or less in the way of an apology.

“I’m afraid it is still noticeable,” she held it up. “But only if you catch it in the light, which of course you won’t, since it is on the back of the arm. How in goodness’ name did you come to tear it?”

He frowned, looking away from her. “I’m not sure that I can remember. It must have happened ages ago.”

“Why didn’t you mention it at the time? I could have mended it as easily then as now. In fact more easily: Lily would have done it. She was extremely clever at such things.”

“Well, it probably happened since Lily’s death, and I dare say I thought you had enough to do, being short a maid, without this. After all, I have plenty of other clothes.”

“I haven’t seen you in it since the night of Lily’s death.” She did not know why she said it.

“Well, maybe that’s the last time I wore it. That explains very completely, I should think, why I didn’t mention it. It was hardly of importance, compared with Lily, and the police in the house.”

“Yes, of course.” She folded it over her arm, meaning to tell Millie to take it upstairs. “How did you do it?”

“What?”

“The tear!”

“I really don’t remember, my dear. Whatever does it matter?”

“I thought you were at your club all evening, and that that was why you were so late?”

“I was,” his voice was becoming a little shorter. “I’m sorry if the new maid is unable to do these chores, but, my dear Caroline, there is no need to make such an issue of it. I don’t intend to discuss it the whole evening.”

She put it over her arm and opened the door.

“No, of course not. I just wondered how it happened. It is such a large tear.” And she went out into the hall to call Millie. It would be a good idea for her to steam-press it to make it lie flat.

It was Dominic who quite unintentionally shattered her peace of mind and set her in a turmoil she could not control. He came to her a couple of days later holding out a waistcoat with his forefinger poked through a tear on the pocket.

“How did you do that?” she took it from him and examined it.

“Shoved my hand in it too far.” He smiled. “Sheer stupidity. Can you mend it? I saw the marvellous job you did on Papa-in-law’s coat.”

She was pleased he should say so, because she was still not totally satisfied with it herself.

“Thank you. Yes, I think so. I’ll try this evening.”

“If you can do Papa’s, I’m sure you can do that.”

A thought occurred to her as he turned away.

“When did you see it?”

“What?” he looked back.

“When did you see the tear in Edward’s coat?”

He frowned very slightly.

“The night Lily was killed.”

“How observant of you. I wouldn’t have thought in all the excitement you’d have seen it. Or did you see it at the club? That was where he did it.”

He shook his head fractionally.

“I think you must have misunderstood. I was at the club, but Papa left very early, and his coat certainly wasn’t torn then. I remember it clearly: Belton, the footman, gave him his hat and his cane. He would have noticed, couldn’t have failed to.”

“You must have the wrong night!”

“No, because I had dinner with Reggie Hafft. He dropped me off in Cater Street and I walked the last half mile or so. I saw Papa coming from the opposite end of Cater Street and called out to him, but he didn’t hear me. He got home just a little while before I did.”

“Oh.” It was a stupid remark, but she was too stunned to think clearly. Edward had lied to her, over something completely trivial-but on the night Lily had been murdered. Why? Why had he not told her the truth? Was it something he was ashamed of, or afraid of?

What on earth was she thinking? This was preposterous! He must have been to call on some friend, and forgotten. That was it. It would be explained quite easily, and then she would be ashamed of the thoughts that crossed the back of her mind now.

The first time she saw him alone was when they retired to bed. Caroline was sitting on the stool in front of the mirror, letting down her hair and brushing it. Edward came in from the dressing room.

“Whom did you call on, the night Lily was killed?” she said lightly, trying to make it sound as if it did not matter.

She saw his face reflected in the mirror. He was frowning.

“Whom did I what?”

She repeated it, her heart beating strongly, her eyes avoiding his.

“No one,” he said a little sharply. “I’ve already told you, Caroline, I was at my club! I came straight from the club home. I don’t know why you are continuing to discuss the matter. Do you imagine I was lurking in Cater Street after my housemaid?” He was thoroughly angry now.

“No, of course not,” she replied quietly. “Don’t be foolish.”

His face hardened into the white temper she knew very well. She had offended him profoundly by using the word foolish. Or had he chosen to pretend it was so, in order to avoid having to tell the truth, or think of another lie?

She must be overwrought; her mind was quite off the rails, becoming ridiculous. Better try to dismiss it and go to bed. Edward was still observing an icy silence. She thought for a moment of apologizing, then something within her acknowledged that she would think of it again, pursue it again, which would make any apology a lie.

