Cater Street Hangman

Chapter Nine

The following day Dominic went into the city as usual, and on returning home was due to go out and dine with a retired brigadier and his wife. It was an occasion Sarah had been looking forward to for some time, but when he returned home he found her in a mood that reflected none of the excitement and pleasure he had expected. She seemed remote, not merely preoccupied but positively offended by his presence. He tried all the usual tactics. He complimented her on her gown; he told her all he knew about the brigadier’s wife and her social connections; he assured her she would be more than equal to the occasion. He kissed her without disarranging either her hair or her gown. None of it was to any effect; she withdrew from his touch and avoided his eyes.

There was no opportunity to ask her what was annoying her. On two or three occasions during the evening he tried to speak to her without being overheard, but each time either they were interrupted, or she changed the subject and drew some other person’s attention to them.

In the carriage on the way home they were alone for the first time.

“Sarah?”

“Yes?” She kept her face away.

“What is it, Sarah? You’ve been behaving like-like a stranger all evening. No, that’s not true, a stranger would have shown better manners.”

“I’m sorry you find my manners inadequate.”

“Stop playing, Sarah. If there’s something wrong, tell me.”

“Something wrong!” She turned to face him, her eyes blazing in the flashes of gaslight from the street. “Yes, something is very wrong, and if you are not aware that it is wrong, then you have a sense of morality that is despicable. I really haven’t anything to say to you.”

“Morality about what? Oh, for God’s sake! You’re not still making a fuss because I took Charlotte’s arm when she came home yesterday? That’s ridiculous, and you know it. You’re just looking for an excuse for a row. At least be honest.”

“Looking! I don’t have far to look, do I? You are busy admiring my sister, holding her hand, whispering to her, and heaven knows what else! And you think I have to look for something to quarrel over?” She turned away again, her voice choking.

He put his arm towards her, but she was dead to his touch.

“Sarah! Don’t be ridiculous! I have no interest in Charlotte, except that she’s your sister. I like her, nothing else. For heaven’s sake, I knew Charlotte when I married you. If I’d wanted her, I would have asked for her!”

“That was six years ago! People change,” she sniffed, and then was obviously angry with herself for what she considered a vulgarity.

He was sorry, not wanting to hurt her, but the whole thing was preposterous. He could not help being irritated for a whole evening spoiled-and now a silly argument when they were both tired!

“Sarah, that’s stupid! I haven’t changed, and I don’t think you have. And as far as I can see, Charlotte hasn’t either. But Charlotte hasn’t anything to do with this anyway. Surely you can see Emily just said whatever she did because she’s in love with George Ashworth and Charlotte told the policeman-what’s his name? — that Ashworth knew Chloe a lot better than he’d said. You’ve got to have enough wisdom to see that, and discard it for the nonsense it is!”

“Why do you lose your temper if you’re not guilty?” she said calmly.

“Because it’s so damn silly!” he exploded in exasperation.

“I have just found out that you are in love with my sister, and she with you, and I am silly because it upsets me!”

“Oh, Sarah, for heaven’s sake stop it,” he said wearily. “That’s none of it true, and you know it. I have never been remotely interested in Charlotte, except as a sister-in-law; she’s intelligent, has a wit, and a mind of her own-none of them very feminine attributes, which you’ve been the first to point out-”

“Inspector Pitt doesn’t seem to mind!” she said accusingly. “He’s in love with her; anyone can see that!”

“For God’s sake, Sarah! What have I in common with some wretched policeman! And I should imagine Charlotte is embarrassed by the whole affair, if indeed it’s true. He’s-working class! He’s not more than a tradesman! And why shouldn’t he admire Charlotte, as long as he remembers his place? She’s a very handsome woman-”

“You think so!” Again there was accusation in her voice, almost triumph.

“Yes, I do!” His own voice rose in anger. Really she was being very stupid and very tiresome indeed. He was tired, and in no mood for this. He had been patient all evening, but his patience was rapidly coming to an end. “Now please don’t pursue it any more. I have done nothing whatsoever that requires apology, or deserves your criticism.”

She said nothing, but when they arrived home she went straight upstairs. When Dominic had spoken to Edward in the study and followed her up, she was already in bed, her back turned to him. He considered for a moment approaching her again, but he had no feeling of warmth, no desire. And honestly he was too tired for the effort, the hypocrisy. He undressed and went to sleep without speaking.

The following day he woke having forgotten the whole stupid affair, but he was stiffly reminded. When he returned home in the evening things were no better. There was also a certain coolness between Emily and Charlotte, but no one else seemed to observe it. Conversation was unusually restrained. Caroline spoke of neighbourhood trivialities which Edward did little more than acknowledge. Only Grandmama was voluble; she was full of speculation about what secrets gossip attributed to all the families, especially the men, in the vicinity of Cater Street. At last Edward told her rather testily to be silent.

