Cater Street Hangman (20 page)

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.

Chapter Ten

O
F COURSE,
C
HARLOTTE KNEW
nothing about Dominic’s feelings, or what had passed between him and Sarah on his return from the club. But the following day she could not help but be aware that there was a deep strain between them, deeper than anything accountable for by Sarah’s standing suspicion about Dominic and herself.

The whole matter was swept violently from her mind in the afternoon, however, when she was alone in the house, copying out a folder of recipes for Mrs. Lessing. She had just turned to the window to look at the clouds massing; everyone else was out visiting and Charlotte was thinking that they would get wet—when there was a timid, urgent rapping at the door.

“Come in,” she said absently. It was too early for tea. It must be some problem with the preparations for dinner.

It was Millie, the new maid, and she looked terrified. Charlotte’s immediate thought was that she had been outside on some errand, perhaps only as far as the areaway, and had either been molested herself, or seen something or someone that had put the hangman into her mind.

“Come in, Millie,” Charlotte said again. “You had better sit down. You look dreadful. What is it?”

“Oh, Miss Charlotte.” The poor child was shaking as if she had a fever. “I’m so glad it’s you!”

“Sit down, Millie, and tell me what has happened,” Charlotte commanded.

Millie’s legs seemed locked rigid and her hands were twisting in each other as if of their own volition. Suddenly speech deserted her and she looked as though she was about to run.

“For goodness’ sake,” Charlotte sighed, taking Millie bodily and pushing her into a chair. “Now what has happened? Were you outside on an errand? Or in the areaway?”

“Oh no, Miss Charlotte!” she looked quite surprised.

“Well, what is it then? Where were you?”

“Upstairs in my room, Miss. Oh, Mrs. Dunphy told me I could go!”

Charlotte stepped back; she was confused herself. She had been sure Millie’s pale demeanor had something to do with the hangman. Now it seemed it had not.

“So what’s wrong, Millie? Are you sick?”

“No, Miss,” Millie stared down at her hands, still twisting in her lap. Charlotte followed her eyes, and realized for the first time that she was holding something.

“What have you got, Millie?”

“Oh,” Millie’s eyes filled with tears. “I wouldn’t have brought it Miss, but I was afraid for my name!” She sniffed violently. “I’m so glad it’s you, Miss.” She began to cry with quiet hopelessness.

Charlotte was puzzled; she was not only sorry for Millie, but a little frightened herself.

“What is it, Millie?” She put out her hand. “Give it to me.”

Slowly Millie’s white little fingers uncurled to show a crumpled man’s necktie. It meant nothing at all to Charlotte. She could not see any reason why Millie had brought it to her, or why it should inspire any feeling whatever, let alone the paralyzing terror that so obviously had stricken Millie.

Charlotte took it and held it up. Millie stared at her with enormous eyes.

“It’s a necktie,” Charlotte said blankly. “What’s the matter with it?” Then another thought came to her. “Millie, you didn’t think anyone was strangled with a necktie, did you?” She felt relief sweep through her, almost weakening her knees. She wanted to laugh. “It wasn’t a necktie, Millie! It was a garotting wire. Nothing like this! Take it away, and have Maddock attend to it. It’s filthy!”

“Yes, Miss Charlotte,” but Millie didn’t move. The fear still held her white and motionless.

“Go on, Millie!”

“It’s Mr. Dominic’s, Miss Charlotte. I know, because I collect the laundry. The master’s are made of a different stuff. You can always tell them apart. When I take the laundry back I only have to look, and I know whose it is.”

Charlotte felt the sick fear come back, though it was without reason. Why should it matter that Dominic had lost a tie?

“So it’s Mr. Dominic’s,” she said with a quick swallow. “It’s filthy. Take it back to the laundry.”

Millie stood up very slowly, gripping the tie hard, mangling it in her hands.

“It’s nothing to do with me, Miss Charlotte; I swear it isn’t. As God is my judge, Miss, I swear it!” She was shaking with the passion of her fear and her need to be believed.

Charlotte could no longer avoid it. Her stomach felt hard and cold inside her. There could be only one question that mattered. She asked it.

“Where did you find it, Millie?”

“In my bedroom, Miss.” Her face flushed painfully. “It was under the bed. When I turned the mattress it fell from round the bedstead onto the floor, Miss. That’s why it’s all creased and dusty. It was there from before I came, Miss. I swear it!”

