Cater Street Hangman

Chapter Eight

On the second of October, autumn rain cooling the streets, Maddock knocked on the withdrawing room door after dinner and came in immediately. His trousers were splattered with rain, and his face was gray.

Edward looked up, opened his mouth to question his behaviour, and then saw him. He stood up sharply.

“Maddock! What’s the matter, man? Are you ill?”

Maddock stiffened and swayed a little on his feet. “No, sir. If I might speak to you outside, sir?”

“What is it, Maddock?” Edward obviously was afraid now, too. The room was silent.

Charlotte stared at them, cold knotting up inside her.

“If I might speak to you in confidence, sir?” Maddock asked again.

“Edward,” Caroline said very quietly, “if something has happened, we shall have to know. Maddock had as well tell us all as leave us in suspense.”

Maddock looked to Edward.

“Very well,” Edward nodded. “What is it, Maddock?”

“There has been another murder, sir, in an alley off Cater Street.”

“Oh, my God!” Edward went sheet-white and sat down hard on the chair behind him. There was a low moan from Sarah.

“Who was it?” Caroline said so quietly she could barely be heard.

“Verity Lessing, ma’am, the sexton’s daughter,” Maddock answered her. “A constable has just come from the police to tell us, and warn us all to stay in the house, and not to let the maids out, even into the areaway.”

“No, of course not,” Edward looked stunned, staring into the room blindly. “Was it the same-?”

“Yes, sir, with a garotting wire, like the others.”

“Oh, my God.”

“Perhaps I had better go and check all the doors again, sir? And close the shutters on the windows. It would reassure the women.”

“Yes,” Edward agreed absently. “Yes, do that, please.”

“Maddock?” Caroline called as he turned to leave.

“Yes, ma’am?”

“Before you do, please bring us a bottle of brandy and some glasses. I think we could do with a little-help.”

“Yes, ma’am, certainly.”

A moment after he had brought them in and left there was another clatter outside as Dominic came in, shaking the rain off his jacket.

“Should have taken a coat,” he said, looking at his wet hands. “Didn’t expect the change.” His eyes moved from their faces to the brandy and back again. “What’s the matter? You look awful! Come to think of it, there were people all over the street. Mama?” He frowned, peering at her. “Grandmama’s not ill, is she?”

“No,” Edward answered for Caroline. “There’s been another murder. You’d better sit down and have some brandy, too.”

Dominic stared at him, his face blanching. “Oh God!” He drew in his breath and let it out. “Who?”

“Verity Lessing.”

Dominic sat down. “The sexton’s daughter?”

“Yes.” Edward poured him some brandy and passed the glass.

“What’s happening?” Dominic said bewilderedly. “Was this in Cater Street, too?”

“In an alley just off it,” Edward replied. “I suppose we must face it; whoever this madman is, he is someone who lives here, near Cater Street; or else he has business here, some reason to come here regularly.”

No one answered him. Charlotte watched his face. All she could think of was her overwhelming relief that he had been home all evening, that this time when Pitt came-as she did not doubt he would-there would be no questions for Papa.

“I’m sorry,” Edward went on. “We can no longer pretend it is some creature from the criminal slums invading us by mischance.”

“Papa?” Emily said tremulously. “You don’t imagine it could be-could actually be someone we know, do you?”

“Of course not!” Sarah said sharply. “It must be someone quite deranged!”

“That doesn’t mean it isn’t someone we know.” Charlotte painfully gave expression to the thoughts that had been forming in her mind. “After all, someone must know him!”

“I don’t know what you mean?” Sarah frowned at her. “I don’t know anyone deranged.”

“How do you know that you don’t?”

“Of course I don’t!”

Dominic turned to her. “What are you trying to say, Charlotte? That we wouldn’t know if someone were as mad as this?”

“Well, would you?” Charlotte looked back at him. “If it were so easy to see, wouldn’t those who do know him have said something, done something by now? After all, someone must know him-tradesmen, servants, neighbours-even if he doesn’t have a family!”

“Oh, but how awful.” Emily stared at her. “Imagine being servant to someone, or neighbour, and knowing they were-mad like that, that they killed women-”

“That’s what I’m trying to say!” Charlotte turned from one to another of them urgently. “I don’t think you would know, or he would have been captured long ago. The police have talked to all sorts of people. If someone knew, it would have come out by now.”

