The Cater Street Hangman - Anne Perry [108]
Dominic opened his mouth, perhaps to protest, and gave up. He reeled off half a dozen names. “I—I think those are correct. I think they were all there last night. I didn’t spend all evening with any one of them, you understand.”
“No doubt we shall be able to piece things together. Why were you at your club last night, Mr. Corde? Was there some particular function?”
Dominic looked surprised, then confused as he understood Pitt’s meaning. Why was he not at home?
“Er—no, nothing special.”
Pitt did not pursue it further. He turned instead to Caroline, decided against it, and spoke to Charlotte.
“Mrs. Corde left in the early afternoon to visit the vicar’s wife?”
“Yes, a little after luncheon.”
“Alone?”
“Yes.” Charlotte looked down. She remembered with pain, and now guilt, the scene of such a short time ago. It was impossible to understand how the whole of one’s life could change so quickly.
“Why?”
She looked back at him. “I offered to go with her, but she preferred to go alone. She wanted to speak to Martha Prebble in private, and then perhaps to go on and do some parish visiting.” She found it hard to speak; her throat ached and she had to stop.
“She did a lot of parish work,” Emily said quietly.
“Parish work? You mean she visits the poor, the sick?” Unconsciously he used the present tense.
“Yes.”
“Do you know whom she intended to visit yesterday?”
“No. What did Martha say? Mrs. Prebble.”
“That Sarah mentioned several people to her, but that she left the vicar’s house quite late, and she did not say precisely whom she meant to visit, or in which order. Mrs. Prebble herself was feeling unwell, and said she advised her against going alone, but Sarah would not listen. Apparently there were several sick. . . .” His voice trailed off.
“Do you think . . . ” she began, “. . . just chance?”
“I don’t know. Perhaps. Possibly he was just waiting for someone—anyone—”
“Then how in God’s name will you ever find him?” Edward shouted. “You can hardly fill the streets with policemen till he strikes again. He’ll merely wait until you leave. He could walk past you, speak to you, tip his hat, and you wouldn’t even know him from—from the vicar, or one of your own!”
No one answered him.
“You said she did a great deal of parish work lately?” Pitt began again. “Did she do it at regular times, and always with the same people?”
Dominic stared at him. “You think he wanted . . . Sarah? I mean Sarah, in particular?”
“I don’t know, Mr. Corde. Do you know anyone who loved or hated her enough to do that?”
“Loved!” Dominic said incredulously. “God! Do you mean me?”
It was the first time anyone had said it aloud. Charlotte looked at their faces, trying to see who had thought of it before. It looked as if only Papa had not. She looked back at Pitt, waiting.
“I don’t know who I mean, Mr. Corde, or the hunt would be over.”
“But it could be me!” Dominic’s voice rose in hysteria. “Even though it was Sarah this time, you still think it could be me!”
“Are you sure it isn’t?”
Dominic looked at him in silence for several moments. “Unless I’m completely insane, capable of becoming another person I know nothing of, I couldn’t have hurt Sarah. I’m not really sure how much I loved her, how much I love anyone, but far too much to have hurt her deliberately. Accidentally—I know—and through stubbornness, both of us—but not, not anything like that.”
Charlotte could not keep the tears back. If only Sarah could have known that much for certain. Why is it that one does not tell people things while there is time? One lets such trivial things matter.
Now she must not upset all the others by weeping in front of them. She stood up.
“Excuse me,” she said quickly and walked out; to run would betray her need and its urgency.
It was not Dominic Emily was afraid for, but her father. She had never considered the existence of a darker side to her sister’s husband. He was no more than he seemed to be; handsome, pleasant-natured if a little spoiled, witty when he chose, and quite often kind—but also without great imagination.