Cater Street Hangman (14 page)

“Have you always been a policeman, Mr. Pitt?” she asked.

He was surprised, but there was a flicker of amusement in his eyes which at any other time she might have found irritating.

“Yes, since I was seventeen.”

“Why? Why did you want to be a policeman! You must see so much—” She could not find the exact words for all the misery and squalor she imagined.

“I grew up in the country. My parents were in service; my mother was cook and my father gamekeeper.” He gave a wry little smile, conscious of their difference in station. “They were with a gentleman of considerable means. He had children of his own, a son about my age. I was allowed to sit in the schoolroom. And we used to play together. I knew rather more about the country than he did. I had friends among the poachers and gypsies. Very exciting for a small boy, son of the manor house, with too many sisters and too much time spent with lessons.

“Pheasants were stolen from the estate and sold. My father was blamed. He was charged at the assizes, and found guilty. He was sent to Australia for ten years. In my own mind, I was convinced he didn’t do it—naturally, I suppose. I spent a long time trying to prove it. I never succeeded, but that was when it started.”

She imagined the child, caring desperately, burning with confusion and injustice. She felt a tenderness for him which appalled her. She stood up quickly and swallowed.

“I see. And you came to London. How interesting. Thank you for telling me. Now I must return home, or they will be anxious for me.”

“You shouldn’t have come alone,” he frowned. “I’ll send a sergeant back with you.”

“That’s not necessary. I thought you might want to speak to Millie, and so I brought her with me.”

“No, I see no reason to speak with her now. But I’m glad you were wise enough to have her come with you.” He smiled with a tiny, downward gesture. “And I apologize for doubting your good sense.”

“Good day, Mr. Pitt.” She went out of the door.

“Good day, Miss Ellison.”

She knew he was standing in the doorway watching her, and she was idiotically self-conscious. She all but fell over the step on the way out, having to catch Millie’s arm to steady herself. Why on earth should a very plain policeman make her feel so—so conspicuous?

Three days later Charlotte was visiting the Abernathys’. She was there alone only because Sarah and Mama were but a hundred yards away round the corner at the vicar’s.

“Do have some more tea, Miss Ellison. It is so kind of you to visit us.”

“Thank you,” Charlotte pushed her cup forward a little. “It’s a pleasure to see you looking so much better.”

Mrs. Abernathy smiled gently. “Having young people in the house again helps. After Chloe died, no one came for such a long time. At least it seemed so. I suppose one cannot blame them. No one, least of all the young, wishes to visit a house in mourning. It is too much of a reminder of death, when one wishes to think of life.”

Charlotte wanted to comfort her, to prevent her feeling that Chloe’s friends were callous, thinking more of their own pleasure than her grief.

She leaned forward a little. “Perhaps they did not wish to intrude? When one is deeply shocked, one doesn’t know what to say. Nothing can make it better, and one is afraid to be clumsy and make it worse by saying something stupid.”

“You are very gentle, my dear Charlotte. I wish poor Chloe could have sought more friends like you, and not some of the foolish ones she did. It all began with that wretched George Ashworth—”

“What?” Charlotte so far forgot herself as to abandon all courtesy.

Mrs. Abernathy looked at her with slight surprise.

“I wish Chloe had not been quite so friendly with Lord Ashworth. I know he is a gentleman, but sometimes the real quality have some strange tastes and habits we wouldn’t approve of.”

“I didn’t know Chloe knew Lord Ashworth.” Charlotte was troubled now. Emily’s determined little face kept coming into her mind. “Did she know him well?”

“A great deal better than her father and I would have wished. But he was charming, and titled. You can’t tell young girls.” She blinked several times.

Charlotte would have liked to leave the subject—she knew it could only cause pain where the wound was already deep—but for Emily’s sake she had to know.

“Do you think he treated Chloe badly, that he was less than frank with her affections?”

“Mr. Abernathy gets very angry with me for saying this,” her face pinched, “but I believe that if Chloe had not known that man she would be alive today.”

Charlotte felt as if she were entering a dark corridor, as if its shadows were closing in on her.

“Why do you say that, Mrs. Abernathy?”

Mrs. Abernathy leaned forward, clutching at Charlotte’s arm.