“Well, there are several people I can think of who are not all they seem to be on the surface,” Grandmama spoke for the first time. “I’ve always said you can’t tell what wickedness lies underneath the smooth face people show to the world. Some that appear saints are devils underneath.”

“And some that appear devils are still devils, no matter how far underneath you look,” Charlotte said instinctively.

“Is that remark supposed to mean anything?” Grandmama asked very tartly. “It’s time, young woman, that you learned to control your tongue! In my young day a girl your age knew how to behave herself!”

“In your day you were not faced with four murders in the streets where you lived.” Caroline came to Charlotte’s defence, and obliquely her own. “Or so you frequently inform us.”

“Perhaps that is why!” Grandmama returned.

“Why what?” Sarah asked. “We all know that Charlotte’s tongue runs away with her, but are you suggesting that it is responsible for Verity Lessing’s murder off Cater Street this evening?”

“You are impertinent, Sarah!” Grandmama snapped. “And it is quite unlike you.”

“I think you are being unfair, Grandmama,” Dominic smiled at her. He could usually charm her-he knew it, and used it. “We are rather badly shocked, both by the loss of someone we know, and the thought that the murderer may also be someone we know, or at least have seen.”

“Yes, mama.” Edward stood up. “Perhaps you should retire. Caroline will see that you are brought something to drink before you sleep.”

Grandmama stared at him belligerently.

“I do not wish to go to bed. I will not be dismissed!”

“I think it is better,” Edward said firmly.

Grandmama sat where she was, but she had met her match, and a few minutes later she allowed him to help her up and, with considerable ill grace, went to bed.

“Thank God,” Caroline said wearily. “It really is too much.”

“Nevertheless,” Dominic scowled, “we cannot avoid the truth that, as Charlotte said, it could be anyone-even someone we speak to, someone we have always felt perfectly at ease with-”

“Stop it, Dominic!” Sarah sat upright. “You will have us suspecting our neighbours, even our friends. We will become unable to conduct a proper conversation with anyone without wondering in our hearts if they could be the one!”

“Perhaps it would be as well,” Emily said thoughtfully, “until he is found.”

“Emily! How can you say such a thing, even in jest? And it is a bad enough time for humour of any sort.”

“Emily is not being humorous,” Dominic put in for her. “She is being eminently practical, as always. And to an extent she is right. Perhaps if Verity Lessing had been more suspicious, she would now be alive.”

A new thought occurred to Charlotte. “Do you think so, Dominic? Do you think that is why no one has heard screams-because whoever did it was known to each victim, and they were not afraid until it was too late?”

Dominic paled. Obviously he had not thought of it: his mind had been following his words, not leading them. His imagination was still far behind.

Charlotte was surprised. She thought he had seen the conclusion before her. “It would explain it,” she said unhappily.

“So would being taken by surprise from behind,” Sarah pointed out.

“I think this conversation is unprofitable,” Edward interrupted. “We cannot protect ourselves by indulging in speculation about all our acquaintances, and we may do them grave injustice. We will only end by frightening ourselves even more than is already unavoidable.”

“That is easy to say.” Caroline looked at her brandy glass. “But it will be very hard to do. From now on I believe I shall find myself thinking about people in a different way, wondering how much I really know about them, and if they are thinking the same of me, or at least of my family.”

Sarah stared at her, eyebrows arched. “You mean they might suspect Papa?”

“Why not? Or Dominic? They do not know them as we do.”

Charlotte remembered when it had crossed her mind, hers and Mama’s, for a black, shaming hour, and they themselves had considered the possibility of Papa’s involvement. She did not look at her mother. If she could forget it, so much the better.

“What I am afraid of,” she said honestly, “is that one day I might meet someone, and my suspicions show, as they might concerning anyone-but that this time they would be justified. And when he recognized my suspicions I would see in his face they were right. Then we would look at each other, and he would know that I knew, and he would have to kill me, quickly, before I spoke or cried out-”

“Charlotte!” Edward stood up and banged his fist on the piecrust table, knocking it over. “Stop it! You are very foolishly frightening everyone, and quite unnecessarily. None of you is going to be alone with this man, or any other.”

“We don’t know who he is,” Charlotte was not put off. “He could be someone we had considered a friend, as safe as one of us! It could be the vicar, or the butcher’s boy, or Mr. Abernathy-”

“Don’t be ridiculous! It will be someone with whom we have the barest acquaintance, if indeed any at all. We may not be excellent judges of character, but at least we are not capable of so gross a mistake as that.”