The day after was no better, and on the following evening Dominic decided he would remain at his club for dinner. Sarah would come out of it sooner or later, but for the present she was being very tedious. He had no idea why she was doing it: he had never entertained any interest other than friendly in Charlotte. Sarah must know that. Women frequently did odd and inexplicable things; it was usually an obscure way of laying claim to attention, and after a little flattery they were back to normal. Whatever Sarah wanted this time, she was making rather too much of an issue of it. He was bored with it, and becoming genuinely angry.

He dined at his club again two evenings later. It was on the third occasion that he fell into conversation with four other men who lived within a mile or two of Cater Street. At first he had done no more than overhear, but his interest was drawn when they began to discuss the murders.

“. . wretched police all over the place, and they don’t seem to be accomplishing a damn thing!” one complained.

“Poor devils are as lost as we are,” someone else argued.

“More lost! Don’t even belong in our world, part of a different social class. Don’t understand us any more than we understand them.”

“Good God! You aren’t suggesting this lunatic is a gentleman?” There was amusement, incredulity, and the edge of anger in this voice.

“Why not?”

“Good God!” he was stunned.

“Well, we’ve got to admit it. If he were a stranger he would have been noticed by now.” The man leaned forward. “For the love of heaven, man, the way everyone feels at the moment, do you think any stranger could go unobserved? Everyone is looking over his shoulder; women daren’t even go next door alone; the men are all watching and waiting. Delivery boys practically clock in and out; they want themselves timed to prove where they were and when. Even cabbies don’t like coming to Cater Street any more. In the past week, two have been stopped by constables, only because they were strange faces.”

“You know,” the man opposite him frowned, “it’s just come to me what that old fool Blenkinsop was talking about the other day! I thought he was rambling at the time, but now I realize he was saying in a roundabout way that he suspected me!”

“Quite! That’s the most damnable thing about it: having people looking queerly at you, not precisely saying anything, but you know cursed well what’s going on in their minds. Even errand boys are getting above themselves.”

“You’re not alone, old fellow! Left my carriage for my wife and was out late. Had to get a cab home. Wretched cabbie asked my destination. I told him and the man had the impertinence to refuse me. ‘Not going to Cater Street,’ he said. I ask you!”

One of them caught Dominic in his peripheral vision. “Ah, Corde! You’ll know what we’re talking about. Dreadful business, isn’t it? Whole place turned upside down. Creature must be insane, of course.”

“Unfortunately it isn’t obvious,” Dominic replied, sitting down in the proffered chair.

“Not obvious? What d’you mean? I would have thought it could hardly be more obvious than to run around the streets garotting helpless women!”

“I mean it does not show in his demeanour at other times,” Dominic explained. “In his face, his actions, or in anything else. He must look exactly like anyone else, most of the time.” Charlotte’s words came back to him. “For all we know, he could be here now, any one of these extremely respectable gentlemen.”

“I don’t care for your sense of humour, Corde. Misplaced. Poor taste, if I may say so.”

“To make jokes about murder at all is poor taste. But I wasn’t joking; I was perfectly serious. Even if you don’t believe in the intelligence of the police, with feeling running as it is, if this man were visible for what he is, surely one of us would have spotted him before now?”

The man stared at him, his face turning purple, then paling.

“Bless me! Shockin’ thought. Not nice having one’s neighbours think-”

“Has it never crossed your mind about someone else?”

“I admit it occurred to me. Gatling behaved a trifle odd. Caught him being overly solicitous to my wife the other day. Hands where they had no business, helping her with a shawl. Said something to him at the time. Never thought of it-perhaps that’s why he was so offended-thought I meant-oh well, all past now.”

“Damned unpleasant, though. Feel as if no one tells me what they mean anymore. See meanings behind meanings, if you understand me?”

“Thing I can’t stand is the maids looking at one as if one were. . ”

And so it went on. Dominic heard the same views over and over again; the embarrassment, the anger, the bewilderment-and, something worse, the almost inevitable sense that somewhere close, to someone they knew, it would happen again.

He wanted to forget it, to go back for a few hours to the way it was before the first murder.

Dominic was delighted a week later to see George Ashworth, dressed very formally, obviously ready for a night out.

“Ah, Corde!” Ashworth slapped him on the back. “Coming for a night’s entertainment? As long as you don’t tell Sarah!” he smiled, meaning it as a joke. It was unthinkable, of course, that Dominic would say anything. One did not mention such things to women, any women, except bawds.

Dominic made up his mind instantly.

“Exactly what I need. Certainly I’ll come. Where are we going?”

Ashworth grinned. “Bessie Mullane’s, to end with. Perhaps one or two other places beforehand. Have you eaten yet?”

