Highgate Rise - Anne Perry [142]
Charlotte was powerfully tempted to put forward her own political views, in favor of Mrs. Bezant and explaining the plight of the match girls, their physical suffering, the necrosis of the facial bones from breathing the phosphorus; but this was neither the time nor were these the people. Instead she turned to Lally with interest.
“Do you believe they were political murders, Mrs. Clitheridge? That poor Mrs. Shaw was killed because of her agitation for slum reform? You know I think you may well be correct. In fact it is what I believe myself, and have been saying so for some time.”
Lally was very much put out of composure by having to agree with Charlotte, but she could not backtrack now.
“I would not have put it quite in those terms,” she said, bridling. “But I suppose that is what I think. After all, it makes by far the most sense out of things. What other reason could there be?”
“Well there are others who have suggested more personal forms of passion,” Prudence pointed out, frowning at Charlotte. “Perhaps Mr. Lutterworth, because of Dr. Shaw’s involvement with Flora—if, of course, it was Stephen he meant to kill, not poor Clemency.”
“Then why would he kill Mr. Lindsay?” Angeline shook her head. “Mr. Lindsay certainly never did her any harm.”
“Because he knew something, of course.” Prudence’s face tightened in impatience. “That does not take a great deal of guessing.”
They were all standing close together near the door, the sunlight slanting between the curtains and the blinds making a bright patch behind them and causing the black crepes to look faintly dusty.
“I am surprised the police have not worked it out yet,” Lally added, glancing at Charlotte. “But then I suppose they are not a very superior class of person—or they would not be employed in such work. I mean, if they were clever enough to do something better—they would, wouldn’t they?”
Charlotte could accommodate a certain amount of insult to herself and keep her temper, but insult to Pitt was different. Again her anger slipped out of control.
“There are only a certain number of people who are willing to spend their time, and sometimes to risk their lives, digging into the sin and tragedy of other people’s affairs and uncovering the violence in them,” she said acidly, staring at Lally, her eyes wide. “So many people who look the picture of rectitude on the outside and pretend to civic virtue have inner lives that are thoroughly sordid, greedy and full of lies.” She looked from one to another of them, and was satisfied to see alarm, even fear in some of their faces, most especially Prudence’s. And seeing it she instantly relented and was ashamed. It was not Prudence she had intended to hurt.
But again there was no verbal retreat, only physical, and this time she excused herself, bade them farewell and swept out, head high, twitching her skirts smartly over the step. A few moments later she was back in Aunt Vespasia’s carriage and once again going towards Stephen Shaw’s lodgings. There were now far more questions she wished to ask him. Perhaps it really was all to do with radical political ideas, not merely Clemency’s slum profiteers, but Lindsay’s socialist beliefs as well. She had never asked him if Lindsay knew about Clemency’s work, or if it had taken her to the new Fabian Society; it simply had not occurred to her.
Mrs. Himer admitted her again with no surprise, and told her that the doctor was out on a call but she expected him back shortly, and if Charlotte cared to wait in the parlor she was welcome. She was brought yet another pot of tea, set out on a brand-new Japanese lacquer tray.
She poured herself a cup of tea and sat sipping it. Could Shaw really