Bedford Square - Anne Perry [134]
Charlotte was sitting opposite him, her sewing discarded. He could see from the rough shape of it that it was a dress for Jemima. There seemed so much material he recalled with a jolt how rapidly she had grown. She was not a little girl anymore, and she most decidedly had opinions of her own. That had come forcibly to his attention a few times lately. It made him think with sharp pity of Christina Balantyne, and brought an awareness of how time can change people and one can be too preoccupied to notice it. Girls grow up and become women.
“Was there nothing at the orphanage?” Charlotte asked, interrupting his thoughts.
He was pleased to be able to share his findings with her. It did not make it any better; it simply hurt less.
“No. Everything was in exceptionally good order. I went through the books in detail. Every penny was accounted for. Not only that, but it was all clean and obviously well cared for, and the half dozen or so children I actually saw seemed happy and in good health, well clothed and clean also.”
“But General Balantyne was worried about it.” She frowned slightly. “He told me that himself.” She looked at him very steadily, and he knew she was waiting to be asked when she had seen him again.
He found himself smiling in spite of the gloom that he felt. She was very transparent.
“Well, it looks as if he need not have been,” he answered. “I wish all institutions were as well run.”
“He didn’t think they were misappropriating funds,” she explained. “He thought they weren’t using enough.” She took a deep breath. “But he did admit that perhaps he didn’t know very much about budgeting. I daresay he hasn’t much idea what you can do with things like potatoes and oatmeal and rice pudding, and of course bread.”
“I assume he doesn’t know much about army catering, then?” he observed.
“I didn’t ask,” she admitted. “I think honestly he was more troubled by his misjudgment of Leo Cadell. He truly liked him … and trusted him.”
“I know,” Pitt said quietly. “It has wounded Aunt Vespasia profoundly as well. I think …”
“Yes?” She was quick to respond, her face earnest.
“You might visit her a little more often … for a while. At least offer to … somehow make it tactful.”
She smiled a little ruefully. “It is not easy to be tactful with Aunt Vespasia. She can read my thoughts almost before I have them.”
“Then perhaps you had better not try. Simply offer.”
“Thomas …” she said tentatively.
“Yes?”
“What did he want? I mean, what was Cadell going to ask them all for? Was it just money, or something to do with Africa, as you thought?”
“I don’t know. His note said very little. What puzzles me far more is how he knew about Slingsby at all, that he resembled Cole, let alone that he was dead.”
“You don’t know?” She was startled.
“No. I can see why he wanted Slingsby’s body to be taken for Albert Cole’s … to increase the pressure on Balantyne … but why not use the real Albert Cole? He would be far more likely to have met him. He worked in Lincoln’s Inn Fields, where Cadell could easily have been. Any of the victims could have, and Dunraithe White assuredly has.”
“Well, what happened to Albert Cole?” she asked, her face puckered. “Where is he?”
“I have no idea.”
“Why didn’t he come forward when his death was reported in the newspapers?” she pressed.
“I don’t suppose he reads the newspapers,” he answered with a smile. “He may not read at all.”
“Oh. I never thought of that.” She showed a moment’s consternation at her own blindness, then hurried on. “Even so, other people do. And he isn’t anywhere in his usual places, is he? He’s gone from his lodgings and from the corner where he sold bootlaces, and from the public house where he drank. You told me that.”
His brief moment of humor vanished. “I am afraid he may also be dead. Perhaps he died of some cause that didn’t suit their purpose.”
“Such as what?” she demanded.
“Illness