Death in the Devil's Acre - Anne Perry [24]
“I know,” Christina said quietly. She took a shaky breath. “It is extremely unpleasant.”
“The police are investigating both crimes.”
“Naturally. Although I cannot see what good it will do. Every so often, people like that are bound to get murdered. I don’t suppose there is the slightest chance they will ever discover who did it, and why hardly matters. I really cannot believe they care—they have to go through the motions because it is expected of them.”
“Doubtless. But that is not the point. It is Inspector Pitt who will try—do you remember Pitt?”
Christina winced.
“There are houses in that quarter,” Augusta continued, “where wealthy women occasionally find themselves some diversion. I dare say it offers them a certain thrill to enter into a world of filth and danger. Perhaps their own looks the sweeter after it?”
Christina’s eyes were hard and angry, her skin tight across the cheekbones. “I have no idea!”
Augusta sighed. “Don’t pretend to be stupid, Christina. And, above all, do not pretend that I am! Alan may prefer to affect ignorance of a great deal that you do—indeed, he appears to be remarkably patient. But he cannot ignore scandal—no one can. The Devil’s Acre will come under very close scrutiny. These crimes have shocked people—and, since Pinchin was relatively respectable, frightened them as well. If you cannot control your taste for slumming, you must do it elsewhere. Although you would be very wise not to do it at all. London is much smaller than you think—you cannot be anonymous for long. Your lady friends will not frequent these gambling houses or music halls, but their husbands might well. What is a dangerous adventure for you is merely a lark for them—”
“Hypocrites!” Christina spat out.
“My dear girl, stop behaving like a child. You are too old for it. Naïveté excusable at twenty is boring at twenty-five, and at thirty it becomes ridiculous. You stand in danger of losing your reputation. Take a great deal of thought as to what that means!”
“On the contrary, I am very popular and considered most entertaining!”
“So are buffoons and whores! Do you wish to be one of them?”
Christina’s face was very white. “I’m sorry you imagine I go to cheap music halls, Mama. I have never entered one in my life, so I cannot say what they offer. But if I wished to gamble, there are plenty of perfectly respectable houses where I could do so. And I do not need to find myself a lover—I have more offers than I can entertain!”
Augusta was unimpressed. She had seen Christina’s wounded dignity before. “Do you indeed? Are you telling me you have not been to the Devil’s Acre?”
“I had no intention of discussing it with you at all!”
The matter was too urgent for Augusta to lose her temper. She did not wish to tell Christina that she had learned through an old servant’s loyalty of her trips to the slums under the shadows of Westminster. It would jeopardize the servant’s post—but, more practical than that, it would remove her own source of information, and with Christina so rash there was only Augusta to protect her.
“No doubt,” she said tartly. “Which is why it is just as well I am aware of it for myself. You were seen. You must stop immediately.”
Christina was frightened now. Augusta had known her too long to be deceived by the arrogant stance, the squared shoulders under the thick satin. Good heavens—she was still so much of a child, as feckless as a summer day. So little thought of consequences. She saw what she wanted and reached for it. Where on earth had she come by such abandon? It was certainly not her father! He had never done anything emotionally prodigal in his life—would to God he had! And Augusta had always had enough strength of will at least to be discreet. She knew the line between pleasure and duty and would walk it with an acrobat’s balance. Why was Christina such a fool?
“Really—you try my patience!