“No.”

“Excellent. I know a place you will like, quite small, but the best food and the most entertaining company.”

And so it proved. It was certainly a little bawdy, but Dominic had never eaten a richer, more delicately cooked meal, or enjoyed such free wine. Gradually he forgot Cater Street and all those who lived there-or died there. Even Sarah’s present foolishness disappeared from his mind with the good spirits and conviviality of the company.

Bessie Mullane’s proved to be a cheerful and extremely comfortable bawdy house where they were lavishly welcomed. Ashworth was obviously not only known, but quite genuinely liked. They had not been there above half an hour when they were joined by a young swell, extravagantly dressed and a little drunk, but not yet objectionable.

“George!” he said with evident pleasure. “Haven’t seen you in weeks!” He slid into the seat beside him. “Good evening, sir,” he inclined his head towards Dominic. “I say, have you seen Jervis? Thought I’d take him out of himself a bit, but can’t find him!”

“What’s the matter with him?” Ashworth enquired pleasantly. “By the way,” he indicated Dominic, “Dominic Corde, Charles Danley.”

Danley nodded.

“Silly fool lost at cards, lost rather a lot.”

“Shouldn’t play more than you can afford,” Ashworth said without sympathy. “Stay with your own level of game.”

“Thought he was,” Danley curled up the corners of his lips in disgust. “Other fellow cheated. Could have told him he would.”

“Thought Jervis was pretty comfortable?” Ashworth opened his eyes indicating it was something of a question. “He’ll recover. Have to curtail his entertaining for a while.”

“That isn’t it! He was stupid enough to accuse the bastard of cheating.”

Ashworth grinned. “What happened? Did he call him out for a duel? Should have thought after all that scandal with Churchill and the Prince of Wales five years ago he’d have steered clear of anything like that!”

“No, of course he didn’t! Apparently the cheating hadn’t been particularly well done, and he was able to expose it without any effort-which he was idiotic enough to do!”

“Why idiotic?” Dominic interrupted from sheer curiosity. “I would have thought if a man were crass enough to cheat, and do it badly, he deserved whatever came to him?”

“Naturally! But this was an extremely ill-tempered fellow, and with some weight of influence. He’ll be ruined, of course! Ultimate sin, to cheat badly. Implies you don’t even have the respect for your fellows to do it well! But he’ll make damned sure he takes poor Jervis with him.”

Ashworth frowned. “How? Jervis didn’t cheat, did he? Even if he did, he wasn’t caught, which is the main thing. After all, everyone cheats. The accusation will look mere spite!”

“Nothing to do with cheating, dear fellow. Man’s married to Jervis’s cousin, of whom he’s very fond-Jervis, I mean.”

“So?”

“Seems she has a lover, which is common enough, and nothing in itself. Gave him five children and he’s bored with her, and she with him. Understandable. All perfectly all right, as long as it’s discreet. Seems she wasn’t. Country weekend, didn’t lock her door. Someone came in, mistaking it for another lady’s room, and found her with some fellow or other. Upshot of it all is that this wretched cheat threatened to divorce her.”

Ashworth shut his eyes.

“Oh my God. She’d be ruined!”

“Of course. Upset poor Jervis no end. Very fond of her, apart from the family name and all that. Makes things dashed difficult for him in society, cousin who’s divorced.”

“And your cheating feller gets away with it scot-free?”

“Quite! Having a deuced good time; he’ll marry again, when it suits him. And she, poor creature, an outcast. Teach you to lock your doors.”

“Didn’t catch her himself?”

“Gracious, no. He was in bed with Dolly Lawton-Smith, oblivious to the world. But that’s irrelevant. Different for a man, of course.”

“What about Dolly? Wouldn’t do her any good.”

“Nor harm either. Everyone knows about everyone else; it’s what is seen that counts, and the vulgarity of being caught. Instead of being a bit of a fellow, makes one look ridiculous. And divorce is of no great importance to a man, but it ruins a woman. After all, it’s one thing to have a little fun oneself, but one is made to look a complete fool if it is seen that one’s wife prefers someone else.”

“And Dolly’s husband?”

“Oh, I believe they have an amicable enough arrangement. He certainly won’t divorce her, if that’s what you’re thinking. Why should he? No one caught him cheating at cards!”

“Poor old Jervis,” Ashworth sighed. “What a perilous life.”

“Talking of peril, what about all the grisly business in Cater Street? Four murders! Man must be mad. Damn glad I don’t live there.” He frowned suddenly. “You go there quite often, don’t you? That pretty little thing I saw you with at Acton’s. Didn’t you say she lived there? Liked her. Woman of spirit. Not blue-blooded, but dashed pretty.”

Dominic opened his mouth to speak, then decided to listen instead. He liked Emily, but regardless of that, there was a certain loyalty.

