Bluegate Fields - Anne Perry [112]
Inside was the potbellied stove, and the same constable sat at the desk writing up a report, an enamel mug of tea steaming at his elbow. He looked startled when he saw Emily in her green morning dress and feathered hat, and although he knew Pitt, he did not know Charlotte. For a moment he was at a loss for words.
“Good morning, Constable,” Emily said cheerfully.
He snapped to attention, slid off his seat, and stood up. That at least had to be correct; one did not sit on one’s behind to speak with ladies of quality.
“Good morning, ma’am.” His eye took in Charlotte. “Ma’am. Are you lost, ladies? Can I ’elp you?”
“No, thank you, we are not lost,” Emily replied briskly, with a smile so dazzling the constable was completely disconcerted again. “I am Lady Ashworth, and this is my sister Mrs. Pitt. I believe you know Inspector Pitt? Good, of course you do. Perhaps you did not know there is a great desire for reform at the moment, especially with regard to the abuse of children in the trade of prostitution.”
The constable blanched at a lady using so vulgar a term, and was embarrassed by it, although he frequently heard far coarser expressions used by others.
But she did not give him time to protest, or even to cogitate upon it.
“A great desire,” she continued. “And for this, of course, a certain amount of correct information is required. I know that a young boy prostitute was pulled out of the river here yesterday. I should like to see him.”
Every vestige of color drained out of his face.
“You can’t, ma’am! ’E’s dead!”
“I know he’s dead, Constable,” Emily said patiently. “He would be, having been strangled and dropped into the river. It is the corpse that I wish to see.”
“The corpse?” he repeated, stupefied.
“Exactly,” she said. “If you will be so kind?”
“I can’t! It’s ’orrible, ma’am—quite ’orrible. You can’t ’ave any idea, or you wouldn’t ask. It’s not for any lady at all to see, let alone the likes o’ you!”
Emily opened her mouth to argue, but Charlotte could see that the whole initiative was going to slip away if she did not intervene.
“Of course it is,” she agreed, adding her own smile to Emily’s. “And we appreciate your sensitivity to our feelings. But we have both seen death before, Constable. And if we are to fight for reform, we must make people aware that it is not pleasant—indeed as long as they are permitted to deceive themselves that it is unimportant, so long will they fail to do anything about it. Do you not agree?”
“Well—well put like that, ma’am—but I can’t let you go and look at something like that! ’E’s dead, ma’am—very dead indeed!”
“Nonsense!” Emily said sharply. “It’s freezing cold! We have seen bodies before that were far worse than this one can possibly be. Mrs. Pitt once found one over a month old, half burned and full of maggots.”
That left the constable speechless. He stared at Charlotte as if she had produced the article right there in front of him by some abominable sleight of hand.
“So will you be good enough to take us to see poor Albie?” Emily said briskly. “You did not send him back to Bluegate Fields, did you?”
“Oh, no, ma’am. We got a message as they didn’t want ’im after all. Said as ’e’d bin took out o’ the river ’ere, we ’ad as much right to ’im as anyone else.”
“Then let us go.” Emily began to walk toward the only other door, and Charlotte followed her, hoping the constable would not block them.
“I ought to ask my sergeant!” the constable said helplessly. “ ’E’s upstairs. Let the go an’ ask ’im if’n you can!” This was his chance to put the whole ridiculous thing into someone else’s hands. He had been used to all manner of weird affairs coming in through the door, from drunks to terrified girls or practical jokers, but this was the worst of all. He knew they really were ladies; he may work in Deptford, but he knew quality when he saw it!
“I wouldn’t dream of putting you to the trouble,” Emily