They both got into bed without speaking. He lay perfectly still, breathing regularly. She had no idea whether he was asleep, trying to sleep, or merely pretending to be to avoid further involvement.

Why was she even entertaining such thoughts? She knew Edward, knew that for whatever reason he lied, it could have nothing to do with what had happened in Cater Street. She knew that. Yet he must have been doing something that he did not want her to know? Such as what? Nothing good, or he would have told her the truth, or at least whom he was with, if not the reason. Where could Edward have been to return via the opposite end of Cater Street? Where could he have been that needed lying about?

She tried to think of his pattern of life, the things he did daily, whom he knew, the other places he visited. The more she thought about it, the more she realized how little she knew. At home she knew him so well she could often tell beforehand what he would say, how he would feel about any event, whom he would like, or dislike. But when he left for the city he walked into a different part of his life, and she actually knew nothing about it except what he told her.

She went to sleep deeply unhappy.

The next day was appalling. Caroline woke with a dull headache and felt so fearful and depressed she spoke only when necessity forced her. She was busy in the linen cupboard checking Millie’s work when Dora came to say that Inspector Pitt from the police was back again, and would she see him?

Caroline stared at the pile of pillowcases in front of her, her heart pounding, her mouth dry. Had Pitt been to the club and found out that Edward was lying? It was impossible that he had killed Lily, for any reason. But he must be hiding something. She would have to try to protect him. If only she knew the truth!

“Ma’am?” Dora was still waiting.

“Oh yes, Dora. Tell him I shall be there in five minutes. Put him in the withdrawing room.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Pitt was standing staring out of the window when she opened the door. He swung round to face her.

“Good morning, Mrs. Ellison. I’m sorry to disturb you again, but I’m afraid I have to pursue everything.”

“You seem to be pursuing us rather extensively, Mr. Pitt. Do I presume from your remark that you pursue everyone else as diligently?”

“Certainly, ma’am.”

What an odd-looking man he was, so inelegant. His presence dominated the room. Or did she just feel that way because she was frightened of him?

“What is it you wish this time, Mr. Pitt?” Better to get it over with.

“Your husband came home unusually late on the evening Lily Mitchell was murdered.” It was more of a statement than a question, as if he were reaffirming something he already knew.

“Yes.” Did her voice sound as strained as she felt?

“Where had he been?”

What should she say? Should she repeat what Edward had told her? Or the truth that Dominic had subsequently let slip? She realized as she put the problem to herself that she had not even questioned Dominic’s version! If she told him Edward was at the club the whole evening she would be saying at the same time that Edward had lied to her. It would make it that much harder for him to-to negotiate himself out of the lie. But if she said he had been elsewhere, then she obliged him to explain something he would not, or could not.

Pitt was staring at her with those light, intelligent eyes. She felt transparent, like a child caught in the pantry.

“I believe he said he was at his club,” she said slowly, making her mouth form each word, “although whether he was going on to dine with friends afterwards I don’t remember.”

“And he didn’t tell you?” His enquiry was polite.

Was it extraordinary? Did the careful lie show in her face?

“In view of what we found when we returned home-Charlotte having sent for the police, the distress, our fears-I never thought of it again. It seemed the least important of things.”

“Naturally. However, if you don’t know, I cannot eliminate the possibility that Mr. Ellison may have passed somewhere near the scene of the crime at the appropriate time.” He smiled, showing his teeth, his eyes bright. “And he may have seen something that would help us.”

She swallowed hard.

“Yes, of course. I’m afraid I don’t know.”

“Of course not, Mrs. Ellison. I already know that you passed along Cater Street in a carriage, and in the company of your daughters, and I have spoken to all of you.”

“But you have spoken to my husband also. What more can there be to say?” Could she avoid it, persuade him not to see Edward at all? There could be nothing else to ask him, unless he suspected something, already knew somehow that Edward had lied. “Surely, Mr. Pitt, you cannot doubt that if my husband had seen anything at all, he would have told you?”

“If he knew it was important, but perhaps he saw an odd thing, a small detail that has slipped his memory. And time is important, you know; the exact time, to the minute, may establish someone’s alibi, or break it.”

“Alibi?”

“An account of where a person was at the time of a crime, making it impossible for him or her to have been involved.”

“I know what the word means, Mr. Pitt; I just had not realized-you were-only eliminating people on-on proof of imposs. . ” she trailed away, afraid of her conclusion, confused.

“Well, when we have suspects, Mrs. Ellison, it will help to whittle them down, cast the impossible out of the picture.”

