Death in the Devil's Acre - Anne Perry [51]
Emily cut in, offering her hand to Alan Ross. “Of course I remember Mr. Ross. Please give my best wishes to Mrs. Ross. I confess it is quite some time since I have seen her. One becomes so busy with people one is obliged by courtesy to visit that one misses those one is genuinely fond of. She is such an entertaining person. I look forward to meeting her again.”
Emily detested Christina and always had. Her smile did not waver a fraction. “And Charlotte has spoken of her frequently. We really must call upon her. I hope she will forgive us for our neglect.”
“I am sure she will be delighted to see you.” He gave the only possible answer he could.
Emily smiled as if equally charmed by the prospect. “Then please tell her that Lady Ashworth and Miss Ellison will call upon her next Tuesday, if she receives upon that day?”
“I am sure she will. But why do you not come to dine? That would be far pleasanter. It will be only a small gathering, but if Lord Ashworth is not engaged—?”
“I am sure he is not.” Emily accepted with alacrity. She would make sure that George was not. Other engagements would have to be dispensed with.
He bowed slightly. “Then I shall see that invitations are sent. If you are sure I can be of no assistance?” He looked at William, now standing to attention by the horse’s head.
“I am sure we shall be perfectly all right,” Emily said.
“Then I bid you good day, Lady Ashworth, Miss Ellison.” He met Charlotte’s eyes for a moment, smiled, then turned and walked back along the pavement to his own carriage.
Emily accepted William’s assistance into the carriage, and Charlotte followed after her, landing in a bundle.
“What on earth is the matter with you?” she said furiously. “Why did you let him go on thinking I am Miss Ellison? I hardly need a job in Christina’s household!”
Emily yanked her skirt free from where Charlotte was sitting on it. “We’ll hardly be in a position to discover much if they know you are married to a policeman!” she pointed out. “Let alone the very policeman who is investigating the murders. Added to which, it will do no harm for the general to see you as still unmarried.”
“What are you—” Charlotte began, then stopped short. There was considerable good sense in what Emily was saying. People like Christina Balantyne did not dine with policemen’s wives! If they knew she and Emily were bent on inquiring into murder, they would never even get through the front door.
After all, they had a certain moral duty to discover as much as they could—it was every person’s duty. And, in truth, they had proved unusually skilled in the past!
“Yes,” she said meekly. “Yes, I suppose you are quite right, Emily.”
If she and Emily were to investigate effectively, they must have all the knowledge available. But to get it from Pitt was no easy matter. So far, he had spoken of no further discovery. It seemed he was trudging day after day through the squalor of the Acre, pursuing a word here, a suggestion there. But if he was any nearer find- ing a connection between Max, Dr. Pinchin, and Bertie Astley, he had not told Charlotte of it.
“Thomas?” she began softly.
He opened his eyes and looked at her. It was late; he was half asleep by the fire in the parlor. She had chosen her time with care, and tried to sound casual. “Have you learned anything more about Max?”
“I know everything there is to know about Max,” he replied, sliding a little farther down in his chair, looking at her through his eyelashes. “Except who his clients were, who his women were, and who killed him.”
“Oh.” She was not sure how to pursue it. “That means he kept no sort of record. Or else it was taken?”
“He was killed in the street,” he pointed out. “Unless it was his house manager who did it, there would be no chance to look for papers. Anyway, according to all I can find out, there were none. He kept names in his head, and all business was strictly cash.”
No records! “Then how could he blackmail anyone?” she asked curiously.
“I don’t know that