Resurrection Row - Anne Perry [55]
“What?”
“Were you very impressed by what he said? Didn’t he have to take you to Seven Dials to see it for yourself?”
“Yes, but that’s—” He stopped, remembering his reluctance, disinterest. But he was nothing to Carlisle; whereas he and Alicia loved each other. “That’s—”
“Different?” Charlotte raised eyebrows. “It’s not. Caring for someone doesn’t alter it. Knowing might—” Straightaway she was sorry for saying it. Enchantment was such an ephemeral thing, and familiarity had so little to do with it. “Don’t blame her,” she said quietly. “Why should she know about it, or understand?”
“No reason,” he admitted, and yet he felt a void between himself and Alicia and realized how much of his feeling for her depended on the color of her hair, the curve of her cheek, a smile, and the fact that she responded to him. But what was inside her, in the part he could not reach?
Could there be even the simple removal of an object that stood between her and what she wanted, a little movement of the hand with a bottle of pills—and murder?
At the top of Resurrection Row was a cemetery, hence its name. A tiny chapel stood in the center; in a wealthier area it would have been a crypt or family tomb, but here it was only the pretension to one. Marble angels perched on a few of the better tombstones; here and there, there was a distant cross, but most of them rose bare and a little crooked with age. Subsidence in the earth from frequent digging caused them to lean askew, and half a dozen skeletal trees had not been removed. It was an unlovely place at any time, and on a damp February evening it boasted only one virtue, privacy. For a seventeen-year-old maid of all work like Dollie Jenkins, who was in the process of courting a butcher’s boy with excellent prospects, it was the only place in which she could give him just sufficient encouragement without losing her employment.
Arm in arm they walked in through the gates, whispering together, giggling under their breath; it was hardly decent to laugh out loud in the presence of the dead. After a little while they sat down, close together, on one of the tombstones. She allowed it to be known that she would not resent a little show of affection, and he responded enthusiastically.
After some fifteen minutes, she felt the situation was getting out of hand, and he might well end up taking liberties and afterwards think the worse of her for it. She pushed him away and saw, to her consternation, a figure sitting perched on one of the other gravestones, knees crossed, high stovepipe hat askew.
“ ’Ere, Samuel!” she hissed. “There’s an old geezer sittin’ over there spyin’ on us!”
Samuel got to his feet in awkward haste. “Dirty old goat!” he said loudly. “Go on! Get away wiv’ yer. Peepin’ Tom! Afore I thump yer!”
The figure did not move; indeed, he ignored Samuel completely, not even raising his head.
Samuel strode over to him. “I’ll teach yer!” he shouted. “I’ll box your ears for yer right proper. Go on, get out of ’ere, yer dirty old toad!” He seized the man by the shoulder and made as if to swing his fist at him.
To his horror the man swayed and toppled over sideways, his hat rolling onto the ground. His face was blue in the faint moonlight, and his chest was a most peculiar flat shape.
“Oh, God almighty!” Samuel dropped him and leapt away, falling over his own feet. He scrambled up again and backed toward Dollie, clutching onto her.
“What is it?” she demanded. “What ’ave you done?”
“I ain’t done nuffin! ’E’s dead, Doll—’e’s as dead as anybody in ’ere. Somebody’s gorn an’ dug ’im up!”
The news was conveyed to Pitt the following morning.
“You’ll never believe it!” the constable said, his voice squeaking up to top C.
“Tell me anyway.” Pitt was resigned.
“They’ve found another one. Courting couple found him last night.”
“Why shouldn’t I believe it?” Pitt said wearily. “I’d believe anything.”
“Because it was Horrie Snipe!” the constable burst out. “As I live and breathe, it was—sitting up on a gravestone in Resurrection Cemetery in his old stovepipe hat. He was run over three