She wished more than anything that he would leave. He was a policeman, which was almost like a tradesman; it was idiotic to let him dominate her like this. Emily was right; he did have a beautiful voice, resonant and soft. His diction was perfect.

“Quite,” she said awkwardly. “But I’m afraid my husband is not at home this morning, and I cannot help you.”

He smiled gently.

“I shall come back this evening, if Mr. Ellison is expected home?”

“Yes. He is expected to dinner.”

He gave a small bow, and went to the door.

When Edward came home at quarter past six she told him of Pitt’s call, and that he would return.

He stood still, staring at her.

“He’s coming back this evening?”

“Yes.”

“You shouldn’t have told him I would be here, Caroline.” His face was stiff. “I have to go out again-”

“You said this morning-” she stopped, fear suddenly cutting off her voice. He was avoiding Pitt because he was afraid of lying to him!

“Obviously I have made arrangements since this morning,” he snapped. “Anyway, it is quite pointless. I know nothing whatsoever that I have not already told him. You may say that to him, or have Maddock do so.”

“Do you think-” she said hesitantly.

“Good heavens, Caroline, he is a policeman, not someone to be socially entertained. Have Maddock tell him I had made previous arrangements, and I know nothing that would further his investigations. If he has found out nothing so far, after all the enquiries he has made and the time he has taken, either it is an insoluble mystery, or the man is incompetent.”

But Pitt returned yet again the following evening, and was shown into the withdrawing room where Caroline and Edward were sitting with Charlotte and Grandmama. Everyone else was out at a concert. Maddock opened the door to announce him, and before anyone could reply, Pitt himself moved past him into the room.

“In a gentleman’s home, Mr. Pitt,” Edward said tartly, “it is customary to wait until you are invited before entering.”

Caroline felt herself blush for his rudeness, and go cold for his fear. He must be afraid, to depart so far from his usual good manners. Usual? Did she know him as well as she imagined? Why in God’s name had he been in Cater Street?

Pitt did not seem in the least put out. He walked further in and Maddock withdrew.

“Forgive me. Murder doesn’t often take me into the homes of gentlemen; but even they have a disinclination to speak to me, which I have to overcome by the best means available. I am sure you are as anxious as I am to identify and apprehend this man.”

“Of course.” Edward looked at him coldly. “However, I have already told you everything I know-more than once. I have nothing to add. I don’t see how repetition will help you.”

“You’d be surprised. Details get added, small things remembered.”

“I have remembered nothing.”

“Where were you that evening, Mr. Ellison?”

Edward frowned. “I have already told you. I was at my club which is nowhere near Cater Street.”

“All evening, Mr. Ellison?”

Caroline looked at Edward. His face was pale. She could almost see the struggle in his mind. Could he get away with the lie? Dear God, what was he hiding? She turned to Pitt. The clever eyes were not watching Edward, but her. Suddenly she was terrified he could see her fear, that her knowledge of the lies was in her face. She looked away, anywhere else, and found Charlotte watching her also. The room suffocated her, terror almost stopped her breathing.

“All evening, Mr. Ellison?” Pitt repeated quietly.

“Er. . no.” Edward’s voice was tight, the strain rasping.

“Where did you go, then?” Pitt was perfectly polite. If he was at all surprised he hid it.

Had he already known? Caroline’s heart tightened. Did he know where Edward had been?

“I went to visit a friend,” Edward replied, looking at him.

“Indeed,” Pitt smiled. “Which friend, Mr. Ellison?”

Edward hesitated.

Grandmama sat a little more upright.

“Young man!” she said sharply. “Remember your position, both in this house, and in society in general. Mr. Ellison has told you he visited a friend. That is sufficient for your purpose. We appreciate that you have a duty to perform, and an arduous one, necessary for justice, and for public safety. And of course we will assist you as we can, but do not presume upon our goodwill to trespass beyond your duty.”

Pitt raised his eyebrows in humour more than annoyance.

“Ma’am, unfortunately murder is no respecter of persons, or of social distinction. This man must be found or one of your granddaughters may be next.”

“Nonsense!” Grandmama said furiously. “My granddaughters are women of moral rectitude and decent habits. I appreciate that you may not be familiar with such women, and therefore I will excuse your insult as coming from ignorance rather than ill will.”

Pitt took a deep breath and let it out.