“Blue blood gets a bit tedious at times,” Ashworth said slowly, disregarding Dominic entirely. “All too strictly brought up, looking for the right marriage. I ought to marry money, I suppose, or at least some expectation of it, but so many rich young women are such utter bores.”

Dominic remembered Emily’s determined little face. Whatever she was, and sometimes she was uncommonly irritating, she was never a bore. In her own way, she was as wilful as Charlotte, if a good deal more devious.

“Well for heaven’s sake, George.” Danley leaned back and signalled to one of the women, holding up his empty glass. “Marry a woman of blood and money, by all means, but keep this other one as a mistress! I would have thought the answer sufficiently obvious.”

Ashworth glanced sideways at Dominic with a grin. “Dashed good suggestion, Charlie, but not in front of her brother-in-law!”

“What?” Danley’s face dropped, then the colour swept up his cheek.

“Don’t care for your sense of humour, George.” He pulled one of the passing girls onto his knee, disregarding her giggle. “Uncivil of you.”

Dominic looked at him. “Miss Ellison is my sister-in-law,” he said with distinct pleasure. “And I cannot see her settling for mistress to anyone, even someone as distinguished as George. However, you may try, by all means!”

Ashworth was grinning broadly. He was a remarkably handsome man. “The fun is in the chase. For more generous entertainment one can always come here. Emily offers something a good deal more-interesting. Involves the brain, and the skill, don’t you see?”

Sarah was always at home when Dominic returned from his nights out. She was no longer cool, nor did she mention the matter of any untoward affection between Charlotte and himself again, but he knew from her manner, and a certain reticence, that she had not forgot it. There was nothing he could do; indeed he did not seriously consider doing anything. But even so, it was unpleasant. It robbed him of a warmth, a happiness that he used to take for granted.

The police were still questioning people. The fear was still there, although the first urgency had gone. Verity Lessing had been buried, and mourners picked up their lives again. Suspicions were presumably still festering under the surface, but the hysteria was decently controlled.

It was October, and rapidly chilling, when Dominic ran into Inspector Pitt quite by chance in a coffeehouse. Dominic was alone. Pitt stopped by his table. Really he was an inelegant creature. No one could possibly have mistaken him for a man of society. There was no concession to fashion in him, and only a passing accommodation to convention.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Corde,” Pitt said cheerfully. “Alone?”

“Good afternoon, Mr. Pitt. Yes, my companion has left.”

“Then may I join you?” Pitt put his hand out onto the back of the chair opposite.

Dominic was taken by surprise. He was not used to entertaining policemen socially, still less in public. The man seemed to have no sense of his position.

“If you wish,” he replied with reluctance.

Pitt smiled broadly and pulled out the chair. He sat comfortably.

“Thank you. Is this coffee fresh?”

“Yes. Please, help yourself. Did you wish to speak to me about something?” Surely the man was not foisting himself on him for purely social reasons? He could not be so insensitive.

“Thank you.” Pitt poured from the pot and drank with delicately flared nostrils. “How are you, and your family?”

Presumably he meant Charlotte. Emily was probably exaggerating, but there was no doubt Pitt did admire Charlotte.

“Well enough, I think, thank you. Naturally the tragedies in Cater Street have not left us untouched. I suppose you are no nearer a solution?”

Pitt pulled a face. He had remarkably mobile, expressive features. “Only insofar as we have eliminated more possibilities. I suppose that is some kind of progress?”

“Not much.” Dominic was not in a mood to spare his feelings. “Have you given up? I observe you haven’t been to bother us any more.”

“I haven’t thought of anything else to ask you,” Pitt said reasonably.

“I had not noticed that’s preventing you in the past.” Damn the man. If he could not solve the crime he should call in assistance from his superiors. “Why don’t you hand over the case to someone higher up, or get help?”

Pitt met his eyes. Dominic was made a little uncomfortable, a little self-conscious by the sheer intelligence in them.

“I have, Mr. Corde. Everyone at Scotland Yard is bending their minds to it, I assure you. But there are other crimes, you know? Robberies, forgeries, embezzlement, corruption, burglaries, and even other murders.”

Dominic was stung. Could the man possibly be patronizing him?

“Of course there are! I hadn’t imagined ours was the only crime in London. But surely you consider ours to be the most serious?”

Pitt’s smile vanished. “Of course. Mass murder is the most dreadful crime of all-the more so since it will almost certainly be repeated. What do you suggest we do?”

Dominic was taken aback by the sheer brazenness of it.

“How on earth would I know? I am not a policeman! But I would have thought if there were more of you, more experienced perhaps-”

“To do what?” Pitt raised his eyebrows. “Ask more questions? We have dug up an incredible number of trivial eccentricities, immoralities, small dishonesties and cruelties, but no clue to murder-at least none that can be recognized as such.” His face became very grave. “We are dealing with insanity, Mr. Corde. It’s no use looking for reasons or patterns that you or I would recognize.”