“Oh, please don’t repeat it, Charlotte! Mr. Abernathy says I could end up in the most terrible trouble if I say too much!”

Charlotte closed her other hand over Mrs. Abernathy’s, gripping her firmly. “Of course I won’t. But I would like to know why you consider George Ashworth such a bad influence. I have met him, and although I didn’t care for him, I would not have judged him as ill as you seem to.”

“He flattered Chloe into believing all sorts of things that could not come true, that were not true of her station in life. He took her to places where there were women of low morals.”

“How do you know? Did Chloe say so?”

“She told us a little. But I heard it from others who saw them there. A gentleman friend of Mr. Abernathy’s told him he had seen Chloe where he did not expect to see any daughter of a respectable family.”

“And this friend is truthful? Not given to misunderstanding or exaggeration? And has no cause for spite, no wish to damage Chloe’s reputation?”

“Oh, none at all. The most upright of men! Good gracious!”

“Then forgive me, but what was he doing in such a place as you describe?”

Mrs. Abernathy looked confused for a moment.

“My dear Charlotte, it is quite different for men! It is perfectly—acceptable for a gentleman to frequent places that a woman of good moral character would not go to. We all have to accept these things.”

Charlotte was loath to accept any such thing at all, but there was no proper way of arguing it now.

“I see. And you feel Lord Ashworth may have led Chloe into unfortunate company, and even tempted her to practices not acceptable to her, or to anyone of decent upbringing?”

“Yes, I do. Chloe was not really part of his world. And I think she died because he tried to make her part of it.”

“Let me not misunderstand you, Mrs. Abernathy. Are you saying that you think either Lord Ashworth, or someone in his circle, killed Chloe?”

“Yes, Charlotte, I believe it. But you have promised not to say that I said so! Nothing can bring Chloe back, and we cannot be revenged against such people.”

“One can prevent them from doing it again!” Charlotte said angrily. “And, in fact, one has a duty!”

“Oh, but, Charlotte, please, I do not know anything. It is just my foolish feeling. Perhaps I am quite wrong, and I should be doing a great injustice!” She was on her feet now, anxious, flapping her hands. “You gave me your promise!”

“Mrs. Abernathy, my own sister Emily is currently in acquaintance with Lord Ashworth. If what you say is true, how can I take no interest in your feelings, whether they are accurate or not? I promise you I will say nothing, unless I feel Emily to be in danger. Then I cannot keep silent.”

“Oh, my dear,” Mrs. Abernathy sat down sharply. “Oh, my dear Charlotte! What can we do?”

“I don’t know,” Charlotte said frankly. “Have you told me everything you know, that you either know for sure or have reason to suspect?”

“I know that he drinks too much, but then gentlemen often do. I know that he gambles, but I imagine he can afford to. I know that poor Chloe was enamoured of him, that he swept her off her feet and she saw in him all sorts of romantic dreams. I know he took her with him into his social world where standards are quite different from ours, and where they do all kinds of terrible things for amusement. And I believe if she had stayed among her own kind, gentlemen of moderate means and respectable family, she would not now be dead.” The tears were running down her face as she stopped at last. “Forgive me.” She reached for her handkerchief and began to cry quietly.

Charlotte put her arms round her and held her tightly. She felt a terrible pity for her because there was nothing she could do, and guilt because she had raked it all up again and made her talk of it. Charlotte held on to her, rocking a little, as if Mrs. Abernathy were a child, not a woman her mother’s age.

On the way home she could think of nothing to say to her mother or to Sarah, but they were too busy with their own concerns to notice. All evening she sat almost silent, replying only when necessary, and then somewhat at random. Dominic made one or two comments on her absentmindedness, but even for him she could not abandon her anxiety.

If Mrs. Abernathy were right, then George Ashworth was not merely reprobate but positively dangerous, and might even be implicated in murder. It seemed stretching reason too far to suppose the existence of more than one murderer in Cater Street; therefore, he must have also killed Lily and the Hiltons’ maid, if indeed he were actually involved. Perhaps several of his friends in drunken madness had waylaid . . . The thought was appalling.

