The Cater Street Hangman - Anne Perry [39]
“Not especially.”
“No,” he said thoughtfully. “From what I have been told, she would hardly have been your choice of company. A somewhat flighty girl, much given to laughter and rather frivolous pursuits, poor child.”
Charlotte looked at him. He was quite grave. Was he not sufficiently used to death in his job that it no longer moved him?
“She was not an immoral girl,” she said quietly, “just very young, and still a little foolish.”
“Indeed.” He gave a tight little grimace. “And not in the least likely to have had a liaison with someone else’s butler. I imagine her sights were set a good deal higher. She could hardly have remained in the kind of society she sought were she in any way engaged with a servant, even a superior one!”
“Are you being sarcastic, Mr. Pitt?”
“Quite literal, Miss Ellison. I do not always observe the rules of society, but I am quite aware of what they are!”
“You surprise me!” she said cuttingly.
“Do you disapprove of sarcasm, Miss Ellison?”
She felt her face flush; it had been the perfect barb.
“I find you offensive, Mr. Pitt. If you have some question to ask in connection with your business, please do so. Otherwise permit me to call Maddock to have you shown out.”
To her surprise he also blushed, and for once he did not look at her.
“I apologize, Miss Ellison. The last thing I wished was to offend you.”
Now she was confused. He looked unhappy, as if she had actually hurt him. She was at fault, and she knew it. She had been intolerably rude and he had so far forgotten himself as to give her as good in return. She had used her social advantage to fire the last shot. It was not something to be proud of; in fact it was an abuse of privilege. It must be rectified.
She did not look at him either.
“I’m sorry, Mr. Pitt. I spoke hastily. I am not offended at you, but a little more disturbed by . . . by circumstances than I had allowed for. Please pardon my rudeness.”
He spoke quietly. Emily was right; he had a beautiful voice.
“I admire you for that, Miss Ellison.”
Again she felt acutely uncomfortable, knowing he was staring at her.
“And there is no need to fear for Maddock. I have no evidence on which to arrest him, and quite honestly, I think it is very unlikely he had anything to do with it.”
Her eyes flew up to meet his, to search and see if he were being honest.
“I wish I did have some idea who it was,” he went on seriously. “This kind of man does not stop at two, or three. Please, be most careful? Do not go out alone, even for the shortest distance.”
She felt a confusion of horror and embarrassment run through her: horror at the thought of some nameless madman stalking the streets, just beyond the darkened windows, and embarrassment over the depth of feeling in Pitt’s eyes. Surely it wasn’t conceivable that he actually—? No, of course not! It was just Emily’s stupid tongue! He was a policeman! Very ordinary. He probably had a wife somewhere, and children. What a big man he was, not fat, but tall. She wished he would not look at her like that, as if he could see into her mind.
“No,” she said with a quick swallow. “I assure you I have no intention of going out unaccompanied. We none of us shall. Now if there is nothing more I can tell you, you must persist in your enquiries—elsewhere. Good day, Mr. Pitt.”
He held the door open for her.
“Good day, Miss Ellison.”
It was late afternoon and she was alone in the garden, picking off dead rose heads, when Dominic came over the grass towards her.
“How very tidy,” he looked at the rose bushes she had done. “Funny, I never thought of you as so—regimented. That’s more like Sarah, tidying up after nature. I would have expected you to leave them.”
She did not look at him; she did not want the disturbing emotion of meeting his eyes. As always, she said what she meant.
“I don’t do it to be tidy. Taking off the dead heads means the plant doesn’t put any more goodness into them, seeds and so forth. It helps to make them bloom again.”
“How practical. And that sounds like Emily.” He picked a couple off and