Bedford Square - Anne Perry [1]
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eISBN: 978-0-307-76769-1
v3.1
FOR MY MOTHER
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 LEANED OUT of the bedroom window in his nightshirt and looked down into the street below. The police constable was standing on the pavement staring up at him. The constable’s face, yellow in the gaslight from the street lamps, was tense and unhappy, and it was for more reason than simply having woken the commander of the Bow Street police station at four o’clock in the morning.
“Dead, sir,” he answered Pitt’s question. “An’ I can’t see as ’ow it could a’ bin an accident, not ’ow ’e is, an’ w’ere I found ’im. An’ I oughta be gettin’ back, sir. I darsen’t leave ’im there by ’isself, sir. Someone might move ’im, like … mess wif evidence.”
“Yes, of course,” Pitt agreed. “Go back, Constable. You did the right thing. I’ll get dressed and I’ll be there. I presume you haven’t had a chance to call the surgeon or the mortuary van?”
“No sir, I come straight ’ere, seein’ as w’ere ’e is.”
“I’ll call them. You go back and stand guard.”
“Yes sir. I’m sorry, sir.”
“Don’t be. You did the right thing,” Pitt repeated, pulling his head in and shivering involuntarily. It was June—at least nominally summer—but in London the nights were still chilly, and there was a faint mist hanging over the city.
“What is it?” Charlotte sat up in bed and fumbled for a match. He heard it scrape and then saw the flame as it caught the wick of the candle. It lit her face softly, gleaming on the warm, dark color of her hair, which was falling out of its long braid. She looked worried.
“They’ve found a body in Bedford Square,” he answered. “It seems as if he was murdered.”
“Do they really need you for that?” she protested. “Is it somebody important?”
Since his promotion Pitt had been asked to concentrate on those cases which were of political significance or threatened scandal.
“Maybe not,” he replied, closing the window and walking over to where his clothes were hanging across the back of the chair. He took off his nightshirt and began to dress, not bothering with collar or cravat. There was water in the ewer, and he poured it into the basin. It was cold, but there was certainly no time to light the kitchen stove and heat it so he could shave. Unfortunately, there was also no time for a cup of tea, which he would have liked even more. He splashed his face and felt the sharp tingle of coldness, then with his eyes shut, felt for the towel.
“Thank you.” He took it from Charlotte’s outstretched hand. He rubbed his face vigorously, feeling the rough cotton stir the blood and warm him. “Because apparently he was on the front doorstep of one of the big houses,” he replied.
“Oh.” She understood the implications. London was peculiarly sensitive to scandal just now. In the previous year, 1890, a scandal had occurred at Tranby Croft. Now the trial was rocking the entire country. It was all very regrettable, a matter of gambling at a country house party, an accusation of cheating at baccarat, an illegal game, and of course an indignant denial. But what could not be hidden or excused was that the Prince of Wales had been involved and was now to be called to the witness stand to give evidence. Half of London opened the daily newspapers with bated breath.
Pitt finished dressing. He put his arms around Charlotte and kissed her, feeling the warmth of her skin and pushing back the heavy hair with his fingers, enjoying its softness with an all-too-fleeting pleasure.
“Go back to bed,” he said gently. “I’ll be home when I can, but I doubt it’ll be for breakfast.” He tiptoed across the floor and opened the door quietly, not to waken the children and Gracie, the maid, asleep up on the top floor. The landing gaslight was always