But the worst consideration was Emily. Might not Emily, however much she wished not to, somehow become aware of his guilt? And if she did, and betrayed her knowledge in his presence, perhaps she too would be found dead in the street?

But Charlotte had no proof. Perhaps it was all in the imagination of Mrs. Abernathy, distorted by grief, desperately needing someone to blame, preferring any answer to the unknown. And if Charlotte told Emily her suspicions, without proof, Emily would surely disbelieve them, and with some heat. She might even, in defiance, tell George Ashworth, just to prove her trust in him, and thus provoke her own death.

What was the right thing to do? She looked round their faces as they all sat in the withdrawing room after dinner. Whose advice could she ask? Papa was looking at the newspaper, his face grim. He was very probably reading about the stock market. He would be ill-disposed to interruptions at the moment, and he had appeared to approve of Ashworth.

Mama was embroidering. She looked pale. Grandmama had not yet forgiven her for her fears over Papa and his visit to Mrs.—whatever her name was. Grandmama had been dropping small, barbed remarks for days. And there was no use asking Grandmama anyway; she would immediately either tell everyone directly or else drive them mad with innuendos until someone dragged it from her.

Emily was playing the piano. Next to her Sarah was playing bezique with Dominic. Could she ask Sarah? Part of her longed to ask Dominic, to have something to share with him, to ask his advice. And yet within her there was also a growing resistance, a fear that Dominic would not meet the standard of wisdom she needed, that he would give her an answer that was not decisive, did not commit him.

She had no deep confidence in Sarah either, but there was no one else. She found an opportunity to approach her on the landing before retiring.

“Sarah?”

Sarah stopped in surprise. “I thought you had gone to bed.”

“I want to speak to you.”

“It cannot wait until morning?”

“No. Please come into my bedroom.”

When the door was closed Charlotte stood against it, and Sarah sat on the bed.

“I went to see Mrs. Abernathy today.”

“I know.”

“Did you know that George Ashworth was closely acquainted with Chloe just before she was killed?”

Sarah frowned.

“No, I didn’t. I’m sure Emily doesn’t know either.”

“So am I. And Mrs. Abernathy believes that he took Chloe to places very unsuitable for a decent woman, and that it was through him that she may well have met whoever killed her, at least that the association was in part responsible—”

“Are you quite sure of what you’re saying, Charlotte? I know you don’t care for Lord Ashworth. Are you not perhaps letting your prejudices run away with you?”

“I don’t believe so. What should I say to Emily?”

“Nothing. She wouldn’t believe you anyway.”

“But I must warn her!”

“Of what? All you can tell her is that Ashworth admired Chloe before he met her. That will help no one. And why shouldn’t he? Chloe was very pretty, poor little thing. I don’t doubt he has admired a great many girls, and will admire a great many more.”

“But what about Emily?” Charlotte demanded. “What if he really did have something to do with Chloe’s death? Emily could find out. She could even be next!”

“Don’t be hysterical, Charlotte!” Sarah said sharply. “Mrs. Abernathy is very old-fashioned and very narrow in her background. I daresay what appears very daring and immoral to her would be no more than ordinary high spirits to us. I have heard her express disapproval of the waltz! How stuffy is it possible to be? Even the queen waltzes, or she used to before she became old.”

“Mrs. Abernathy was talking about murder, not waltzing.”

“To us they are opposite ends of the pole, but to her they are not so far apart. In her mind a person capable of one may very well contemplate the other.”

“I didn’t know you had such a sense of humour,” Charlotte said bitterly. “But this is not the time to show it. What should I say to Emily? I cannot merely do nothing.”

“At least you haven’t told your dreadful policeman yet!”

“Of course I haven’t! And that observation is hardly helpful!”

“Sorry. Perhaps we had better have Emily in here and tell her—I don’t know precisely what. I suppose the truth?” As she spoke she stood up and came to the door.

Charlotte agreed. It was the best idea, and she was grateful for Sarah’s support. She stood aside for Sarah to leave.

A few moments later they were all in Charlotte’s bedroom, the door closed.

“Well?” Emily asked.

“Charlotte heard something today which we think you ought to know,” Sarah replied. “It’s in your own interest.”

“When people say that, it always means something unpleasant.” Emily looked at Charlotte. “All right, what is it?”