Dominic stared at him, afraid. This wretched man was speaking about something horrible, something hellish and incomprehensible, and it frightened him.

“What manner of man are we looking for?” Pitt went on. “Does he choose his particular victims for any specific reason? Or is his choice arbitrary? Do they just happen to be at the right place at the right time? Does he even know who they are? What have they in common? They are all young, all pleasing enough to look at, but that is all as far as we know. Two were servants, two daughters of respectable families. The Hiltons’ maid was somewhat loose in her morals, but Lily Mitchell was entirely proper. Chloe Abernathy was a little silly, but no more. Verity Lessing mixed in high society. You tell me what they had in common, apart from being young and living in or near Cater Street!”

“He must be a madman!” Dominic said futilely.

Pitt pulled a bitter smile. “We had already got so far.”

“Robbery?” Dominic suggested, then knew it was silly as soon as he had said it.

Pitt raised his eyebrows. “Of a maid on her evening off?”

“Were they-?” Dominic did not like to use the word.

Pitt had no such scruples. “Raped? No. Verity Lessing’s dress was torn open and her bosom scratched quite deeply, but nothing more.”

“Why?” Dominic shouted, oblivious of the heads turning from the other tables. “He must be a raving-! A-a-” He could think of no word. His anger collapsed. “It doesn’t make any sense!” he said helplessly.

“No,” Pitt agreed. “And while we are trying to understand it, trying to see some sort of pattern in the evidence, we still have to do something about the other crimes.”

“Yes, of course,” Dominic stared into his empty coffee cup. “Can’t you leave that to your sergeant, or something? The street is in a terrible state, everyone is afraid of everyone else.” He thought of Sarah. “It’s affecting even the ways we think of each other.”

“It will,” Pitt agreed. “Nothing strips the soul quite as naked as fear. We see things in ourselves and in others that we would far rather not have known about. But my sergeant is in hospital.”

“Was he taken ill?” Dominic was not really interested, but it was something to say.

“No, he was injured. We went into a slum quarter after a forger.”

“And he attacked you?”

“No,” Pitt said wryly. “Thieves and forgers far more often run than fight. You’ve never been into the vast warrens where these people live and work, or you wouldn’t have asked. Buildings are packed so close together they are indistinguishable: any single row has a dozen entrances and exits. They usually post some sort of watchman-a child or an old woman, a beggar, anyone. And they prepare traps. We’re used to the trapdoors that open up beneath you and drop you into a sort of oubliette, a hole perhaps fifteen or twenty feet deep, possibly even into the sewers. But this was different. This fellow went upwards towards the roof, and we chased him up the stairs. I had been set upon by two other villains and was busy fighting them off. Poor Flack charged up the stairway and the forger disappeared ahead of him, dropping a trapdoor downwards, across the stairs. The thing was fitted with great iron spikes. One sliced through Flack’s shoulder, another missed his face by inches.”

“Oh God!” Dominic was horrified. Pictures swam into his mind of dark and filthy caves and passages smelling of refuse, running with rats; his stomach rose at the thought of entering them. He imagined the ceiling slamming shut in front of him, the iron spikes driving into flesh, the pain and the blood. He thought for a moment he was going to be sick.

Pitt was staring at him. “He’ll likely lose the arm, but unless it becomes gangrenous, he’ll live,” he was saying. He passed over the dish of coffee. “You see, there are other crimes, Mr. Corde.”

“Did you catch him?” Dominic found his voice scratchy. “He ought to be hanged!”

“Yes, we caught him a day later. And he’ll be transported for twenty-five or thirty years. From what I hear that’ll likely be as bad. Maybe he’ll be of some use to someone in Australia.”

“I still say he should be hanged!”

“It’s easy to judge, Mr. Corde, when your father was a gentleman, and you have clothes on your back and food on your plate every day. Williams’s father was a resurrectionist-”

“A churchman!” Dominic was shocked.

Pitt smiled sardonically. “No, Mr. Corde, a man who made his living by stealing corpses to sell to the medical schools, before the law was changed in the ’thirties-”

“Sweet God!”

“Oh, there were plenty of unwanted corpses around the rookeries, the slum areas of the old days. It was a crime, of course, and it demanded a good deal of skill and nerve to smuggle them from wherever they were stolen to wherever they were handed over and the money received. Sometimes they were even dressed and propped up to look like live passengers-”

“Stop it!” Dominic stood up. “I take your point that the wretched man may not know better, but I don’t want to hear about it. It doesn’t excuse him, or help your sergeant. Let the man forge his money. What’s a few guineas more or less in the whole of London? But find our hangman!”