“Aren’t we?” Charlotte was looking at a blank space on the wall. “I’ve been wondering how much of a person is on the surface, how much we really know about anyone at all. We don’t really know very much about each other, never mind those with whom we have only an acquaintanceship.”

Dominic was still staring at her, surprise in his face. “I thought we knew each other very well?”

“Did you?” She looked back at him, meeting the dark, bright eyes, for once seeking only meaning, without her heart leaping. “Do you still?”

“Perhaps not.” He looked away and walked to the brandy decanter to pour himself some more. “Anyone else wish for another glass?”

Edward stood up. “I think we had better all have an early night; after sleep we may have composed ourselves and be able to face the problems a little more-practically. I shall think about it, and let you know in the morning what I have decided is best for us to do until this creature is caught.”

The following day there were the usual grim offices to perform. A police constable called, in the early morning, to inform them officially of the murder, and to ask them if they had any information. Charlotte wondered if Pitt would come, and was curiously both relieved and disappointed when he did not.

Lunch was a more or less silent affair of cold meat and vegetables. In the afternoon all four of them went to pay their respects to the Lessings, and offered to give any assistance they could-although, of course, there was nothing that would do anything to dissipate the shock or ease the pain. Nevertheless, it was a visit which must be paid, a courtesy that would cause hurt if not observed.

They all wore dark colours. Mama wore black itself. Charlotte regarded herself in the mirror with distaste before leaving. She had a dark green dress with black trim, and a black hat. It was not flattering, especially in the autumn sun.

They walked, since it was only a short distance. The Lessing house had all the blinds drawn and there was a constable outside in the street. He looked solid and unhappy. It crossed Charlotte’s mind that perhaps he was used to death, even to violence, but not to the grief of those who had loved the dead. It was embarrassing to be obliged to watch grief one cannot help. She wondered if Pitt felt it, the helplessness, or if he were too busy trying to fit the pieces together: who was where; loves; hates; reasons. She suddenly realized how deeply she would dislike the task, how the responsibility would frighten her. All the neighbourhood looked to him to rescue them from their alarms, to find this creature, to prove it was not someone they loved, each of them with his separate loves, secret suspicions and desperate, unspoken fears. Did they look for miracles from him? He could not alter truth. Perhaps he could not even find it!

They were met at the door by the maid, red-eyed and nervous. Mrs. Lessing was in the front parlour, darkened in respect for the dead, gas lamps hissing on the wall. Mrs. Lessing was dressed in black, her face bleached pale, her hair a little untidy, as if she had not taken it down last night but merely pulled it back with a comb this morning and rearranged a few pins.

Caroline went straight over to her and put her arms round her, kissing her on the cheek. Verity had been an only child.

“My dear, I’m so sorry,” she said softly. “Can we help with anything? Would you like one of us to stay with you for a little while, to help with things?”

Mrs. Lessing struggled to speak, her eyes widening with surprise, then hope. Then she burst into tears and hid her face on Caroline’s shoulder.

Caroline put both her arms round her tighter and held her, touching her hair, arranging the stray wisps gently, as if it mattered.

Charlotte felt a painful welling up of pity. She remembered the last time she had seen Verity. She had been brusque with her, and had meant to apologize for it. Now there would be no chance.

“I’d like to stay, Mrs. Lessing,” she said clearly. “I was very fond of Verity. Please let me help. There will be a lot to do. You shouldn’t do it alone. And I know Mr. Lessing still has-duties-that cannot be left.”

It was several minutes before Mrs. Lessing gained control of herself. She turned to Charlotte, still struggling to master her tears, but unashamed of her grief.

“Thank you, Charlotte. Please-please do!”

There was little for the rest of them to say. Charlotte remained behind, not wishing to leave Mrs. Lessing alone, and it was arranged that Maddock would bring a box of clothes and toiletries for her within the next hour or two.

It was a very hard day. Since Mr. Lessing was sexton to the church, he had duties to perform which kept him from home the great part of it, and so Charlotte stayed with Mrs. Lessing to receive other callers who came to express their condolences. There was little to say, only a repetition of the same words of shock and sympathy, the same expressions of how well they had liked Verity, and the same fears of what horror might come next.

