Cain His Brother - Anne Perry [88]
“She could want something that was fun,” he said cheerfully. “If Angus were a bore, then definitely she would seek something he would not do.”
“A music hall,” she said with a laugh. “A penny arcade. A marionette show, maybe Punch and Judy? A band or a street musician? There are so many things that a stuffy man wouldn’t do which could be marvelous—don’t you think? How about a hurdy-gurdy? A bazaar?” She gave a little giggle. “A peep show? A bare-knuckle fight?”
“What do you know about bare-knuckle fights?” he asked in surprise. It was such a brutal sport, as well as illegal.
She waved a hand. “Oh, nothing. I was thinking of her doing something really daring, where Angus would never think of looking for her, and none of his social circle would ever see her either,” she reasoned. “After all, it would have to be somewhere where no one she knew would ever see her. They might talk, and she couldn’t afford that, the more especially if she was party to his murder.”
“It wouldn’t matter if she was seen with Caleb,” he pointed out. “In the lamplight and shadow, half-decently dressed, anyone would simply assume it was Angus.”
“Oh.” She bit her lip. “Yes, of course. I’d forgotten that.” She was silent for a space of about fifty yards or so. They came to a crossroad and he guided her around Piccadilly Circus and along the far side towards the Haymarket. Most of the possibilities they mentioned were offered here, in Great Windmill Street or Shaftesbury Avenue.
Already in the glare of the gas lamps and the illumination of shop windows among the theater crowds and sightseers, they noticed women walking slowly with an arrogant set to their shoulders and swinging their hips in invitation. Skirts swayed, and now and then an ankle was visible.
They were all sorts of women: young and fresh-faced from the country; pale and sophisticated; those who had been milliners or dressmakers, or in domestic service, and lost their positions through seduction; older women, some already riddled with venereal disease.
Young gentlemen sauntered by, well-dressed, taking their pick. Others were older, even silver-haired. Every now and again two would disappear, arm-in-arm, into a doorway to some house of accommodation.
Carriages passed, hooves clattering, occupants laughing. Gaudy theater signs advertised melodrama and titillation. Monk and Drusilla passed a brazier roasting chestnuts and the wave of heat engulfed them for a moment.
“Would you like some?” he asked.
“Oh yes! Yes. I’d love some,” she accepted quickly. “I haven’t tasted them for ages.”
He bought threepence worth, and they shared them, nibbling carefully not to burn their lips or tongues, now and then glancing at each other. The chestnuts were delicious, the more so for being a touch charred on the outside and too hot in the bitter evening.
Around them swirled laughter and a spice of danger. Some men hurried by with coat collars drawn up and hats pulled down over their brows, bent on pleasures for which they preferred to be anonymous. Others were quite open and swaggered brazenly, calling out comments.
Drusilla moved closer to Monk, her eyes bright, her face smooth and glowing with an inner excitement which gave her skin a kind of radiance and made her even lovelier. She was full of laughter, as if she were on the edge of some wonderful joke.
They passed a peep show. It rose to his mind to point out that they could not actually accomplish anything, because they had no way of learning if Genevieve had ever been here, or with whom. He had no likeness of her to show. But to say so would have spoiled their fun, and that was what actually mattered. It was conceivable that Genevieve had connived at Angus’s death, but he did not believe it. Without a body, she had nothing to gain and everything to lose.
An hour later as they walked up Greek Street towards Soho Square, the subject arose, and he was obliged to answer it.
“But maybe the body will turn up?” she said, stepping up the pavement from the road. She swaggered a couple of steps, mimicking the prostitutes, and burst into