“Ma’am, we have no reason to suppose this man has any exclusive hatred of immoral women, or even any predilection for them. Miss Abernathy was a little frivolous, but no worse; Lily Mitchell had a stainless reputation, and we have yet to fault it. Even her behaviour with Brody appears so far to have been perfectly correct.”

Grandmama looked at him with a slight flaring of her nostrils.

“What is correct for a serving maid or a policeman may be quite beneath a gentlewoman,” she said damningly.

Pitt bowed very slightly.

“I beg to differ, ma’am. I believe morality is universal. Circumstances may alter the degree of blame, but not that an act is wrong.”

Grandmama drew breath to condemn his temerity, then considered his argument instead, and let it out without speaking.

Caroline looked at Edward, who was still silent, then at Charlotte. She was watching Pitt with surprise, and some respect.

Pitt looked back at Edward.

“Mr. Ellison, the name and address of your friend, if you please? I assure you, it is necessary. Also, as near as you know it, the exact time of your departure from his house?”

Again there was a moment’s silence. To Caroline it was an eternity, like waiting while you tear open a message which you know will be news of disaster.

“I’m afraid I don’t know what time I left,” Edward replied. “At the time, of course, I had no idea it would be of the least importance.”

“Possibly your friend will know,” Pitt seemed unperturbed.

“No,” Edward said quickly. “My friend-is ill. That is why I called. Er-he was already drifting to sleep when I left- that is why I departed when I did. I’m afraid we can neither of us be of any very precise assistance. I’m sorry.”

“But you did come home from the far end of Cater Street?” Pitt was not easily discouraged.

“I’ve already said so,” Edward was also regaining his composure.

“Did you see anyone else at all?”

“Not that I recall, but I was thinking of getting home, not of observing the street.”

“Naturally. But no doubt you would have noticed a man running, or two people struggling; or if you had heard a cry of alarm or any kind of scream?”

“Of course I would. If there was anything at all, it must have been relatively inconspicuous, a late traveller like myself, or something of that sort. Actually, I don’t remember anyone at all.”

“And the address?”

“I beg your pardon?”

“The address from which you came?”

“I see no reason why that is relevant. My friend is ill, and in some distress. I would prefer you did not call on them. It would cause them considerable anxiety, and only increase their illness.”

“I see.” Pitt stood still. “All the same, I would like to know it. They just might remember the time.”

“What good would that do?”

“Establish at least one time at which the crime did not happen. By process of elimination we might pin it down very nicely.”

Without thinking, Caroline jumped in.

“That can easily be known.” She demanded Pitt’s attention. “He arrived here a few minutes after we did, less than five minutes. If you walk from here to Cater Street, you will have the time precisely.” She waited with heart lurching to see if he accepted it.

Pitt gave a small smile.

“Quite. Thank you.” He glanced at Charlotte, then inclined his head in a gesture of resignation. “I wish you good day.” He opened the door for himself and went out. They heard Maddock in the hall, and then the front door close also.

“Well!” Grandmama let out her breath. “What a vulgar young man.”

“Persistent,” Caroline said before thinking. “But not vulgar. If he were to be put off by equivocation he would never solve his cases.”

“I have never considered you a competent judge of vulgarity, Caroline,” Grandmama said with mounting anger. “But I am shocked that you can even entertain the possibility that Edward would know anything about a crime. You appear to doubt him!”

“Of course I don’t!” Caroline lied, her face flushing hotly. “I was speaking of the police, not myself. You cannot expect Mr. Pitt to take the same view as I!”

“I do not. But neither did I, until now, expect you to take the same view as Mr. Pitt!”

“She wasn’t, Grandmama,” Charlotte interrupted. “She was merely pointing out that-”

“Be silent, Charlotte,” Edward said crossly. “I forbid anyone to discuss the matter further. It is sordid and has no part in our life beyond the assistance we have already given. If you cannot control yourself, Charlotte, then you may retire to your room.”

Charlotte said nothing at all. Grandmama started off again to bemoan the general decline of good manners and the increase of immorality and crime.

Caroline sat staring at a rather ugly photograph of her wedding, and wondering with mounting fear why Edward would not tell Pitt where he had been.

Nothing more was said that day, but the following morning Caroline was going through household accounts at her desk in the back sitting room when Grandmama came in.

“Caroline, I have to ask you what you mean by it, although I fear I know. I think I have a right.”

Caroline lied immediately, in defence.

“I’m afraid I don’t know what you’re talking about, Grandmama.” She had been thinking of little else herself, but she pretended now to have her mind on the fishmonger’s bill in front of her.