Pitt was still seated. “A few guineas more or less is nothing to you, Mr. Corde, but to a woman with a child, it may be the difference between food and starvation. And if you can tell me what else to do to catch your hangman, I’ll be only too willing to do it.”

Dominic left the coffeehouse feeling miserable, confused, and deeply angry. Pitt had no right to speak to him like that. There was nothing whatsoever he could do about it, and it was unfair he should be forced to listen.

When he arrived home he felt no better. Sarah met him in the hall. He kissed her, putting his arms round her, but she did not relax against him. In irritation he let go of her sharply.

“Sarah, I’ve had enough of this childish attitude of yours. You are behaving stupidly, and it’s time you stopped!”

“Do you know how many nights you have been out this last month?” she countered.

“No, I do not. Do you?”

“Yes, thirteen in the last three weeks.”

“Alone. And if you were to behave yourself with dignity and like a grown woman instead of an undisciplined child, I should take you with me.”

“I hardly think I should care for the places which you have been frequenting.”

He drew breath to say he would change the places, but then his anger hardened and he changed his mind. There was no purpose in arguing with words; it was feelings that mattered, and as long as she felt like this it was pointless. He turned away and went into the withdrawing room. Sarah went back to the kitchen.

Charlotte was in the withdrawing room, standing by the open window painting.

“This is a withdrawing room, Charlotte, not a studio,” he said waspishly.

She looked surprised, and a little hurt.

“I’m sorry. Everyone else is either out or busy, and I was not expecting you home so early, or I would have put it away.” She did not, however, move to close her box.

“I met your damned policeman.”

“Mr. Pitt?”

“Have you another?”

“I haven’t any.”

“Don’t be coy, Charlotte.” He sat down irritably. “You know perfectly well he admires you, indeed is enamoured of you. If you haven’t observed it for yourself, Emily has certainly told you!”

Charlotte flushed with embarrassment.

“Emily was saying it to annoy. And you of all people should know that Emily can say things merely to cause trouble!”

He turned to look at her properly. He had been unfair. He was taking out his anger with Pitt and with Sarah on Charlotte.

“I’m sorry,” he said frankly. “Yes, Emily has an irresponsible tongue, although I think she may well be right about Pitt. After all, why shouldn’t he admire you? You are an extremely handsome woman, and have the kind of spirit that might appeal to him.”

He was surprised to see Charlotte colour even more deeply. He had meant it to comfort her, not to make her embarrassment worse. She was the most forthright person he had ever met, and yet paradoxically, the hardest for him to understand. Obviously one did not want the attentions of someone like Pitt, but it should be no more than an irritation, to be forgotten.

“Where did you meet him?” she asked, still absently fiddling with her palette.

“In a coffeehouse. Didn’t know policemen frequented such places. He had the nerve to just come and sit down at my table!”

His anger rekindled at the memory.

“What did he want?” She looked worried.

He tried to think back, but he could not remember. Pitt had not asked anything pertinent.

“I don’t know, perhaps just to talk. Why?”

She lifted a shoulder slightly in a small shrug.

“He went on about forgers, and resurrectionists.”

She looked round. “Resurrectionists? What are they-religious charlatans?”

“No. Men who steal corpses to sell to medical students.”

“Oh. How pathetic.”

“Pathetic? It’s disgusting!”

“It’s also pathetic, that people should be reduced to such a level.”

“Are you sure they haven’t reduced themselves?”

“If they have, that’s even worse.”

What an odd woman she was. Sarah would never have viewed it that way. There was an innocence in Charlotte, a gentleness that was quite misplaced, and yet he was drawn to her because of it. Odd. He had always thought it was Sarah who was gentle, and Charlotte who had a streak of. . of resistance in her, something unfeminine. He looked at her now as she stood with the paintbrush in her hand. She was not as pretty as Sarah, and she lacked the small touches-the fine lace, the little earrings, the delicate curls in the nape of the neck-and yet in a way she was also more beautiful. And in thirty years, when Sarah would be plump, her chin line gone, her hair faded, the bones in Charlotte’s face would still be beautiful.

“It’s a terrible responsibility,” she said slowly. “We all expect him to be able to solve the murders for us, put us back to where we were before.”

And she would still be saying whatever came into her mind, he thought wryly. She would never learn the small deceits that make women mysterious, feminine-that they survive by.

But Charlotte would not sulk over some imagined slight; Charlotte would have a blazing row. In the long run that might be better, easier to put up with.

“At least he doesn’t have to live here. Nobody suspects him,” he said, going back to her remark.

“No, but we’ll all blame him if he doesn’t find the man.”

He had not even thought of that. Now that she pointed it out to him, he felt a surge of sympathy for Pitt. He wished he had not been so patronizing in the coffeehouse.

