Ashworth Hall - Anne Perry [0]
Published by Fawcett Books:
Featuring Thomas and Charlotte Pitt:
THE CATER STREET HANGMAN
CALLANDER SQUARE
PARAGON WALK
RESURRECTION ROW
RUTLAND PLACE
BLUEGATE FIELDS
DEATH IN THE DEVIL’S ACRE
CARDINGTON CRESCENT
SILENCE IN HANOVER CLOSE
BETHLEHEM ROAD
HIGHGATE RISE
BELGRAVE SQUARE
FARRIERS’ LANE
THE HYDE PARK HEADSMAN
TRAITORS GATE
PENTECOST ALLEY
ASHWORTH HALL
BRUNSWICK GARDENS
BEDFORD SQUARE
HALF MOON STREET
THE WHITECHAPEL CONSPIRACY
SOUTHAMPTON ROW
SEVEN DIALS
LONG SPOON LANE
BUCKINGHAM PALACE GARDENS
Featuring William Monk:
THE FACE OF A STRANGER
A DANGEROUS MOURNING
DEFEND AND BETRAY
A SUDDEN, FEARFUL DEATH
THE SINS OF THE WOLF
CAIN HIS BROTHER
WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE
THE SILENT CRY
A BREACH OF PROMISE
THE TWISTED ROOT
SLAVES OF OBSESSION
FUNERAL IN BLUE
DEATH OF A STRANGER
THE SHIFTING TIDE
DARK ASSASSIN
The World War I Novels:
NO GRAVES AS YET
SHOULDER THE SKY
ANGELS IN THE GLOOM
AT SOME DISPUTED BARRICADE
WE SHALL NOT SLEEP
The Christmas Novels:
A CHRISTMAS JOURNEY
A CHRISTMAS VISITOR
A CHRISTMAS GUEST
A CHRISTMAS SECRET
A CHRISTMAS BEGINNING
A CHRISTMAS GRACE
A Fawcett Book
Published by The Random House Publishing Group
Copyright © 1997 by Anne Perry
All rights reserved.
Published in the United States by Fawcett Books, an imprint of The Random House Publishing Group, a division of Random House, Inc., New York, and simultaneously in Canada by Random House of Canada Limited, Toronto.
Fawcett is a registered trademark and the Fawcett colophon is a trademark of Random House, Inc.
www.ballantinebooks.com
Library of Congress Catalog Card Number: 97-97089
eISBN: 978-0-307-76767-7
v3.1
To my mother, for her courage and belief,
and to Meg MacDonald for her friendship,
her good ideas, and her untiring constructive comments
Contents
Cover
Other Books by this Author
Title Page
Copyright
Dedication
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
1
PITT STARED DOWN at the body of the man lying on the stones of the alley. It was a gray October dusk. A few yards away on Oxford Street the carriages and hansoms were whirling by, wheels hissing on the wet road, horses’ hooves clattering. The lamps were already lit, pale moons in the gathering darkness.
The constable shone his lantern on the dead face.
“ ’E’s one o’ ours, sir,” he said with tight anger straining his voice. “Least ’e used ter be. I know’d ’im. That’s why I sent for you personal, Mr. Pitt. ’E went orff ter summink special. Dunno wot. But ’e were a good man, Denbigh were. I’d swear ter that.”
Pitt bent down to look more closely. The dead man—his name was Denbigh, according to the constable—looked to be about thirty and was fair skinned, dark haired. Death had not marred his features. He looked only slightly surprised.
Pitt took the lantern and shone it slowly over the rest of him. He was dressed in very ordinary cheap fabric trousers, plain cotton collarless shirt and poorly cut jacket. He could have been a laborer or factory worker, or even a young man come in from the country looking for employment. He was a little thin, but his hands were clean, his nails well cut.
Pitt wondered if he had a wife and children, parents, someone who was going to grieve for him with the deep, hurting pain of love, more than the respect this constable beside him felt.
“What station was he from?” he asked.
“Battersea, sir. That’s w’ere I knew ’im. ’E weren’t never in Bow Street, which is w’y you don’t know ’im, sir. But this in’t no ordinary murder. ’E’s bin shot, an’ street robbers don’ carry guns. They uses knives or a garrote.”
“Yes, I know that.” Pitt looked through the dead man’s pockets gently, his fingers searching. He found only a handkerchief, clean and mended carefully on one corner, and two shillings and nine-pence ha’penny in change. There were no letters or papers to identify the body.
“You’re sure this is Denbigh?”
“Yes sir, I’m sure. I know ’im