Charlotte felt as if her world had exploded. A voice whispered inside her that she should have expected it. She hunted in the chaos for something worth saving, to start rebuilding with. That had been Lily’s room for years. Sarah had never slept there; there had never been legitimate reason for Dominic to go to it. Could Lily have taken laundry there for some reason? Could Lily have taken it to mend? That possibility was excluded simply enough. There was no tear in it. Could Millie be lying? A glance at her face was enough to dismiss that notion.

“I’m sorry, Miss,” Millie whispered desperately. “Did I do wrong?”

Charlotte put out her hand and touched the girl’s clenched arm.

“No, Millie, you did the right thing, and there is no need to be afraid. But in case anyone should misunderstand, don’t speak of it again unless. . . .” She did not want to say it.

“Unless what, Miss?” Millie stared at her, gratitude in her eyes. “What should I say if I’m asked, Miss Charlotte?”

“I don’t see any reason why you should be asked, but if you are then tell the truth, Millie: just exactly what you know, nothing else. Don’t make any guesses. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Miss Charlotte. And—thank you, Miss.”

“That’s all right, Millie. And you’d better get that thing washed, and put it with the rest of the laundry. Please do it yourself. Don’t let Miss Sarah know.”

Millie’s face whitened.

“Miss Charlotte, do you think—”

“I don’t think anything, Millie. And I don’t want Miss Sarah to think anything either. Now go and do as you’re told.”

“Yes, Miss.” Millie bobbed a little curtsey and almost tripped over her feet going out.

As soon as she had gone, Charlotte collapsed onto the seat behind her, her legs shaking, her fingers stiff with pins and needles.

Dominic and Lily! Dominic on Lily’s bed! Dominic taking his tie off, his shirt, perhaps more, and then putting them on again in such a hurry he forgot his tie. She felt sick. Lily—little Lily Mitchell.

She had loved Dominic with all her heart, not asking anything in return, and he had gone to Lily, the maid. Was there something wrong with Dominic, with all men? Or with her? Was it her tongue? Was she unfeminine? People had liked her, but only that wretched Pitt had ever admired her, been enamoured of her because she was a woman.

This was ridiculous. Self-pity helped no one. She must think of something else. Lily was dead. Had she loved Dominic, too, or was it just—no, don’t think about that! Dominic was handsome, charming—her heart lurched. Why shouldn’t any woman admire him? Verity had, and she had seen it in Chloe’s eyes, too. And they were both dead!

She sat frozen. It could not be! Dominic had seen Papa in Cater Street the night Lily was killed. That meant he had been there himself. They had forgotten that. They had only thought about Papa. It had never even occurred to her that Dominic . . . ?

What was she saying? She loved Dominic; she had always loved him, as long as she had been a woman. How could this even be entering her mind?

What was the love she felt for him, then? What was it worth if she knew him so little she did not even know in her heart whether he could have done such things? Could she really love someone whom she knew so little? Before this afternoon she could not have conceived of his sleeping with Lily! And now in less than an hour she had accepted it. Was her love little more than fascination, love for love itself, love for something she imagined him to be, even love for his face, his smile, his eyes, the way his hair grew? Did she know, or love, anything of the man inside? What did he feel or think that had nothing to do with her, or even Sarah? Was it possible he loved Lily, or Verity—or hated them?

The more she thought about it, the more confused she became, the more she doubted herself and the love she thought she had felt so passionately all these years.

She was still sitting oblivious of the room, of the house, and certainly of time, when there was a knock on the door. It was Dora to say that the vicar’s wife had called, and should she bring tea, since it was approaching four o’clock.

Charlotte recalled herself with a massive effort. She had absolutely no desire whatever to see anyone, least of all Martha Prebble.

“Yes, Dora, by all means,” she said automatically. “And show Mrs. Prebble in.”

Martha Prebble looked less weary than the last time Charlotte had seen her. Some of her spirit seemed to have returned and there was a look of purpose in her face again.

She came forward with her hands out, frowning a little.

“My dear Charlotte, you look very pale. Are you well, my dear?”

“Oh yes, thank you, Mrs. Prebble.” Then she thought she had better explain herself, if she looked anything like she felt. “A little tired perhaps. I didn’t sleep very well last night. Nothing to be concerned about. Please sit down?” she indicated the overstuffed chair. She knew it was comfortable.