Naturally the vicar called. It was something Charlotte had dreaded but knew was inevitable. Apparently he had been the previous evening, when the news was first heard, but he came again in the late afternoon, bringing Martha with him. The maid let them in, and Charlotte received them in the parlour, Mrs. Lessing had at last agreed to rest on her bed, and had fallen into a light sleep.

“Ah, Miss Ellison.” The vicar looked at her with some surprise. “Are you also calling upon poor Mrs. Lessing? How good of you. Well, you may safely leave now; we will guide and comfort her in this terrible hour. The Lord giveth and the Lord taketh away.”

“No, I am not calling upon Mrs. Lessing,” Charlotte replied a little sharply. “I am staying here to help her as I can. There is a great deal to be done-”

“I am sure we can do that.” The vicar was clearly annoyed, possibly by her tone. “I am somewhat more used to these types of arrangements than you are, at your tender years. It is my calling in life to comfort the afflicted, and to mourn with those who mourn.”

“I doubt you have time to govern a house, Vicar.” Charlotte stood her ground. “As you say, you will be busy with funeral arrangements. And since it is your calling to comfort the afflicted, you will have other claims upon your time. I dare say poor Mrs. Abernathy is still in need.”

Out of the corner of her eye she saw Martha’s white face pale even more till her eyes seemed like depressions in her skull and the fair hair of her eyebrows appeared quite dark in contrast. The poor woman looked ready to faint, in spite of her broad shoulders and solid body. “Please sit down.” Charlotte half pushed a chair towards her. “You must be terribly tired. Have you been up all night?”

Martha nodded and sank into the chair.

“It’s very good of you,” she said a little shakily. “So many practical details to see to, so much cooking, letters to write, black to be prepared, and the house still has to be organized, maids given instructions. Is Mrs. Lessing asleep?”

“Yes, and I am most loath to wake her, unless it is something of real urgency,” Charlotte said firmly, meaning it for the vicar, although she was still looking at Martha.

The vicar grunted. “I had hoped to be of some spiritual assistance to the poor woman, but if you say she is asleep, I suppose I shall have to call another time.”

“Quite,” Charlotte agreed. She did not wish to offer them refreshment, but Martha’s haggard face inspired her pity. “May I offer you a dish of tea? It would be no trouble.”

Martha opened her mouth as if to accept, then doubt mixed with anxiety crossed her face. Again she hesitated but at last she stood up and definitely declined.

After they had gone Charlotte went to the kitchen to see that a light meal was being prepared for supper, and that the following day’s catering was in hand. She was called from those duties by the parlour maid to announce that the police had arrived. She had been expecting their call, had it in her mind from the beginning, and yet now she was taken by surprise.

It was Pitt, of course. She found herself oddly embarrassed that he should find her here, self-conscious of her wish to help.

“Good evening, Miss Ellison,” he said without showing more than a lifted eyebrow of surprise. “Is Mrs. Lessing well enough to speak to me? I am aware that Mr. Lessing is still at the church.”

“I imagine that she will have to speak to you,” Charlotte said quietly. She meant the softness of her tone to rob it of rudeness. “Perhaps it would be easier to have it done as soon as may be. There is no purpose in avoiding it. If you care to wait, I shall go and awaken her. If I take a little while, please excuse me.”

“Of course.” He hesitated. “Charlotte?”

She turned.

He was frowning. “If she is ill, distressed, there is nothing I need to ask that cannot wait until tomorrow. It’s just that I doubt it will be any easier then. It might even give her a better night to have it past.”

She found herself smiling. “I think it would. May I stay, if she wishes?”

“I would prefer that you did.”

It took her several minutes to rouse Mrs. Lessing and assure her that her appearance was acceptable and would not disgrace her in front of such a lesser creature as a policeman, and, then, that he was courteous, that she had nothing to fear since she had no guilt, and would rest more easily from having the ordeal accomplished. She did not have the heart to tell her it would very likely be merely the first of many calls. One grief, one fear was enough for today.

Pitt was very gentle with her, but the questions were unavoidable: Who were Verity’s friends? With whom had she only recently become acquainted? Who were her male admirers? Had she expressed any fears? How well had she known Chloe Abernathy? Had she visited the Hiltons or the Ellisons so that she might have any knowledge of their servants, or they of her? Had they any information or observations in common?

Mrs. Lessing knew nothing that was of help. She answered with the bewildered meaninglessness of someone still suffering from shock. It was as if she did not understand the purpose of his questions.

