The Cater Street Hangman - Anne Perry [33]
The vicar gave his usual sermon today; in fact, if anything, it was even worse. His text was “Blessed are the pure in heart” but his message was more “blessed are the clean of action.” He went to great lengths to condemn unclean actions. And the more he spoke about harlots and prostitutes, the more Charlotte found her mind seeing the poor that that wretched Pitt had described; children left to starve at the age when she and her sisters were just learning to read and write, being taught by Miss Sims in the schoolroom. She thought of young women left alone with babies. How else could they live?
She very seldom swore, but this morning she would have consigned Mr. Pitt to hell for haying forced her to know of such things. She sat on the hard pew and stared at the vicar. Everything he said made her feel worse. She had always disliked him, and by the end of this morning she hated him with a vehemence that depressed and frightened her. She was sure it was very unchristian, and unfeminine to hate anyone this way, and yet she felt it with a depth and rightness she could not deny.
She looked up at the organ loft and saw Martha Prebble’s pale face as she played the closing hymn. She looked bored and unhappy, too.
Sunday lunch was a miserable affair and the afternoon must, of course, be spent suitably for the Sabbath. Tomorrow Grandmama was returning from Susannah’s, which was not greatly to be looked forward to either.
It would have seemed impossible, but Monday was worse. Grandmama arrived at ten o’clock, muttering dark prognostications about the downfall of the neighbourhood, of the gentle classes, of the world at large. Morality was going downhill at a great rate, and they were all destined for disaster.
They had no sooner got her unloaded and upstairs in her own sitting room, when Inspector Pitt arrived again, bringing with him the silent Sergeant Flack. Sarah was out—something to do with some charitable cause or other. Emily was at the dressmaker’s being fitted for another occasion with George Ashworth. Really, she ought to have more sense! It was time she realized he was a gambler, a philanderer, or worse, and that nothing would come of it for her but the ruin of her reputation. And all the time Mama was upstairs trying to soothe Grandmama into a state where she could be left without making everyone’s life a plague.
There was no one Charlotte wished to see less than Inspector Pitt.
He came into the morning room, filling the doorway, coat flapping, hair untidy as always. His affability irritated Charlotte almost beyond bearing.
“What do you want, Mr. Pitt?”
He did not bother to correct her, to say that he was Inspector Pitt. This also annoyed her for she had intended it to slight him.
“Good morning, Miss Ellison. The most perfect summer day. Is your father at home?”
“Of course not! This is Monday morning. Like most other respectable people, he is in the city. Just because we are not working class does not mean we are idle!”
He grinned broadly, showing strong teeth.
“Charmed as I am by the pleasure of your company, Miss Ellison, I am here working also. But if your father is out, then I shall have to speak to you.”
“If you must.”
“I don’t investigate murder for pleasure.” His smile vanished, although his good humour remained. There was a hint of tragedy, even anger, in his voice. “There is little pleasure in it for anyone, but it must be done.”
“I have already told you what little I know,” she said exasperatedly. “Several times. If you cannot solve it, then perhaps you had better give up, and pass it over to someone who can.”
He ignored her rudeness.
“Was she a pretty girl, Lily Mitchell?”
“Didn’t you see her?” she said in surprise. It seemed a most elementary thing to have omitted.
His smile was sad, as if he were sorry for her, as well as patient.
“Yes, Miss Ellison, I saw her, but she was not pretty then. Her face was swollen and blue, her