Charlotte was staring at her picture on the easel. “I wonder if he even knows who he is, or if he’s just as afraid as we are?”

“Of course not! If he knew he’d arrest him!”

“Not Pitt! The man, whoever he is. Does he remember, does he know? Or is he as frightened and as puzzled as the rest of us?”

“Oh God! What an unspeakable thought! Whatever put that into your head?”

“I don’t know. But it’s possible, isn’t it!”

“I shouldn’t think so; I would very much rather not think so. If that were true, it could be-it could be anyone!”

She looked at him solemnly, her eyes very steady and gray. “It could be anyone now.”

“Charlotte, stop it. For heaven’s sake let’s just pray Pitt finds him. Stop thinking about it. There’s nothing we can do except never go out alone, under any circumstances.” He shivered. “Only go out if you have to, and then take Maddock, or your father, or I’ll come with you.”

She smiled-a strange, tight little gesture-and turned back to the painting. “Thank you, Dominic.”

He looked at her. Odd, he had always thought her open, obvious; now she seemed enigmatic, more mysterious than Sarah.

Did one ever learn to understand women?

A couple of days later Dominic had yet more cause to ponder the female mind. They were all sitting in the withdrawing room after dinner; even Emily was at home. Grandmama was crocheting, squinting a little when she occasionally glanced at her work; most of the time she worked blind, her fingers and long habit guiding her.

“I called on the vicar this afternoon,” Grandmama said a little sharply. There was a hint of criticism in her voice. “Sarah took me.”

“Oh?” Caroline looked up. “Did you find them well?”

“Not especially. The vicar was well enough, I suppose, but Martha looked very strained, I thought. A woman should never let herself go like that. She begins to have the look of a drudge.”

“She does work very hard,” Sarah said in her defence.

“That has nothing to do with it, my dear,” Grandmama said disapprovingly. “However hard one works, one should still take care of one’s appearance. It matters a great deal.”

Emily looked up. “I doubt it matters to the vicar. I should be surprised if he ever notices.”

“That is not the point.” Grandmama was not to be put off. “A woman owes it to herself. It is a matter of duty.”

“I’m sure anything to do with duty would appeal to the vicar,” Charlotte observed. “Especially if it were unpleasant.”

“Charlotte, we all know that you do not care for the vicar; you have made it abundantly obvious.” Grandmama looked a little down her nose. “However, comments like that are of no use at all, and do you no credit. The vicar is a very worthy man, and as suits a man of the cloth, he disapproves of frivolity and paint on the face, and anything that encourages harlotry.”

“Not by the wildest stretch of lunacy can I imagine Martha Prebble encouraging harlotry,” Charlotte was unabashed. “Except by perverse example.”

Caroline dropped her linen pillowcase. “Charlotte! What on earth do you mean?”

“That the sight of Martha’s pale face and the thought of living with someone as critical and self-righteous as the vicar would make one entertain the idea of harlotry as a more bearable alternative,” Charlotte said with devastating frankness.

“I can only presume,” Grandmama said icily, “that you imagine that to be in some fashion amusing. When I consider what manners are coming to these days, I sometimes despair. What passes for wit has become mere vulgarity!”

“I think you are a little unkind, Charlotte,” Caroline spoke more mildly. “The vicar is a little difficult, I admit, and not a very likeable man, but he does a great deal of good work. And poor Martha is almost tireless.”

“I don’t think you realize,” Sarah added, “just how much she does. Or that she has suffered deeply with all these murders. She was very fond of both Chloe and Verity, you know?”

Charlotte looked surprised. “No, I didn’t know. I knew about Verity, but I didn’t know she knew Chloe. I wouldn’t have thought they had many interests in common.”

“I think she was trying to help Chloe to-to keep her feet on the ground. She was a little silly, but quite kind, you know.”

Listening to her, Dominic suddenly felt an appalling sense of pity. He had not cared in the least for Chloe when she was alive; in fact he had found her tiresome. Now he felt something that was as strong as love, and far more painful.

Without thinking, he looked at Charlotte. She was blinking hard, a tear had spilled over onto her cheek. Caroline had picked up her linen again. Emily was doing nothing, and Grandmama was staring at Charlotte with disgust.

What were they thinking?

Grandmama was blaming everyone for the decline in morals. Caroline was concentrating on her sewing. Emily also would be thinking of something practical. Sarah had defended Chloe; and Charlotte had wept for her.

How well did he know any of them?

Dominic continued to go out to his club, and to other places to dine and generally enjoy himself. On several occasions he saw George Ashworth, and found him easy and pleasing company.

He fully expected Sarah to forget the silly affair with Emily and the accusation she had made against Charlotte and himself, but apparently she had not. She said nothing further, but the coolness remained. The distance between them grew greater, if anything.