Martha sat. “You must take care of yourself. You have been such a help to poor Mrs. Lessing. Don’t now wear yourself out.”

Charlotte forced a smile. “You should be the last person to offer such advice. You seem to be everywhere, helping everyone.” A thought occurred to her. “And now you are here alone! Did you walk through the streets alone? You really shouldn’t do that! I shall send Maddock back with you. It will be growing darker by the time you leave. It could be quite dangerous!”

“That is most kind of you, but I fear I cannot become accustomed to having an escort wherever I go.”

“Then you must stay at home, at least . . . at least as long—”

Martha leaned forward, a faint smile on her strong face. “As long as what, my dear? Until the police catch this man? And how long do you imagine that will be? I cannot stop my parish work. There are many who need me. We are not all equally fortunate, you know. There are those who are alone, old, perhaps sick. Women whose husbands are dead or have abandoned them, women who have children to bring up without any help. The comfortable in the parish do not wish to know about them, but they are here.”

“In this area?” Charlotte was surprised. She thought everyone near Cater Street was at least satisfactorily placed, had the necessities of life, even a few comforts. She had never seen any poor, not that lived here.

“Oh, very respectable.” Martha’s eyes looked out of the window. “The poverty is underneath; the clothes are patched, sewed over and over. Perhaps there is only one pair of shoes, perhaps only one meal a day. Appearance, self-respect are everything.”

“Oh, how dreadful,” Charlotte did not mean it as tritely as it sounded. It was dreadful. It hurt. It was not like the grinding, starving poverty Inspector Pitt had told her about, but it was still painful, a constant, wearing pain. She had never in her life been hungry, or even had to wonder if something could be afforded. True, she had admired clothes she knew she could not have, but she had more than she could possibly claim to need.

“I’m sorry. Can I help?”

Martha smiled, putting her hand out to touch Charlotte’s knee.

“You are a very good girl, Charlotte. You take after your mother. I’m sure there will be things you can do, things you already have done. It is a great tragedy not all the young women in the parish conduct themselves as you do.”

She was interrupted by Dora bringing in tea. After Dora had gone, and Charlotte had poured and handed her her cup, she continued.

“There is so much lightmindedness, seeking one’s own pleasure.”

Charlotte reluctantly thought of Emily. Dearly as she loved her, she could not recall Emily ever having pursued any ends but her own.

“I’m afraid so,” she agreed. “Perhaps it is only lack of understanding?”

“Ignorance is something of an excuse, but not entirely. So often we do not look because if we looked we should feel obliged to do something.”

It was undeniably true, and it struck a note of guilt in Charlotte. Inadvertently she thought of Pitt. He had obliged her to see things she would have preferred not to, things that disturbed her, destroyed her peace of mind, her comfort. And she had disliked him intensely for it.

“I tried to make Verity see it the same way,” Martha was saying, her eyes on Charlotte’s face. “She had so many good qualities, poor Verity.”

“And I understand you knew Chloe fairly well, too.” The minute Charlotte had said it she wished she had not. It was a cruel reminder, a wakening of pain. She saw Martha’s face tighten and a spasm pass through the muscles round her mouth.

“Poor Chloe,” she said with a tone Charlotte could not understand. “So frivolous, so light. Laughing when she should not have. Pursuing society. I’m afraid there were sometimes sinful things on her mind, things of the—,” she caught her breath. “But let us not speak ill of the dead. She has paid for her sin and everything that was corrupting and corruptible in her is gone.”

Charlotte stared at her. The strong, fair face was full of confusion and unhappiness.

“Let us talk of something else,” Charlotte said firmly. “I have been copying out some recipes. I am sure you would be interested in at least one of them, because I remember Sarah saying you had enquired after a recipe for fricandeau of veal with spinach. I hear Mrs. Hilton has an extremely good cook? Or so Mrs. Dunphy was saying to Mama.”

“Yes, indeed. And so willing,” Martha agreed. “She does so much for church fetes and so forth, an excellent hand with pastry. It is not every cook who can make a good puff pastry, you know. Put their fingers in it too much. Light and quick, one needs to be. And also very clever with preserves and candied fruits. She was always sending her maid round with—” she stopped, her face pale, eyes distressed again.