Finally he gave up and rose to leave. He watched Mrs. Lessing as she walked slowly into the hallway and closed the door behind her.

“Are you remaining, Charlotte?”

It did not even cross her mind to condemn his impertinence then for the use of her given name.

“Yes. There is a great deal to be done, and Mr. Lessing still has to continue his duties. He is not a very practical man, not used to running an orderly house.”

“It might be as well to let her do certain things herself. Work cannot heal, but it can alleviate. Idleness gives one time to think.”

“Yes, I. . I will. I will find household jobs for her to do that do not require thought. But I shall do the planning myself, the preparations for the funeral, telling people, and so on.”

He smiled. “I see a great deal of tragedy in my job, and of ugliness; but I see a great deal of kindness as well. Good evening.” He turned at the door. “Oh, don’t forget, do not go out alone under any circumstances. Even if you should require a doctor, send someone, send Mr. Lessing, or call for assistance next door. They will understand.”

“Mr. Pitt!”

“Yes?”

“Do you know anything further yet? I mean, what manner of man, from what-what walk of life?” She was thinking of George and Emily.

“Do you know something you have not told me?” He was looking at her again in that way that seemed to probe inside her, as if he knew her well, as an equal, not as a policeman.

“No! Of course not! If I knew anything I should tell you!”

“Would you?” There was gentle disbelief in his voice. “Even if it were no more than a suspicion? Would you not be afraid of wronging someone, perhaps someone you loved?”

It was on the edge of her tongue to say quite angrily that she did not love anyone who could possibly be connected with such crimes; then something in him compelled her to be honest-an intelligence, or an honesty in him.

“Yes, of course I should be afraid of wronging someone, if it were merely a matter of suspicion. But I imagine you do not leap to conclusions just because of something someone tells you?” It was a question, because she wanted reassuring.

“No, or we would catch ourselves ten criminals for every crime.” He smiled, showing those strong teeth again. “What is it you do not want me to act upon?”

“You are leaping to conclusions!” she said hotly. “I did not say I knew anything!”

“You did not say so directly, but your evasion makes me believe it.”

She turned away from him, making up her mind not to speak of it. “You are mistaken. I wish I knew something that could genuinely help, but I do not. I’m sorry if anything I said gave a wrong impression.”

“Charlotte!”

“You are becoming overly familiar, Inspector Pitt,” she said quietly.

He came up behind her. She was acutely aware of him. Emily’s words about his admiration flashed across her mind and she found her skin burning with embarrassment and a sudden appalling knowledge that it was true. She stood rooted to the spot.

“Charlotte,” he said gently. “This man has killed four women already. There is no reason to suppose he will stop. In all likelihood he cannot help himself. It is better some innocent person should be suspected unjustly for a while-he will be one of many-than that another woman should die. How old was Lily? Nineteen? Verity Lessing was only twenty. Chloe Abernathy was little more. Or the Hiltons’ maid? I can’t even remember her name! If you doubt the monstrosity of it, go upstairs and look at Mrs. Lessing again-”

“I know!” Charlotte said furiously. “You don’t have to remind me! I’ve been here since last night!”

“Then tell me whatever it is you have thought of, or seen, or heard-whatever it is! If it is wrong I shall find out; no one will be pursued unjustly. He will be caught one day, but better now, before he kills again.”

She turned round without thinking, to stare at him. “Do you think he will kill again?”

“Don’t you?”

She closed her eyes, to avoid looking at his face. “What has happened here? This used to be a quiet, a good place to live. There was nothing worse than a few broken romances, a little gossip. Now suddenly people are dead; we are all looking at each other and wondering! I am! I’m looking at men I’ve trusted for years, and wondering if it could be them, thinking thoughts about them that make me blush with shame. And I can see in their faces that they know I am suspicious! That’s almost the worst part of it! They know I wonder, that I’m not sure. How must they feel? How must it feel to look at your wife or your daughter and see in their faces, in spite of their words, that they are not absolutely sure that it is not you? That it has actually crossed their minds that it could be! Could you ever feel the same again? Could love live through that? Is not love at least partly trust, faith in someone, and knowing them well enough that you don’t even have such thoughts?”

She kept her eyes shut. “I realize I hardly even know people I thought I loved. And I see it in others, too. All the people who have come here. I listen to what they say, because I have to. And they are beginning to look around, to try to find someone to blame where it will upset them least. The gossip and the suspicions are beginning, the little whispered suggestions. It isn’t only the dead who are going to suffer, or even only those who loved them.”

