The Cater Street Hangman - Anne Perry [107]
Had Sarah known, had she seen the face of her murderer? Had she felt the choking, heart-tearing fear? Please, God, let it have been quick!
There was no point in lying here thinking. Better to get up, find something practical to do. It would be worse for Mama. There was something terrible beyond understanding to lose a child, a person to whom you have given life from your own body.
Downstairs everyone else was also up and dressed, searching for something to do.
Breakfast was almost silent. Dominic looked white and his eyes did not meet anyone else’s. Charlotte watched him for a little while. Then, afraid that he would notice, she looked down at her toast. The mere mechanics of eating became exaggerated, something to do to occupy one’s mind.
Where had Dominic been last night? Was it fair to wonder if Sarah would not have gone out if he had been at home, or if she had expected him? Or had the hangman wanted her, and, if not yesterday, then some other time?
Was he some lunatic from the fogbound slums driven mad by filth and poverty till all he could think of was to kill? Or was he someone from Cater Street who knew them all, who watched and waited for his chance, who followed, perhaps even spoke to them, walked with them, and then suddenly drew out the wire, and—
She must not think about Sarah. It was past now; whatever pain there had been, whatever terror or knowledge, was finished.
Had she known him?
What did he feel this morning? Was he sitting somewhere at breakfast? Was he hungry? Was he alone in some dirty room, eating bread, or was he sitting at a polished dining room table with a family round him, eating eggs and kidneys and toast? Perhaps talking to others, even children? What would he talk about? Had his family even the faintest idea of what he was, where he had been? Were they afraid as she had been afraid? Had they been through all the same suspicions—the first idea, the self-disgust and guilt for having thought of such things, then the examination of little things remembered from the past, fitting them in with the facts and at last having the phantom of fear take definite shape?
And what was he thinking himself? Or did he not know? Was he sitting somewhere wondering as much as she was, perhaps even thinking the same things, looking at others, his father, his brother, fearing for them?
She looked across at Dominic again. Where had he been last night? Did he know—exactly? Pitt would ask him.
Breakfast was cleared away and everyone sought something to do until the police would arrive and begin the questions which had to come.
Mercifully they did not have long to wait. Pitt and his new sergeant arrived before nine. Pitt looked tired—as if he had been up long into the night—and unusually tidy. Oddly enough, it made him look uncomfortable, prepared for some ordeal.
“Good morning,” he said formally. “I’m sorry, but this is necessary.”
Everyone acknowledged that. It was easier to get it over with. They all sat down except Dominic, who remained standing, and waited for Pitt to begin.
He did not temper his approach. “You were out last night, Mr. Corde?”
“Yes,” Dominic coloured painfully. Watching him, Charlotte felt that he also wondered whether, if he had been at home, Sarah would not have gone out.
“Where?”
“What?” Dominic seemed to be lost.
“Where were you?” Pitt repeated.
“At my club.”
“Again? Was anyone with you?”
The blood drained from Dominic’s face as he realized the possibilities in Pitt’s mind. Even though it was Sarah who was dead, he was not excluded as a suspect.
“Yes . . . yes,” he stammered. “Several people. I can’t remember all their names. D–do you need them?”
“I’d better have them,