The Cater Street Hangman - Anne Perry [115]
He frowned, “Charlotte,” he began slowly, “please don’t be angry with me, but do you think Sarah confided in her something that she did not tell you? Is it possible?”
Charlotte was repelled by the thought, yet she remembered that Sarah had wanted to see Martha alone; she had trusted Martha. Sometimes it was easier to speak to someone outside the family.
“Perhaps,” she admitted reluctantly. “I don’t think so. I don’t know what Sarah could have done, but it could be—”
He stood up and came closer to her. She could feel his presence as if it were a warmth. She did not wish to move away. Indeed, she wished it were not immodest, improper to touch him.
“It could be something very slight,” he said gently. “Something that was of little importance, but to Martha Prebble, in the vicar’s eyes, a sin needing forgiveness. And for heaven’s sake don’t confuse the vicar with God. I’m sure God is nothing like as self-righteous—”
In spite of herself she smiled. “Don’t be ridiculous. God is love. I’m sure the vicar never loved anyone in his life.” She was touched by a bleak knowledge. “Including Martha.” She took a deep breath. “No wonder poor Martha is desperate, underneath all her good works, and her condemnation of sin. Not to be loved, not to love—”
He touched her arm very lightly. “And you, Charlotte? Do you still love Dominic?”
She felt herself colour with shame that she should have been so obvious.
“What made you believe—that I—?”
“Of course, I knew.” There was regret in his voice, a memory of pain. “I love you. How could I remain unaware that you loved someone else?”
“Oh.”
“You haven’t answered me. Do you still love him?”
“Don’t you know that I don’t? Or does it not matter to you now?” She was almost sure of what the answer would be, and yet she needed to have it spoken.
He turned her arm firmly till she was facing him.
“It matters to me. I don’t want to be second best?” There was a lift in his voice making it a question.
Very slowly she looked up at him. At first she was a little afraid, embarrassed by the power of feeling in his face, and by the depth and the sweetness of her own feeling. Then she stopped hiding, let go of pretence.
“You are not second best,” she said clearly. She put up her fingers and touched his cheek, at first shyly. “Dominic was only a dream. I’m awake now, and you are the first best.”
He reached up and took hold of her hand, keeping it to his face, his lips.
“And you have the courage to marry an ordinary policeman, Charlotte?”
“Do you doubt my courage, Mr. Pitt? Surely at least you cannot doubt my self-will?”
Slowly he smiled, more and more widely until it was a grin.
“Then I shall prepare for battle with your father.” His face became sober again, “but I’ll wait until this business is settled, and a suitable time has passed.”
“You can settle it?” she asked doubtfully.
“I think so. I have a feeling the answer is just beyond us, only just. I have caught a glimpse of something grotesque, something we have not even dreamed before. I cannot grasp it yet, but it is there. I have felt its darkness and its pain touch me.”
She shivered. “Be careful. He has not killed a man yet, but if his own life is in danger—”
“I shall. Now I must go. There are a few more questions, things that may help to make it plain, to put a face to the shadow. It is so close, a little thought. . . .”
She moved away slowly, the shadow of the hangman outside her, and a white, singing happiness inside. She showed him to the door herself.
The following day arrangements were being made for Sarah’s funeral and everyone