Cater Street Hangman (12 page)

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.”