Cardington Crescent - Anne Perry [31]
“My dear.” Vespasia’s voice was very soft, as if she found it difficult to speak, and her eyes, with their magnificent hooded lids, were full of tears. “My dear, George was murdered. He can hardly have known it, or felt pain, but it is indisputable. I have sent for Thomas in his office as policeman. I pray that it will be he who comes.”
Murdered! She formed the word with her lips, but her voice made no sound. George? Poor George! But why should anybody want to—
Then the answers came flooding in wave after wave of horror: Sybilla, because he had rejected her in whatever quarrel Emily had half overheard last night; or William, in jealousy—that would be so easily understandable... .
Or worst of all, Jack Radley. If he had some insane idea, after the ridiculous scene in the conservatory, that Emily meant something more than a stupid flirtation—that she could possibly—That thought was obscene, hideous. She would be responsible for deluding him, for encouraging the man to murder George!
She closed her eyes, as if she could shut out the thought with darkness. But it persisted, ugly and violently real, and the hot tears trickling down her face washed nothing away, even when she bent her head on Vespasia’s shoulder and felt her arms tighten round her and at last let herself go in the weeping she had held within too long.
5
PITT RETURNED ALONG the hot, dusty street amid the clatter of hooves, the hiss of wheels, and the shouting of a dozen different sorts of vendors of everything from flowers, bootlaces, and matches to the collection of rags and bones. Nine- or ten-year-old boys shouted where they swept a footpath between the horse droppings so gentlemen might pass from one pavement to another without soiling their boots and ladies might keep the hems of their skirts clean.
Constable Stripe was waiting at the station entrance. “Mr. Pitt, sir, we’ve bin looking all over the place for you! I told ’em as you’d bin to find that magsman.”
Pitt caught his alarm. “What is it? Have you turned up something in the Bloomsbury case?”
Stripe’s face was pale. “No, sir. This is much worse, in a manner o’ speaking. I’m that sorry, sir. Truly I am.”
Pitt was assailed by a sudden, terrible coldness—Charlotte!
“What?” he shouted, grasping Stripe so fiercely the constable winced in spite of himself. But he did not look away, nor did anger show for even an instant, which frightened Pitt even more—so much so that his throat dried up and he could make no sound.
“There’s bin a murder at Cardington Crescent, sir,” Stripe said carefully, making no move to shake off Pitt’s viselike fingers. “A Lord Ashworth is dead. And Lady Ves—Ves—Lady Cumming-Gould especially asked if you’d be the one as goes. An’ to tell you as she’d already sent ’er own carriage for Miss Charlotte, sir. An’ I’m awful sorry, Mr. Pitt, sir.”
Relief flooded through Pitt like a hot tide, almost making him sick; then he felt shame for his selfishness, and lastly an overwhelmingly pity for Emily. He looked at Stripe’s earnest face and found it extraordinarily good.
He loosened his fingers. “Thank you, Stripe. Very thoughtful of you to tell me yourself. Lord Ashworth is—was my brother-in-law.” It sounded absurd. Lord Ashworth his brother-in-law! Stripe had astounding good manners not to laugh outright. “My wife’s sister married—”
“Yes, sir,” Stripe agreed hastily. “They did insist as it was you. And there’s an ’ansom waiting.”
“Then we’d better go.” He followed Stripe along the footpath