The Cater Street Hangman - Anne Perry [24]
And of course if Lily were dismissed it would upset the whole household until a replacement was found. Mrs. Dunphy would be thoroughly aggrieved. Dora would be run silly. And Mama would discover all over again how hard it was to come by a respectable girl, never mind to train her.
It was still early but there was no point in lying in bed. Anyway, better to get it over with than to lie fearing and building it into ever larger proportions.
She had ventured as far as the downstairs hall when she saw Dora.
“Oh, Miss Charlotte!”
“What’s the matter, Dora? You look terrible. Are you ill?”
“Not properly speaking, I’m not. But isn’t it terrible, Miss?”
Charlotte’s heart sank. Surely Papa had not turned Lily out into the street in the middle of the night?
“What is, Dora? I went to bed before Lily came back.”
“Oh, Miss Charlotte,” Dora swallowed, her eyes round. “She never did come back. She must be lying murdered in the street somewhere, and we all in our beds like we didn’t care!”
“She doesn’t have to be anything of the sort!” Charlotte snapped, trying to convince herself. “She’s probably lying in bed, too, in some miserable room with Jack what’s-his-name.”
“Oh no, Miss, it’s wicked of you to say—” She blushed violently. “I’m sorry, Miss Charlotte, but you didn’t ought to say that. Lily was a good girl. She’d have never done that, and without giving notice even!”
Charlotte changed the subject.
“Did the police come, do you know? I mean, Maddock went for them.”
“Yes, Miss, a constable came, but he seemed to be of a mind that Lily was no better than she should be, and had simply run off. But then I always reckon police is no better than they should be either. All the low sorts of people they mix with, I dare say. Stands to reason, don’t it?”
“I don’t know, Dora. I’ve never known any police.”
Breakfast was a formal and very grim affair. Even Dominic looked unusually glum. He and Papa departed for the day, and Emily and Mama went to the dressmaker’s for fittings. Sarah was in her room writing letters. Funny what an enormous correspondence she had. Charlotte could never find above two or three people to write to in a month.
It was half past eleven and Charlotte was painting surprisingly successfully, for the gray mood she was in, when Maddock knocked and opened the door.
“What is it, Maddock?” Charlotte did not look up from her palette. She was mixing a muted sepia for leaves in the distance, and wished to get it exactly right. She enjoyed painting, and this morning it was particularly soothing.
“A person, Miss Charlotte, to see Mrs. Ellison, but since she is not in, he insisted on seeing someone.”
She abandoned the sepia.
“What do you mean, ‘a person,’ Maddock? What kind of a person?”
“A person from the police, Miss Charlotte.”
Fear rippled through Charlotte. It was real at last! Or were they come to complain about having been bothered over a domestic matter?
“Then you’d better show him in.”
“Do you wish me to remain, Miss, in case he becomes a nuisance? You can never tell with police persons. They are used to a different class of neighbourhood altogether.”
Charlotte would very much have liked his moral support.
“No, thank you, Maddock. But stay in the hall so I can call for you, please.”
“Yes, Miss.”
A moment later the door opened again.
“Inspector Pitt, ma’am.”
The man who came in was tall and looked large because he was untidy; his hair was unruly, and his jacket napped. His face was plain, a little Semitic, although his eyes were light and his hair no darker than brown. He appeared intelligent. His voice when he spoke was unusually beautiful, quite incongruous against his somewhat scruffy appearance. He looked Charlotte up and down keenly, irritating her already.
“I’m sorry to have to tell you when you are alone, Miss Ellison, but we cannot afford to waste time. Perhaps you would like to sit down?”
Instinctively she refused.
“No, thank you,” she said stiffly. “What is it you want?”
“I