The Cater Street Hangman - Anne Perry [42]
What kind of man was he? She could only see him as a black shadow against mists. Had Lily seen his face? Had any of them? If she saw it herself, would it be a face she knew—a new nightmare, or a familiar one?
They were talking round her. She had missed it. Why did they accept that it could be Maddock so easily? It was almost as if they were grateful for a solution, as if any solution were better than none.
No, that was dreadful. But in spite of herself she could understand it. The suspicion was gone. Any knowledge, any fact to face was better than wondering, knowing he was still out there in the gaslit streets. Whatever the known was, it was better than the unknown, better than the police here, asking questions, suspecting.
She could understand, but at the same time she was ashamed of them for it, of herself for not saying something, exposing it. In a way she was allowing it, allowing them all to deceive themselves.
The conversation flowed round her and she had no heart to join in.
Emily had no such thoughts. And the following day the whole sordid business had receded to the dimension of a mere practical problem. Of course she was sorry about Lily, but Lily was beyond help now, and grieving would do her no good. Emily had never understood mourning. The most peculiar thing about it was that it was the most pious people who indulged in it, those who should have been the ones to rejoice! After all, they preached heaven and hell loudly enough. Surely to mourn was the gravest insult one could pay to the dead? It presupposed judgment was going to find them light in the balance.
Lily had been ordinary enough, but there was nothing in her to warrant damnation, so one could presume she was in a better place. Whatever sins she had committed, and they could only be small, were surely washed clean by the payment of her life.
So the whole matter was better forgotten, except for the rather squalid business of discovering who killed her. And that was the job of the police. All she and her family could do was take sufficient care to see they did not get in the way of this lunatic’s garotting wire.
The practical matters of real importance were the positive ones, such as discovering what everyone might wear at the party to be given by a certain Major and Mrs. Winter, to which George Ashworth was to escort her. It would be a serious setback if she were to find her dress duplicated, or nearly so. She aimed ultimately to set fashion rather than follow it, but in the meantime she must judge it to a nicety, so as not to appear merely eccentric. She would have to consult the Misses Madison, and Miss Decker—without their being aware of it, of course.
The police did not return for several days. Apparently they were conducting their investigations elsewhere, probably going back to the earlier deaths, talking to the Abernathys and the Hiltons. The whole affair was not discussed openly again, although they nearly all found themselves saying small things, letting thoughts slip out. They were mostly expressions of relief that the police were out of the house and had transferred their unwelcome presence, with its attendant speculation and scandal, to someone else. The other feeling that came through was the continuing anxiety about what might happen next, where this creature might be, if it were actually conceivable that he came from the immediate neighbourhood—someone’s manservant, or a small trader?
Emily gathered all her information, and procured a magnificent gown in the palest lilac, with delicate silver trim. She was in particularly good health; her skin was clear, far better than the elder Miss Madison’s, and her eyes bright. She had excellent colour, not too high, and her hair for once did everything she wished.
Ashworth called for her in his coach, naturally paying his respects to the family before departing. Mama was very civil, Papa even more so, but Charlotte was as uncompromising as usual.
“Your sister Charlotte has little liking for me, I think,” Ashworth observed as soon as they were alone. “It’s a pity. She’s a