Paragon Walk - Anne Perry [54]
Before she could pursue the matter any further, Emily returned from the kitchen hurt and in short temper. Apparently she had had some altercation with the scullery maid, who was frightened out of her wits that the bootboy was after her, and Emily had told her not to be so stupid. The girl was as plain as a coal scuttle, and the bootboy had his sights set a good deal higher.
Vespasia reminded her she had been advised not to go, which only added fuel to the fire of Emily’s temper.
Charlotte excused herself as soon as she could, and in ill-grace Emily ordered her a carriage to take her home.
Of course Charlotte had regaled Pitt with everything she had heard, plus her own evaluation of it, almost as soon as he had come in the door, and although he knew that most of it would be irrelevant, no more than trivia to the case, yet momentous to those concerned, still he bore them at the back of his mind when he went out the following day to continue his investigations.
There had been no trace of Fulbert anywhere. Seven bodies had been found in the river, two of women, almost certainly prostitutes, one child, probably fallen in by accident and too feeble to cry out or splash for help; probably an unwanted mouth to feed anyway, put out to beg as soon as it was old enough to speak intelligently. The other four had been men but, like the child, beggars and outcasts. Certainly none of them could conceivably have been Fulbert, however abused or molested. It had taken more than a few days to bring them to such a degree of emaciation.
All the hospitals and morgues had been checked, even the workhouses. The sector of the police who were most familiar with the opium rooms and the brothels had been asked to keep an eye and an ear open—to ask questions would be pointless—but there had been no glimmer of him at all. To search the rookeries, of course, was impossible. As far as every human inquiry could ascertain, Fulbert Nash had disappeared from the face of London.
So there was nothing to do but go back to the Walk and pursue it again from there. Accordingly nine o’clock in the morning found him in Lord Dilbridge’s morning room awaiting his lordship’s pleasure. It was some quarter of an hour before he appeared. He was extremely neat—his valet would have seen to that—but there was a vague and rather disheveled look about his face. Obviously he was either unwell, or had had a wild night immediately previous. He stared at Pitt, as if he had trouble recalling precisely who the footman had said he was.
“Inspector Pitt, from the police,” Pitt helped him.
Freddie blinked, then irritation focused in his eyes.
“Oh dear, is this still about Fanny? The poor child is gone, and the wretched creature who did it is miles away by now. I don’t know what on earth you think any of us can do about it? The back streets of London are full of thieves and blackguards. If you fellows did your jobs properly and cleaned up some of them, instead of asking damn fool questions around here, this sort of thing wouldn’t happen!” He blinked and rubbed something out of his eye. “Although I suppose, to be fair, we should be more careful who we hire as servants. But really, there isn’t anything more I can do about it now, and certainly not at this time in the morning!”
“No sir,” Pitt at last had the opportunity to speak without interrupting. “It isn’t about Miss Nash. I called with regard to Mr. Fulbert Nash. We still have no trace of him—”
“Try the hospitals, or the morgue,” Freddie suggested.
“We have done so, sir,” Pitt said patiently. “And the doss houses, the opium rooms, the brothels, and the river. Also the railway stations, the port, the lighter men as far down the river as Greenwich and as far up as Richmond, and most of the cab drivers. No one has told us anything.”
“That’s ridiculous!” Freddie said angrily. His eyes were bloodshot, and he kept blinking.