“Then you are more callous even than I presumed. I am talking about that policeman, and his extraordinary behaviour last night. In my day policemen knew their place.”

“A policeman’s place is wherever there is crime,” Caroline said wearily. She knew she was not going to be able to avoid the confrontation, but she instinctively delayed it, as one recoils from all pain.

“There is no crime in his house, Caroline, except your betrayal of your husband’s good name.”

“That is a malicious and totally false thing to say!” Caroline swung round from the desk, the pen still in her hand, but held like a knife now. “And you would not dare say it if we were not alone, and if you did not imagine I would not wish to quarrel with you. Well, you mistake me this time! I most certainly shall quarrel, if you say such a mischievous thing again. Do you hear me?”

“It is your conscience that makes you so angry,” Grandmama said with evil delight. “And I certainly dare say it again, and I shall, in front of Edward. Then we’ll see who will quarrel, and who will not.”

“You’d love that, wouldn’t you!” Caroline leaned forward. “You’d like to upset Edward and set his house on its head! Well, for once I’m not yielding to your blackmail. You tell Edward anything you want to. But I observe it was not you who defended him when he did not wish to tell the police where he was! You did nothing but antagonize Pitt by being insufferably rude. What did you think that would do? Frighten him off? Then you are living in a dream! It only made him the more suspicious.”

“Suspicious of what?” Grandmama was still standing, her body rocking back and forth with rage. “What do you think Edward has done, Caroline? Do you think he trailed out after his housemaid and strangled her? Is that what you think? Does Edward know this is what you think of him?”

“Not unless you’ve told him! Which would not surprise me. It would certainly cause the kind of unhappiness you feed on! Isn’t Lily’s death enough for you?”

“Enough for me! Me? What do you think I gain from the death of some wretched housemaid? I have always hated immorality, but it is not for me to bring down the judgment of God on her.”

“You old hypocrite!” Caroline exploded. “There is nothing in the world more immoral than pleasure in the pain and misfortune of others!”

“You have brought your misfortune on yourself, Caroline. I, for one, cannot get you out of it, whether I wished to or not,” and with a lift of her head Grandmama swept out of the room before Caroline could reply; although she could think of nothing to say anyway.

She sat at the desk and stared through tears at the fishmonger’s account. She hated quarrels, but this one had been brewing for years. This had only been an eruption of hatreds that had simmered in both of them and, but for Lily’s death and its terrors, might have lain dormant forever. Now things had been said which would never be forgotten, and certainly could not be forgiven-not by Grandmama, even if she herself chose to.

The worst of it was that Grandmama would draw in the whole house; she would compel them all to take sides. There would be meaningful glances, silences, cryptic remarks, until curiosity drove someone to ask what it was all about. Edward would hate it. He loved them both and wished above all things that there should be peace in his house. Like most men, he loathed family rows. He would pay a considerable price for tranquillity. He would pretend to be unaware of it as long as possible. Dominic would probably be the catalyst, quite unintentionally. He had not known Grandmama long enough to read the undercurrents, and ignore them.

It would be awful! And the worst part was that Grandmama was right. She did suspect, with sick fear, that Edward had done something dishonourable. She could feel her throat ache with the effort not to weep, and if she looked down the tears would spill over.

“Mama?”

It was Charlotte. She had not even heard her come in. She sniffed. “Yes, what is it? I’m busy with accounts.”

Charlotte slid her arms round her and kissed her.

“I know, I heard you.”

It was welcome, almost unbearable in its relief after she had been feeling so alone. It was harder than ever to control herself, but she had had years of practice.

“Oh. I’m sorry. I had not realized we had raised our voices.”

Charlotte adjusted a hairpin for her and stepped away, tactfully leaving her to compose herself. Odd what sensitivity Charlotte had sometimes, while at other times she was so outspoken.

Charlotte was staring through the window.

“Don’t worry about Grandmama. If she says anything to Papa he will be very angry with her, and she will come off the worse for it.”

Caroline was too surprised to hide it. She swung round in the chair to stare at Charlotte’s back.

“Whyever do you think that?”

Charlotte still looked out of the window.

“Because Papa was somewhere he does not wish to speak of. We must face that. Therefore he will be angry with whoever mentions it again.”

“What on earth do you mean?” Caroline could hear her own voice shaking now. “What are you saying, Charlotte? You cannot suspect your father-of-of-”

“I don’t know. Perhaps he was gambling, or drunk, or associating with people we would not like. But he does not wish Mr. Pitt or us to know of it. It is no use pretending to each other. We cannot pretend to ourselves. But don’t worry, Mama, he cannot have had anything to do with Lily, if that’s what you’re afraid of.”

