Cardington Crescent - Anne Perry [97]
Carefully lifting the latch with both hands and holding it so it would not fall, Charlotte pulled the gate open and looked outside. To the left there was nothing but the pavement; to the right, the slender figure of Tassie walking rapidly down the Crescent.
Charlotte followed, closing the gate behind her and hurrying a dozen yards before Tassie disappeared round the corner into the main avenue. Now she was free to run without fear of drawing attention to herself. There was no one else in sight, and if she delayed Tassie might be gone when she emerged into the avenue herself. Then she would never know what violent intrigue took a nineteen-year-old heiress out in the small hours of the night and brought her home reeking with blood.
But when she got to the corner and raced round it, stopping suddenly in case her feet on the cobbles were too loud and made Tassie turn, she saw no one at all along the broad sweep of the tree-lined way. Charlotte stood with the frustration boiling up inside her—and saw Tassie come out of the shadow of a sycamore fifty yards ahead, moving very quickly.
Charlotte had been too slow. She had not imagined such haste, and now if she were to keep Tassie in sight she must run, as light-footed as possible, and within the shadows as much as she could. If Tassie were to realize she was being followed, at best any chance of discovering her secret would be lost, and the worst hardly bore thinking of—a fight with a madwoman alone in the midnight streets. That blood had come from someone!
If Pitt knew about this he would be furious—he would quite probably never forgive her. The very thought of the words he would use made her cringe. But it was not his sister who faced trial and the gallows if they failed. Even a reasonable and fair-minded person would have to agree that Emily had as good a motive for murdering her husband as most women could imagine.
Tassie was still walking swiftly along the avenue, and Charlotte was only ten yards behind her now. But when she turned off without warning into a side street, narrower and poorer, Charlotte was caught by surprise. She had been lost in her thoughts and was startled back to awareness with an unpleasant realization of how close she had been to losing Tassie, and continuing alone to God knew where.
This new street was also residential, but the houses were meaner, closer together; graciousness had yielded to necessity.
They had come to the end of the street, and Tassie was still walking rapidly, as if she knew precisely where she was going. They were now in a road which was little more than an alley, close-walled and grimy, with sagging houses propped against one another, dark threatening recesses into yards, and shadows like unknown stagnant pools. There was no one else in sight but a scrawny urchin with a huge cap a few yards ahead of Tassie, walking in the same direction. Charlotte shivered, although she was warm from hurrying and the night was mild. She dared not think how afraid she was, or she would lose her nerve and turn tail, as fast as flying feet could carry her, back to the broad, clean, familiar avenue.
But Tassie seemed to be without fear; her step was quick and light and her head was high. She knew where she was going and looked forward to getting there. There was no one in sight but the urchin, Tassie, and Charlotte herself, but God knew what lurked in the doorways. Where on earth could Tassie be going in this sour maze of tenements and grimy, pinchpenny shops? She could not possibly know anyone—could she?
Charlotte’s heart missed a beat and coldness rippled through her. Had George also wakened one night or, perhaps returning from Sybilla’s room, seen Tassie, and followed her? Was Charlotte doing exactly what he had done? Had George discovered her abominable secret—and died for it?
Incredibly her feet did not stop; some other part of her brain seemed to be governing them and they kept on quite automatically, hurrying almost soundlessly along