Acceptable Loss - Anne Perry [53]
“He used lots of different women? Why, do you think? Why not stick to the same ones?”
“Bored, I s’pec. Some o’ them toffs bore easy.”
“Ever like little girls, really young?”
“Wot?” Phoebe looked horrified. “Not as I knows of. Perhaps go fer older, ’e would. More experience. Filthy temper, like I said, but ’e could be kind too. Wouldn’t do nothin’ filthy with little girls, like. Never took advantage o’ no one new or scared, far as I know. An’ yer get to ’ear who ter be careful of. We got ter take care o’ each other.”
“And boys?”
“Wot yer mean, ‘boys’? Jeez!” She looked genuinely shocked. “Yer never sayin’ ’e’s doin’ it wi’ boys. ’Ell, not ’im! It’s against the law, but that don’t stop them as want ter—girls or boys. But not ’im.”
“Are you sure?”
“Course I’m sure! Jeez!”
Hester thanked her, and went to ask several other patients for their opinions also. Then, armed with names, she went to other street corners where she found old patients who knew her name and reputation, and were willing to speak to her.
Most had never heard of Rupert Cardew, but those who had bore out what Phoebe had said: funny, honest, at times kind, but with an uncontrollable temper, for which he seemed to take no responsibility. They believed him perfectly capable of killing in a rage, but no one had heard even a murmur that his taste ran to anything except women: well-endowed ones rather than thin, and certainly not childlike. He appreciated laughter, a little spirit, and most definitely good conversation. All of that she reluctantly recognized in them, and thus she could not help but believe them.
She went home late in the evening, tired and hungry, her feet sore. She had a whole lot more information, but she was not sure that she was really any wiser. Rupert could certainly have killed someone in a rage; in fact he was very fortunate that he had not already done so. But the more she learned of him, the less he seemed to have any reason to kill Mickey Parfitt in particular. Lord Cardew had paid his son’s debts when they must have outgrown his allowance. Time and time again he had rescued Rupert from the consequences of his self-indulgence and lack of discipline. Surely Parfitt, of all people, he would have paid off?
Or had there been some quarrel between Rupert and Parfitt that was deeper than blackmail money? Parfitt made his living from pornography and blackmail; he would know just how far to push before he drove any of his victims to despair. And after Jericho Phillips’s death, wouldn’t he have been even more careful, erring on the side of caution rather than ruthlessness? A blackmail victim driven to either murder or suicide is of no use.
Monk was quiet and sunk in his own thoughts over their late supper. He mentioned only that he was still trying to examine the trade on the boat and see if there were any other witnesses who would be useful. Under Orme’s supervision, the Foundling Hospital matron had spoken to the boys from the boat, but they were too frightened and bewildered to say anything of use, and she had very quickly drawn the interviews to a close. The matron understood what was in the balance, but her first care was to the children she had there, not future victims. White-faced and holding a child in her arms, she had told Orme to leave.
He had understood and had gone out silently, sick with grief.
Now Hester cleared away the dishes and said nothing. Scuff looked from one to the other of them, troubled, but he asked no questions. He went upstairs to bed early.
MONK HAD ALREADY GONE the next morning by the time Hester served breakfast for Scuff and herself. She had made porridge because she knew he liked it, and it kept him from being hungry, well up to midday.
“Did ’e do it, then?” he asked when his bowl was empty and he was ready for the toast, jam, and tea. His face was earnest. His eyes searched hers, trying to understand, looking for something to stop the fear growing inside him.
She hung up the striped dish towel she had