“Charlotte-,” she could think of nothing else to say. How could she stand there so calmly, speaking those words?

“I think it may be very foolish,” Charlotte went on-and this time Caroline heard the catch in her voice and knew she was only keeping control of herself with the greatest effort- “because I think Mr. Pitt will find out anyway.”

“Do you?”

“Yes. And it will seem the worse for not being revealed of one’s own free will.”

“Then, if we could persuade him-,” but she knew she lacked the courage. Edward would be angry, go into that cold bitter retreat she had experienced only a few times-like the occasion she had defied him over Gerald Hapwith. That was years ago, and all so silly now. But the pain of the estrangement was easy to remember.

And more than that, she was afraid to know what it was he wanted to hide. Perhaps Pitt would not find out?

But he did. Mr. Pitt returned two days later, in the evening and-perhaps to be sure of catching Edward-by surprise, not having called in the morning to forewarn them. They were all at home.

“This is not very convenient, Mr. Pitt,” Edward said coolly. “What is it this time?”

“We have established that you must have walked back along Cater Street, from approximately five minutes to eleven, until a few minutes past the hour.”

“You had no need to come to tell me that,” Edward was sharp. “Since I arrived home at about quarter after, that much is obvious.”

Nothing seemed to discompose Pitt.

“To you, sir, who know what you did. To us, who have to accept your word, it is satisfying to obtain proof. If murderers could be caught merely by asking them, our job would hardly be worth doing.”

Edward’s face froze.

“What are you implying, Mr. Pitt?”

“That we have established that you left Mrs. Attwood at quarter to eleven. It would take you about half an hour of comfortable walking to reach your home here, and you would pass along Cater Street between five to eleven, and about five past.”

Edward was white-faced.

“You had no right-!”

“It would have been a great deal easier, and have saved much time, sir, if you had given us Mrs. Attwood’s address earlier. Now perhaps you would be kind enough to tell me where you were on the night Chloe Abernathy met her death?”

“If you know where I was on the night Lily was killed, you know I can have had nothing to do with it,” Edward said between his teeth. For the first time he looked really frightened. “What do you imagine I can tell you about Chloe Abernathy?”

“Only where you were,” Pitt smiled broadly. “And if possible, with whom?”

“I was with Alan Cuthbertson, discussing business in his rooms.”

Pitt’s smile became wider, if anything.

“Good, that is what he says, but since he was acquainted with Miss Abernathy fairly well, it was necessary to check that he was being precisely honest. Thank you, Mr. Ellison. You have done Mr. Cuthbertson and the police a service. I’m obliged. Ma’am,” he inclined his head in a small bow. “Good night.”

“Who is Mrs. Attwood, Papa?” Sarah said immediately. “I don’t recall your having mentioned her?”

“I doubt I did,” Edward said, looking away. “She is a rather tiresome woman who is a dependent of a man who once did me a favour, and is now dead himself. She has become ill, and I occasionally render her some small, practical assistance. She is not bedridden, but close to it. She seldom leaves the house. You might visit her yourself, if you wish, but I warn you she is most tiresome, and wandering somewhat in her mind. She confuses reminiscences with fantasy on occasion, although at other times she is lucid enough. No doubt it comes from spending a great deal of time alone, and reading romantic novels of the cheapest kind.”

The relief was immense, but later that night in bed, Caroline woke and began to think. At first she worried about the fact that Edward had been so concerned about hiding his visit to this Mrs. Attwood. Was it really to protect a sick woman? Or because she was perhaps a little common, a little loud, someone he did not wish to be associated with?

Then the deeper worry came to the surface and would not be ignored. She had questioned in her mind, had feared for a moment that he had had something to do with Lily. He was lying beside her now, asleep. She had been married to him for more than thirty years. How could it even have crossed her mind that he had murdered a girl in the street? What kind of a woman was she to have considered such a thing, even for a second? She had always believed she loved him, not passionately of course, but adequately. She knew him well-or she had believed so until this week. Now she realized there were things about him she did not know at all.

She had lived in the same house with him, the same bed, for over thirty years, and borne him three children, four counting the son who had died when only a few days old. And yet she had actually considered he might have garotted Lily.

What was her relationship worth? What would Edward think or feel if he knew what had been in her mind? She was confused, and ashamed, and deeply afraid.