“Then help me, Charlotte. What is it you know, or think you know?”

“George Ashworth. Lord George Ashworth; he knew Chloe Abernathy quite well just before she died. He took her to some-some very unpleasant places, or so Mrs. Abernathy said. And in spite of what Papa says, Chloe was not immoral, not in the least, just silly!”

“I know.”

She opened her eyes. “Ashworth is escorting Emily a lot. Please see he isn’t-that he doesn’t-”

He gave a bitter little grimace. “I shall look discreetly into the late actions of Lord George Ashworth, I promise you. He is not unknown to us, at least by repute.”

“You mean-”

“I mean he is a gentleman whose taste is a little-raucous, and whose pocket and family title allow him to do things that in others would be punished. I suppose speaking to Emily would have no effect?”

“None at all. I have done so, and if it had been received differently, I would not have troubled you.”

He smiled. “Of course. Don’t worry.” He put out his hand, as if to touch her arm, and then withdrew it self-consciously. “I shall have Lord Ashworth observed, discreetly. I shall do all I can to see Emily comes to no harm, although I cannot protect her from a possible serious fright.”

“That will do her no harm at all,” Charlotte said tersely. She was overwhelmingly relieved. “Thank you, Inspector. I–I am glad-of your help.”

He coloured faintly, and turned to leave. “Are you going to remain with Mrs. Lessing until after the funeral?”

“Yes. Why?”

“No reason. Good night. . Miss Ellison. Thank you for your assistance.”

“Good night, Inspector Pitt.”

It was over a week later, after the funeral, when Charlotte returned from the Lessings’. She had been forbidden to travel alone, not only by Pitt, but by Papa. She was more than pleased that it was Dominic who came in the cab to collect her.

Even the memory of the funeral, the finality of it, the pathetic black, Mrs. Lessing’s grief, could not drive away the pleasure of seeing Dominic, being alone with him. When he met her eyes it was as if he had touched her. His smile warmed her through, melting the chill of fear and helplessness. She sat in the cab beside him, and for a moment everything else was shut out, no past and no future.

They talked of trivialities, but she did not care. It was being with him that mattered, knowing that all his attention was turned towards her.

The cabdriver unloaded her box and Maddock carried it in. She followed behind on Dominic’s arm. It was a marvellous feeling.

It collapsed as soon as she entered the withdrawing room. Sarah looked up from the sofa where she was sitting sewing. Her face darkened as soon as she saw them.

“You are not entering a ballroom, Charlotte,” she said tartly. “Nor, unless you are feeling faint, do you need someone to hang on to like that!”

Emily was at the piano and looked downward at her hands with an uncomfortable colour creeping up her face.

Charlotte stopped still, her arm, in spite of the warmth and closeness of Dominic, suddenly feeling dead.

Perhaps she was holding him too closely; she could not deny she had done it consciously. Now she was self-conscious, and guilty. She sought to free her arm, but Dominic was still gripping her, and his grip tightened.

“Sarah?” he said with a frown. “Charlotte has just returned home from a visit of charity. Would you have me allow her to come in alone?”

“I would have you welcome her, naturally,” Sarah was annoyed, and her voice was tight and hard. “But not to make an entrance, clinging to each other like that!”

Charlotte deliberately freed herself, her face flaming.

“I’m sorry if you were offended, Sarah, but until you spoke, it was no more than excitement at being home again.”

“And now that I have spoken, what is it?” Sarah demanded.

“Well, you have certainly taken much of the pleasure from coming home.” Charlotte was beginning to become angry herself. This was unjust. Her foolishness did not warrant this degree of criticism, and not publicly.

“You have only been round the corner!” Sarah snapped. “Not to Australia!”

“She has been staying with Mrs. Lessing to help her through her worst time, which was an act of particular generosity.” Dominic was growing sharper himself. “It cannot have been easy or very pleasant, under the circumstances.”

Sarah glared at him.

“I know perfectly well where she’s been. You don’t need to be so sanctimonious about it. It was charitable, certainly, but hardly as saintly as you make it seem.”

Charlotte could not understand it. She looked at Sarah’s face: there was something almost like hatred in it. She turned from it, feeling sick and shaken. Emily would not meet her eyes. She swivelled back to Dominic.

