Bedford Square - Anne Perry [2]
The air was damp and chilly but it was already beginning to get light, and he walked quickly along the glistening pavement towards the corner of Gower Street and turned left. It was only a few yards into Bedford Square, and even from that distance he saw the unhappy figure of the constable standing alone about halfway along the pavement. He looked immensely relieved to see Pitt striding towards him out of the gloom. His expression brightened visibly and he waved his bull’s-eye lantern.
“Over ’ere, sir!” he called out.
Pitt neared him and glanced where he was pointing. The dark figure was easy to see lying sprawled on the front steps of the large house immediately to their left. It seemed almost as if he must have been reaching for the doorbell when he fell. The cause of death was apparent. There was a deep and bloody wound on the side of his head. It was difficult to imagine how he could have come by it in any accident. Nothing that could have occurred in the roadway would have thrown him so far, nor was there another wound visible.
“Hold the light for me,” Pitt requested, kneeling down beside the body and looking at it more closely. He touched his hand gently to the man’s throat. There was no pulse, but the flesh was still just warm. “What time did you find him?” he asked.
“Sixteen minutes afore four, sir.”
Pitt glanced at his pocket watch. It was now thirteen minutes past. “What time did you come this way before that?”
“Abaht quarter afore three, sir. ’e weren’t ’ere then.”
Pitt turned around to look up at the street lamps. They were off. “Find the lamplighter,” he ordered. “He can’t have been here long ago. They’re still lit on Keppel Street, and it’s barely daylight enough to see anywhere. He’s a bit sharp as it is.”
“Yessir!” the constable agreed with alacrity.
“Anyone else?” Pitt asked as the constable took a step away.
“No sir. Too early for deliveries. They don’ start till five at the soonest. No maids up yet. ’Nother ’alf hour at least. Bit late fer partyers. Most o’ them’s ’orne by three. Though yer never know yer chances, like. Yer could ask ….”
Pitt smiled wryly. He noticed that the constable had abandoned doing it himself and considered Pitt the one to work the gentry of Bedford Square and ask them if they had happened to notice a corpse on the doorstep, or even a fight in the street, as they returned from their revels.
“If I have to,” Pitt said dourly. “Did you look in his pockets?”
“No sir. I left that fer you, sir.”
“I don’t suppose you have any idea who he is? Not a local servant or tradesman, suitor to one of the maids around here?”
“No sir, I in’t never seen ’im afore. I don’t reckon as ’e belongs ’ere. Shall I go an’ find the lamplighter, sir, afore ’e goes too far?”
“Yes, go and find him. Bring him back here.”
“Yessir!” And before Pitt could think of any more questions for him, he put his bull’s-eye down on the step, turned on his heel and strode off into the broadening dawn light.
Pitt picked up the lantern and examined the dead man. His face was lean, the skin weathered, as if he spent much of his time outside. There was a faint stubble of beard across his cheeks. His hair had little color, a dark mousy brown that had probably been fair in his youth. His features were pleasant enough, a trifle pinched, upper lip too short, eyebrows wispy, the left one with a pronounced break in it as if from an old scar. It was a face easy to see and forget, like thousands of others. Pitt used his finger to ease the collarless shirt back an inch or two. The skin under it was fair, almost white.
Next he looked at the man’s hands. They