Cater Street Hangman (10 page)

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

Edward looked up from the newspaper he was reading.

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh.”

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

“Papa?”

“Yes, my dear?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Emily smiled. “Yes, they will.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Some do,” Dominic said drily.

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

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

Edward turned to her in surprise.

“Isn’t what, my dear?”

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

“How do you know all this?”

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

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

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

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

Dominic looked around.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He looked up sharply.

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

She smiled sweetly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You doubt me?”

“Do you wish me to be honest?”

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

“George!” he said loudly.

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

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

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

“Beat him,” he said with satisfaction.

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

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

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