Bluegate Fields - Anne Perry [96]
“Oh!” Charlotte’s mind raced for an answer. “I am Lady Ashworth’s sister.” That at least would make it seem unlikely she had any connection with the police. Again she felt her face scald with embarrassment.
“Then I apologize for such a—a violent and rather obscene discussion, Lady Ashworth’s sister!” A smile of genuine amusement flickered over his face. “But you invited it, and if your own sister was murdered you are already acquainted with the less pleasant side of investigations.”
“Oh, yes, of course,” Charlotte said, still blushing. He was fair; she had invited it. “I’m not shocked,” she said quickly. “But it is a very unpleasant thought that your nephew was such a—a warped person as you suggest.”
“Arthur? Yes, isn’t it. It’s a pity someone has to hang for him, even a particularly unlovable Latin master with a temperament like vinegar. Poor wretch—still, I daresay if he weren’t convicted, he’d have gone on and seduced other boys. Apparently, he interfered with Arthur’s younger brother, too—and Titus Swynford. Shouldn’t have done that. If Arthur dumped him, he should have found someone else already so inclined—stuck to the willing, not have gone scaring the sense out of some child like Titus. He’s a nice boy, Titus. A bit like Fanny, only not so clever, thank heaven. Clever girls Fanny’s age terrify me. They notice everything and then remark it with piercing clarity, at the most unfortunate times. Comes of having too little to do.”
At that point Fanny returned, proudly carrying Charlotte’s punch, and Vanderley excused himself and wandered away, leaving Charlotte puzzled and vaguely excited. He had sowed seeds of ideas she had hardly even thought of, and, she believed, neither had Pitt.
9
PITT WAS QUITE unaware of Charlotte’s enterprise. He was so preoccupied with his own doubts about the proof of Jerome’s guilt that he accepted at face value her having gone calling with Great-Aunt Vespasia, something that at another time he would have regarded with sensible suspicion. Charlotte had respect and considerable affection for Aunt Vespasia, but she would not have gone calling with her for purely social reasons. It was a circle in which Charlotte had neither place nor interest.
Concern about Jerome tantalized Pitt’s thoughts and made concentration on anything else almost impossible. He performed his other investigations mechanically, so much so that a junior sergeant had to point out to him his oversights, at which Pitt lost his temper, principally because he knew he was at fault, and then had to apologize to the man. To his credit, the man accepted it with grace; he recognized worry when he saw it, and appreciated a senior who could unbend enough to admit fault.
But Pitt knew it for a warning. He must do something more about Jerome or his conscience would intrude further and further until it upset all decent thought and he made some mistake that could not be undone.
Like hanging: that, too, could not be undone. A man imprisoned wrongfully could be released, could begin to rebuild his life. But a man hanged was gone forever.
It was morning. Pitt was sitting at his desk sorting through a pile of reports. He had looked at every sheet and read the words with his eyes, but not a single fraction of their meaning penetrated his brain.
Gillivray was sitting opposite, waiting, staring.
Pitt picked the reports up again and began again at the beginning. Then he looked up. “Gillivray?”
“Yes, sir?”
“How did you find Abigail Winters?”
“Abigail Winters?” Gillivray frowned.
“That’s what I said. How did you find her?”
“Process of elimination, sir,” Gillivray replied a little irritably. “I investigated lots of prostitutes. I was prepared to go through them all, if necessary. She was about twenty-fifth, or something like that. Why? I can’t see that it matters now.”
“Did anyone suggest her to you?”
“Of course they did! How else do you think I find any prostitutes? I don’t know them for myself. I got her name from some of the contacts I got the other names from. I didn’t get hers from anyone special,