Silence in Hanover Close - Anne Perry [124]
On the other hand she went out of her way to flatter Mrs. Melrose, the cook, who became a first-class ally, since she disliked Mrs. Crawford already. Emily worked on the principle “My enemy’s enemy is my friend.” She did rather well with the butler also. Normally it was a tactic she would have despised, but she must survive here if she were to be any use to Charlotte or Thomas, and there was no time for fine moral niceties.
The tweeny and the scullery maid were the lowest forms of life in the household, but the tweeny in particular was an observant child and not unintelligent, and Emily was able, through a little kindness, to draw quite a lot of information from her. Of course, the girl knew nothing about Robert York, and very little about the family at all; but she had very definite opinions about the rest of the servants. There was no room to be subtle.
On Saturday Emily took her afternoon off and met Charlotte in the park in a fine, driving rain. It was bitterly cold and they huddled together, pulling collars higher and burying their hands in muffs, but at least it was highly unlikely that they would be observed. Who but the illicit or those bound in the utmost haste from one place to another would be out on such a day? Even the homeless chose the comparative shelter of the streets rather than the open wastes of the park, where the wind could sheer unchecked across the flat gray-green winter grass; and forbidden lovers had no eyes for anyone but each other.
They exchanged news, which gave them both some new insights, but no conclusions beyond what they already knew: the murderer was in Hanover Close, and either Veronica or Loretta knew, if not who it was, then at least why the crime had been committed. But how to break their silence was still a mystery.
Charlotte was frightened. She hovered on the edge of begging Emily to leave the York house. Three times she started to, and then the almost paralyzing fear for Pitt drowned out everything else and her words died in her throat. Not that it would have made any difference; Emily had no intention of retiring from the fight and sitting by while they tried Pitt and hanged him.
Which did not mean Emily was not also frightened. After hugging Charlotte good-bye, she sniffed back the tears and turned from the park gates to run along the wet pavements in the rain, past the carriages in the streets, along the wrought iron railings and down the area steps into the kitchen. She was so cold she was shaking inside. She piled her sodden coat and boots into the laundry room to dry, ate a silent supper at the kitchen table, and went up to her room. She lay in bed still shivering and thought how she might trap the man or woman who had murdered three times already and had hidden the crimes so well that the only person suspected was Pitt.
She woke in the dark with a scream in her throat and her body clenched with terror as a footfall made the merest tap in the bare passage outside her door. Soundlessly she slid out of bed, the cold air on her skin cutting through her thin nightgown like a blow. By the dim light of the badly curtained window, she grasped the one wooden chair and wedged it under the door handle. Then she scrambled back into bed again, pulled her knees up to her stomach, and tried to get warm enough to go back to sleep, so that she would not be useless in the morning, either to work or to match wits with a murderer, trap them, and survive to show the proof.
She got up in the chilly gray dawn in time to remove the chair, so that when Fanny, the tweeny, called to waken her she knew nothing of it. The day was full of tedious, time-consuming chores and Emily learned nothing that seemed to be of value.
This was pointless! It could go on for months! She must force the issue.
Late in the evening