“Not strangled, sir, garotted.” Pitt held his hands up, pulling tight an invisible wire. “With a wire he just happened to be carrying, no doubt in case of such a contingency.”
Edward’s face was white.
“I shall report you to your superiors for impertinence!”
Charlotte felt an idiotic desire to giggle. No doubt it was hysteria.
“Did he also kill Chloe Abernathy?” Pitt enquired, “and the Hiltons’ maid as well? Or have we two hangmen loose in Cater Street?”
They stared at him in silence. He was a ludicrous figure in their quiet withdrawing room-with ludicrous, ugly, and frightening suggestions.
Charlotte felt Emily’s hand creep into hers, and she was glad to hang on to it.
No one answered Pitt.
Chapter Four
The following day was one of the worst that Charlotte could ever recall. Everyone was feeling wretched, although it showed variously in different people. Papa was shorter-tempered than usual, and very full of authority. Mama was endlessly seeing to practical details, as if sorting out the kitchen and the housework would somehow alter other events. Sarah kept repeating the comments of social acquaintances until Charlotte finally lost her temper and told her in no uncertain terms to be quiet. Dominic already was quiet, to the point of silence. Emily seemed least affected, her mind obviously on other things. The only good thing to be said was that Grandmama was still staying with Susannah, and as yet was not in a position to offer comment.
Since it was a Saturday there was no work, and no one felt like going out for any other purpose.
The vicar sent a small note, by messenger, to express his regrets.
“Very courteous of him,” Sarah said, glancing at it when her father had read it.
“It’s the least he could do,” Charlotte said irritably. The very thought of the vicar was enough to make her spit.
“You don’t expect him to come in person over a servant,” Sarah was also annoyed now. “Besides, there really isn’t anything he can do.”
Charlotte searched for an argument to that, and could not find one. She saw Dominic’s amused dark eyes on her, and felt the blood rush to her face. If only she could stop that happening! It made her feel so foolish.
Caroline came in at that moment, her face coloured from rushing, her hair a little astray. Edward looked up.
“What on earth have you been doing, my dear? You look like-there’s something on your nose.”
She brushed at it automatically, and made it worse.
Charlotte took a handkerchief and removed the mark from her. It was flour.
“Have you been cooking?” Edward asked with pained surprise. “What’s the matter with Mrs. Dunphy?”
“She’s got a headache. I’m afraid all this business has hit her very hard. She was fond of Lily, you know. Anyway, I rather like cooking. I came because I just remembered I promised to take a receipt for vegetable soup to Mrs. Harding, and I wondered if two of you would take it for me this afternoon?”
Charlotte liked Mrs. Harding. She was a sharp-tongued but very long-memoried old lady with endless recollections about all sorts of people she had known in her somewhat colourful youth, before she had married above herself, and settled to wealth and respectability. Charlotte doubted all the stories were true, but they were hugely entertaining.
“I’ll be happy to go, Mama,” she offered quickly.
“You must take Sarah or Emily with you.” Caroline looked at them both.
“I’m busy,” Emily replied. “I have sewing to do, since we are a maid short. There is linen to be mended.”
“And if Mrs. Dunphy is sick,” Sarah added, “then I shall stay at home and see if there is anything I can do for her. Perhaps I can talk with her, take her mind off it.”
Charlotte gave her a withering stare. She knew perfectly well her reasons were not to do with Mrs. Dunphy. Sarah thought Mrs. Harding was a disreputable old gossip, and she did not wish to know her socially. As far as the gossip went, she was perfectly correct. But had her stories been a little more up to date they might well have found her a readier audience.
“Charlotte doesn’t need company,” Edward said tartly. “It’s less than two miles away. Go straight there, Charlotte, and return as soon as it is civil for you to do so. I doubt there will be any need to explain. I expect the news is all over the neighbourhood. And don’t gossip! Old Mrs. Harding is an inveterate busybody. Give her the receipt, and wish her well, and then come home again.”
“I won’t have the girls walking in the street alone,” Caroline said firmly. “Either someone goes with her, or Mrs. Harding will have to wait. The streets are too dangerous.”
“Nonsense, Caroline! She’ll be perfectly safe,” Edward sat up straighter. “It’s broad daylight.”
“It was broad daylight when Mrs. Waterman’s maid was attacked!” Caroline rejoined. “I wonder you didn’t tell us about that, so we as well as the servants might have been warned.”
“My dear Caroline, where is your sense of proportion? This lunatic, whoever he is, attacks servant girls, girls of loose morals. No one could take Charlotte to be such a creature!”
“What about Chloe Abernathy? She wasn’t a servant!”
“Yes, I was surprised about her myself. I had always considered her to be proper enough, if somewhat light-headed. It shows how one can be deceived.”
“Because she was killed?” Caroline said with a lift of amazement in her voice.
“Precisely.”
That is a completely circular argument, Charlotte thought, almost forgetting herself so far as to say so. “You are saying she was killed because she was immoral, and she was immoral because she was killed!” she finished aloud.
“I am saying she was killed because she kept immoral company,” Edward looked at her with a frown, “and the fact that she was killed proves it. Are you frightened to go out alone?” This time there was concern in his voice. He was not unkind.
“Yes,” she said honestly. “I would prefer not to.”
Dominic stretched out his legs, and then stood up swiftly.
“If you like, I’ll come with you. I doubt I should be of any assistance whatsoever here, either with the linen or with Mrs. Dunphy, and certainly not in the kitchen.”
The journey with Dominic was marvellous, in spite of the heat which beat down from the August sun, and up in waves from the pavement. Mrs. Harding was delighted to see them, although for once her flow of gossip seemed to have been cut off at the source. Perhaps it was the very masculine presence of Dominic. She offered them refreshments, and they were glad to accept a lemonade before parting. She understood but regretted their need for haste; at least she said so, but Charlotte had the distinct feeling Dominic’s presence hampered her, although she obviously admired him-as indeed what woman would not?
On the way home Dominic himself had seemed a little put out at her reticence. He said he had heard she was the best gossip in the district, and was greatly disappointed in her. Charlotte tried to explain what she felt to be the reason and ended up by regaling him with the best stories she could remember, to his vast entertainment. He laughed with pure delight, and Charlotte was blissfully, painfully as happy as she had ever been.
They arrived home to find Sarah in a rage, Papa white-faced, Emily silent, and Mama absent in the kitchen.
The happiness vanished as if a door had been closed on it, though Dominic was still smiling, as if he had not felt the change.
“What’s the matter with everyone?” he asked, going over to open the French windows. “You need some air. It’s a perfect day.” Then he swung round, his face clouded. “You’re not still thinking about Lily, are you? I’m sure she wouldn’t want or expect us to stay glum for the rest of the summer.”