Cardington Crescent - Anne Perry [117]
Pitt waited.
“Wanted one o’ the babes. Some women is like that. Lorst one of ’er own an’ come ’ere ter get another, like they was new dresses or suffin. Well, o’ course I couldn’t give ’er one.”
“Why not?” Pitt asked icily. “I would have thought you’d be only too pleased to find a good home for an orphan. Save you working yourself to the bone and stinting yourself to care for it anymore!”
She ignored his sarcasm; she could not afford to retaliate, but the anger was there in her eyes, hot and black.
“Them children is in my care, Mr. Pitt! An’ she didn’t want jus’ any one. Oh, no. She wanted a partic’lar one—one as’s mother was aht o’ means temporary, like, an’ jus’ ’avin’ me care for ’er little girl till she was better placed. An’ when this woman goes off ’er ’ead an insists on ’avin’ this one babe an’ no other, I ’ad ter refuse ’er. Well, she flew at me like a mad thing! I ’ad ter defend meself, or she’da cut me throat!”
“Oh, yes? What with?”
“Wiv a knife, o’ course! We was in the kitchen an’ she snatched up a carvin’ knife orff the table an’ went at me. Well, I ’ad ter fight fer me life, an’ I did! It was a sort o’ haccident she got killed—I merely meant ter save meself, like any person would!”
“So you cut her up and wrapped her in parcels, which you took to Septimus Wigge to burn,” Pitt said bitingly. “Why was that? Seems like a lot of unnecessary trouble.”
“You got a cruel tongue, Mr. Pitt.” She was gaining confidence. “An’ a nasty mind. ‘Cause I couldn’t take the risk o’ you bleedin’ rozzers not believin’ me—just like you don’t now. Sort o’ proves I was right, don’t it?”
“Absolutely, Mrs. Mapes. I don’t believe a word of it—except that you probably did stick the kitchen knife into her and killed her. And then carried on with the knife, and maybe a cleaver as well.”
“Yer may not believe me, Mr. Pitt.” She put her hands on her hips. “But there’s nuffin as you can prove. It’s my word ’gainst yours, and no court in Lunnon’s goin’ ter ’ang a woman on the misbelief o’ one o’ your kind, an’ that’s a fact.”
She was right, and it was a bitter taste to swallow.
“I shall still charge you with disposing of the body,” he said flatly. “And you’ll go down for a nice stretch for that.”
She let out a coarse expletive of denial. “’Alf the poor doesn’t tell the pigs o’ every death in places like St. Giles. People’s dyin’ all the time.”
“Then why didn’t you simply have her buried, like all these others you’re talking about?”
“Because she was knifed, o’ course, fool! Wot priest is goin’ ter bury a woman as ’as bin knifed? An’ she didn’t come from St. Giles. She was a stranger ’ere. There’d a’ bin questions. But the law’s the same—if yer charge me wiv that yer’ve gotta charge all the others. I reckon when the judge ears ’ow she came at me, an’ ’ow terrible sorry I was when she haccidental-like fell on the knife ’erself in the struggle, ’e’ll unnerstand why I lorst me ’ead an’ got rid of ’er.”
“Well, we’ll find out, Mrs. Mapes, I promise you,” he said bitterly. “Because you’ll have your chance to tell him.” He raised his voice. “Constable!”
Immediately the door opened and the burlier of the two constables came in. “Yes, sir?”
“Stay here with Mrs. Mapes and see she doesn’t leave—for anything. She’s a rare one with a knife—has accidents in which people who threaten her end up carved in little bits and dropped in parcels round half of London. So watch yourself.”
“Yes, sir.” The man’s face hardened. He knew St. Giles, and not much surprised him. “I’ll take good care of ’er, sir. She’ll be ’ere, safe as ’ouses, when yer gets back.”
“Good.” Pitt went out into the corridor and along to the kitchen. There were five girls sitting round, the other constable in their midst. He stood up as Pitt came in, and the girls did too, out of habit towards adults—not from respect, but from fear.
Pitt wandered in and sat casually on the edge of the big central wooden table, and one by one the girls resumed their seats, huddled together.