Death in the Devil's Acre - Anne Perry [95]
“All had business?” she asked, trying to keep her voice level. He had not told her that before. “Max kept a brothel. But what about the others?”
“Pinchin performed abortions—”
“For Max?” she interrupted eagerly.
“Not so far as I know, but it’s possible.”
“Then maybe some society woman—” She stopped. Apart from the fact that the idea was not a very good one, she had betrayed herself with her interest—and cut off any more information he might have given her. “I’m sorry.”
“Accepted.” His mouth curved in a slow smile. He closed his eyes and slid farther down in his chair.
Charlotte clung to her patience with almost infinite effort. She smoothed her face into a calm expression and counted up to a hundred before she spoke again. “What about Pomeroy? Don’t tell me he was teaching prostitutes how to keep their accounts?”
His smile widened in spite of himself, then suddenly vanished altogether. “No, he was a pederast ... poor rotten inadequate bastard!”
Another hundred seconds went by. “Oh,” she said at last.
“And Bertie Astley owned a whole row of tenement houses, sweatshops, and a gin mill,” he added. “Now you know it all, and there is nothing whatsoever you can do.”
She tried to imagine Pomeroy. What kind of man hungered for the immature bodies of children too young to want anything but safety, approval, and comfort? They would ask nothing of him, and display neither hunger nor criticism. Certainly, God knows, they would never laugh at him if he was clumsy or inadequate.
And what of them, dreading every night when some new man would fondle their bodies and become strangely more and more excited, culminating in a final desperate and violently intimate act they would neither understand nor participate in. She shivered in spite of the fire, hunching up as if she were threatened, feeling sick.
“Leave it,” Pitt said quietly from the chair opposite. His eyes were open now and he was looking at her. “Pomeroy’s dead. And you’ll not stop pederasty—”
“I know.”
“Then leave it.”
But Charlotte could not leave it. As soon as Pitt had gone the following morning, she instructed Gracie for the day, then put on her warmest cloak and walked to the public omnibus stop where she took the next bus going in the direction of Paragon Walk.
“Well?” Emily asked as soon as she arrived. “What have you learned?”
She told Emily about Pitt being stabbed. She had not seen her since it happened.
“That’s terrible! Oh, my dear, I’m so sorry! Is he all right? Do you need anything?”
“No, thank you. Oh—” It was an offer too good to decline. “Yes, if you have a bottle of good port.”
“Port?”
“Yes. It is an excellent restorative, especially in this weather.”
“Wouldn’t you prefer brandy?” Emily was feeling expansive, and she liked Pitt.
“No, thank you. Port will do very well. But you can make it two bottles, if you like.”
“Has he discovered anything? Was it the Devil’s Acre slasher? Did he recognize him?”
“He thinks it was just ordinary thieves. But he does know quite a lot now.” She recounted the reasons Pinchin and Pomeroy had had for being in the Acre.
Emily sat silent for several minutes. “Perhaps that explains why Adela Pomeroy looked for lovers in the fast set,” she said at last. “Poor woman. Although whatever her husband was, it hardly warrants indulging in a creature like Max!”
“Are you quite certain Adela Pomeroy looked for lovers in the fast set?” Charlotte asked, then instantly regretted it. She was afraid of the answer. “And even if she did, it doesn’t mean she had anything to do with Max!”
“No, I know that. But I’ve taken a lot of trouble lately to be sure just who is in that circle.”
“Emily! You haven’t—?”
“No, I haven’t!” Emily said icily. “Which brings me to another subject. Investigating is one thing, Charlotte, but your behavior with General Balantyne has been completely irresponsible. You criticize Christina Ross for flirting, quite rightly, but the only difference between you and her is that you have confined