“That’s right!” Sarah stood up. “Look to Dominic! That’s just what I would expect, except that you should do it behind my back!”

Charlotte could feel the blood flaming in her cheeks, even her brow, because she loved Dominic, had always loved him-but she was blushing for her thoughts, not her deeds. For her deeds, the accusation was unjust.

She drew her breath in deeply and let it out.

“Sarah, I don’t know what it is you think, but if it is anything improper, or in any way unfair or unjust to you, then you are wrong, and your charge does you no credit. It is not true, and I believe you know me well enough to have known that before you spoke.”

“I thought I did! I only discovered how blind I had been while you were away doing your charity turn at Mrs. Lessing’s! You are the perfect hypocrite, Charlotte. I never even suspected you.”

“And you were right,” Charlotte heard her own voice coming from a long way away. “There was nothing to suspect. It is now that you are wrong, not before.”

She felt Dominic take her arm again, and moved to loose herself, but he was holding her tightly.

“Sarah,” he said quietly. “I don’t know what you imagine, and I don’t wish to know. But you owe Charlotte an apology for whatever your thoughts are, and for having voiced them.”

She looked at him squarely, her lip curled with disgust. “Don’t lie to me, Dominic. I know, I am not guessing.”

His face went blank with complete surprise. “Know what? There isn’t anything to know!”

“I know, Dominic. Emily told me.”

It was the first time Charlotte had seen Dominic really angry. Suddenly Emily looked frightened, too frightened to move.

“Emily?”

“There’s no point in appealing to Emily, or trying to bully her.” Sarah stepped forward.

“Bully Emily?” Dominic raised his eyebrows in harsh amusement. “Nobody ever bullied Emily in her life! It would be an impossibility.”

“Don’t try to be amusing!” Sarah snapped.

Charlotte disregarded them. She was staring at Emily.

Emily lifted her chin a little. “You told Inspector Pitt about George and Chloe Abernathy,” she said with only a slight tremor in her voice.

“Because I was afraid for you!” Charlotte defended herself, and yet felt guilty also. She knew Emily saw it as a betrayal, and however little Charlotte had meant it as such, the guilt remained.

“Afraid of what? That I might marry George, leaving you here alone, the only one of us not married?” She shut her eyes, her face white. “I’m sorry. That was a dreadful thing to say.”

“I thought he might have killed Chloe, and you might guess it one day, and that then he would have to kill you,” Charlotte said simply. She would have given anything she possessed for Dominic not to have been there, not to have heard this.

“You’re wrong,” Emily said quietly, her eyes still closed. “George has faults, faults you probably wouldn’t put up with, but nothing like that. Do you suppose I should think of marrying anyone who would be capable of murdering like that?”

“No. I think you would find out, and that is why he would kill you, too.”

“Do you hate him so much?”

“I don’t care about him!” Charlotte said in exasperation, almost shouting. “I was thinking about you!”

Emily said nothing.

Dominic was still angry. “So you made up something vicious about Charlotte, and told Sarah to get your revenge?” he accused.

Emily’s face tightened. She looked very young, and now also very ashamed. “I shouldn’t have told her,” she admitted, looking at Dominic.

“Then apologize and withdraw it,” Dominic demanded.

Emily’s face set. “I shouldn’t have said it, but that does not make it untrue. Charlotte is in love with Dominic. She has been ever since he first came. And Dominic is flattered by it. He enjoys it. I don’t know how much?” She left it a question, painful and suggestive.

“Emily!” Charlotte pleaded.

Emily turned to her. “Can you take back what you said to Inspector Pitt? Can you make him forget it? Then why do you expect me to take back? You’ll have to live with it-just as I shall.” And she pushed past them and went out into the hallway.

Charlotte looked at Sarah.

“If you are waiting for me to apologize, you will wait in vain,” Sarah said stiffly. “Now perhaps you would be good enough to go upstairs and unpack. I would prefer to speak to my husband alone. You won’t be surprised that I have questions to ask!”

Charlotte hesitated, but there was nothing else to say, nothing that could do anything but make it worse. She disengaged herself from Dominic and turned to leave. Perhaps tomorrow there would be apologies, and perhaps not. But whatever was said, nothing would wipe out the memory of today; feelings could not be the same again. What she had said to Pitt was true. This was all like ripples on a pool, and perhaps the rings would never stop.