It was an icy evening in November, fog swirling in the streets and swathing the gas lamps in wreaths of mist. It was clammy and bitterly cold, and he was glad when his cab turned the corner from Cater Street into his own road and a few moments later stopped and set him down. He paid, and heard the horse’s hooves clopping away on the stones, muffled by sound-deadening fog within minutes. He was marooned on a small island of one gas lamp; everything else was impenetrable darkness. The next lamp seemed very far away.

It had been an excellent evening, warm in both wine and companionship. Standing alone in the fog, however, he could think of nothing but women alone in the street, footsteps behind them, perhaps even a face or a voice they knew. Then they would feel a cutting pain in the throat, and darkness, bursting lungs, and death-a limp body to be found on the wet stones in the morning by some passer-by, then examined by the police.

He shivered as the cold cut into his bones and his spirit. He hurried up the steps and knocked sharply on the door. It seemed like an age passed before Maddock opened it and he was able to push beyond him into the warmth and the light. He was even pleased when it was closed behind him, shutting out the street with its fog and darkness and God knew what unspeakable creatures.

“Miss Sarah has retired, sir,” Maddock said from behind him. “But not long since. Mr. Ellison is in his study, reading and smoking, but the withdrawing room is empty, if you wish me to bring you something? Would you prefer a hot drink, sir, or brandy?”

“Nothing, thank you, Maddock. I think I’ll go to bed myself. It’s infernally cold outside, and the fog is coming down pretty thick.”

“Most unpleasant, sir. Would you care for me to draw you a hot bath?”

“No, that’s all right, thank you. I’ll just go to bed. Good night.”

“Good night, sir.”

Upstairs everything was silent; only a small night-light burned on the landing. He went into his dressing room and took off his clothes. Ten minutes later he opened the door to the bedroom. “There’s no need to creep,” she said coldly.

“I thought you might be asleep.”

“You mean you hoped I might be!”

He did not understand. “Why should I care one way or the other? I merely did not wish to disturb you if you were.”

“Where have you been?”

“At my club.” It was not precisely the truth, but near enough. There was no lie in it that mattered.

She raised her eyebrows in sarcasm. “All evening?”

She had never questioned him before. He was too surprised to be annoyed. “No: I went on to a few other clubs. Why?”

“Alone?”

“Well, I certainly wasn’t with Charlotte, if that’s what you had in mind,” he snapped.

“I can’t imagine Charlotte being seen in that sort of place, even to be with you.” She was staring at him icily.

“What on earth’s the matter with you?” His confusion was growing. “I was out with George Ashworth. I thought you approved of him!”

She looked away. “I went to see Mrs. Lessing today.”

“Oh,” he sat down on the dressing stool. He was not in the least interested in whom she had visited, but obviously she was leading up to something.

“I did not realize until today how well you knew Verity,” she went on. “I knew you were well acquainted with Chloe, but Verity was a surprise to me.”

“What does it matter? I only spoke with her a few times. I think she liked me. But the poor child’s dead. For heaven’s sake, Sarah, you can’t be jealous of a dead girl. Think where she is now!”

“I hadn’t forgotten where she is, Dominic, nor that Chloe is there also.”

“And Lily, and Bessie. Or are you jealous of the maids as well?” He was getting really angry. He had not looked at Charlotte, except as a sister, and it was bad enough that Sarah should have accused him of involvement with her- but this was ridiculous, and obscene.

Sarah was sitting upright in the bed.

“Who’s Bessie? The Hiltons’ maid? I didn’t even know her name. How did you know it?”

“I don’t know! What the hell does it matter? She’s dead!”

“I know that, Dominic. They’re all dead.”

He looked at her. She was staring at him with wide eyes, as if he were a stranger and she had seen him for the first time, as if he had come out of the fog with a wire in his hands.

Now why did he think of something horrible like that? Because it was in her face. She was afraid of him. She was all knotted up, sitting there on the bed with her shoulders hunched. He could see the strain across her neck, in the muscles of her throat.

“Sarah!”

Her face was frozen, stiff, and unable to speak.

“Sarah! For God’s sake!” He moved towards her, sitting on the bed, leaning forward to put his hands on her bare arms. Her flesh was rigid underneath his fingers. “You can’t think-Sarah! You know me! You can’t think I could have. . ” he trailed off, his voice dying. There was no response in her.

He let go. Suddenly he did not want to touch her. He was cold inside, as if he had received a wound and could see the horror of it. But shock kept the wound numb. The pain would come later, perhaps tomorrow.

He stood up.

“I’ll sleep in the dressing room. Good night, Sarah. Lock the door if it’ll make you feel safer.”

He heard her speak his name, quietly, hoarsely, but he shut the door behind him without turning. He wanted to be alone, to absorb it, and to sleep.