The Cater Street Hangman - Anne Perry [106]
“Where’s Maddock?”
“I’m afraid he—wasn’t well. He took it very hard. I sent him to fetch some brandy and smelling salts, in case—” he trailed off, not knowing what else to say.
Charlotte gripped her father even harder. “Papa, you had better sit down. There isn’t anything to do. There will be things, tomorrow, but tonight it’s all finished.”
Edward backed obediently towards his chair and his legs seemed to buckle underneath him.
A moment later Maddock came in with a tray, the brandy decanter and glasses. He looked at the ground without speaking. Emily and Caroline did not see him, and he put the smelling salts on the table awkwardly. He was leaving again when Charlotte spoke.
“Maddock, you had better cancel dinner, and ask Mrs. Dunphy to prepare something cold for about eight o’clock, if you please.”
He gave her a look of incredulity, and she knew he found her inexplicably cold, as if she did not care. She could not explain to him that she cared abominably, so much that she could not bear to think of it, that doing something practical, concerning herself with the grief of others, was more bearable than thinking of her own. She turned from Maddock to Pitt, and saw again in him the tenderness that had so embarrassed her before, but this time it was like warmth and sweetness enveloping her. She knew he understood what she was doing, and why. She looked away quickly, tears choking her. It was far harder to bear than misunderstanding; there was nothing to fight against.
“Thank you, Inspector Pitt.” She tried to keep the wavering in her voice from obliterating her words. “Perhaps if you would ask whatever questions you have tomorrow? There is little we can tell you tonight, except that Sarah left in the early afternoon to visit Mrs. Prebble, and we presumed to do some parish visiting afterwards. If you ask Mrs. Prebble, no doubt she will be able to tell you . . . what time. . . .” She found herself unable to finish. Suddenly they were not talking about facts, but about Sarah. She could see her clearly in her mind. She forced the picture out. She wanted him to leave before she lost control. “Tomorrow we shall be better able to answer any other questions.”
“Of course,” he agreed quickly. “It would be better for me to speak to the vicar and Mrs. Prebble now anyway.” He turned to Edward again. He seemed unable to look at Caroline. “I’m—I’m sorry,” he stammered.
Edward rose to the occasion. “Of course,” he said. “I’m sure you have done everything anyone could. Sane men are at a loss in the face of madness. Thank you for coming in person to tell us. Good night, Inspector.”
There was nothing to say in the silence after Pitt left. There were no questions, except the one that could not be answered: why Sarah?
It was a long time before anyone moved, and then it was Edward who went to the kitchen to tell the servants formally. Emily took Caroline upstairs. Supper was a cold plate served in the withdrawing room. All except Caroline forced themselves to eat something. At nine o’clock Edward sent Charlotte and Emily upstairs to bed, and waited alone to tell Dominic whenever he might return.
Charlotte went gratefully. Her control was slipping away from her quickly as the evening dragged on. She was suddenly very tired and the effort of stopping the tears was becoming too much.
In her room she undressed, hung up her clothes, washed her face in hot water, then cold, took her hair down and brushed it, then climbed into bed and at last cried with all her heart until she had no more strength left.
The following morning was bleak and cold. Charlotte woke up and for a few minutes everything was as always, but then memory returned. Sarah was dead. She had to say it over several times. It was a little like the morning after Sarah’s marriage; then, too, a lifelong relationship had gone. Sarah was no longer her sister, but Dominic’s wife. She could look back on all the years of her childhood. It was Sarah who had first showed her how to button her own shoes, Sarah with whom she had played at dolls, Sarah’s clothes she had grown into, Sarah