Silence in Hanover Close - Anne Perry [49]
“Yes, Mama,” Emily said again hollowly, and reached for the bell rope.
The rest of the day was thoroughly miserable. Outside, the wind blew showers of sleet against the windows, and it was so dark all the gas lamps were burning even at midday. Emily finished her letter to Great-aunt Vespasia, and then tore it up. It was too full of self-pity, and she did not want Aunt Vespasia to see that side of her. It was understandable, perhaps, but it was not attractive, and she cared very much what Vespasia thought of her.
When Edward finished his lessons they had afternoon tea together, and then the long evening stretched to an early bed.
The following day was utterly different. It began with the morning mail, which contained a letter from Charlotte posted late the previous evening and marked “Most Urgent.” She tore it open and read:
Dear Emily,
Something very sad has happened, and if we are right, then it is also evil and dangerous. I think the woman in cerise is the key to it all. Thomas knew of her too, from the lady’s maid at the Yorks’. Of course he didn’t tell me about her at the time, because then he did not know we had any interest. She saw Cerise—I shall call her that—at the York house in the middle of the night. When I told him what Aunt Addie said you can imagine his reaction!
But the dreadful thing is that when he went into the station at Bow Street before going back to question the maid at Hanover Close again, he heard that she had been killed the day before! Apparently she fell out of an upstairs window. Thomas is very upset. Of course, it could have been an accident and nothing to do with his inquiries or the fact that she told him about Cerise, but on the other hand someone may have overheard her. And this is the interesting thing: all the Danvers were in the house when Thomas was there, so anyone might have been in the hall at the time she and Thomas were in the library talking.
What we need to do is find out who was there when she fell. Thomas can’t do it because there is no reason to suspect it wasn’t an ordinary domestic accident. People do sometimes fall out of windows, and one cannot start casting suspicions on a family like the Yorks. And if the whole investigation of Veronica should come out, then there would be the most dreadful scandal and goodness knows who would be hurt. Julian Danver would probably be ruined, and Veronica most certainly would.
You must tell Jack when next he calls.
If there is anything else, I shall tell you as soon as I hear it.
Your loving sister, Charlotte
Emily held the paper with tingling fingers. Her hands were numb and already her mind was racing. The woman in cerise! And the lady’s maid who had seen her in the York house in the middle of the night was now dead.
But they would never get beneath the smooth, supremely disciplined surface of the Yorks’ facade by going for the odd afternoon tea, or walking round the Winter Exhibition and exchanging a few slight confidences on fashion or gossip. Pitt had disturbed something much deeper than an old burglary, or the question of Veronica’s suitability to become the wife of Julian Danver. This was something of such passion and horror that even three years later it could erupt without warning into violence—and now, it seemed quite possible, murder.
They must get closer, much closer—in fact, they must get inside the Yorks’ home.
But how?
An idea occurred to her, but it was preposterous! It would never work. To start with, she would not be able to carry it off; she was sure to be found out immediately. They would know.
How would they know? It would be difficult—of course, it would—she would have to behave entirely differently, alter her appearance, her face, her hair, even her hands and her voice. An Englishwoman’s background could be identified by her voice the moment she spoke; no servant had those rounded vowels, the precise consonants, even if the grammar