The Cater Street Hangman - Anne Perry [54]
It would be awful! And the worst part was that Grandmama was right. She did suspect, with sick fear, that Edward had done something dishonourable. She could feel her throat ache with the effort not to weep, and if she looked down the tears would spill over.
“Mama?”
It was Charlotte. She had not even heard her come in. She sniffed. “Yes, what is it? I’m busy with accounts.”
Charlotte slid her arms round her and kissed her.
“I know, I heard you.”
It was welcome, almost unbearable in its relief after she had been feeling so alone. It was harder than ever to control herself, but she had had years of practice.
“Oh. I’m sorry. I had not realized we had raised our voices.”
Charlotte adjusted a hairpin for her and stepped away, tactfully leaving her to compose herself. Odd what sensitivity Charlotte had sometimes, while at other times she was so outspoken.
Charlotte was staring through the window.
“Don’t worry about Grandmama. If she says anything to Papa he will be very angry with her, and she will come off the worse for it.”
Caroline was too surprised to hide it. She swung round in the chair to stare at Charlotte’s back.
“Whyever do you think that?”
Charlotte still looked out of the window.
“Because Papa was somewhere he does not wish to speak of. We must face that. Therefore he will be angry with whoever mentions it again.”
“What on earth do you mean?” Caroline could hear her own voice shaking now. “What are you saying, Charlotte? You cannot suspect your father—of—of—”
“I don’t know. Perhaps he was gambling, or drunk, or associating with people we would not like. But he does not wish Mr. Pitt or us to know of it. It is no use pretending to each other. We cannot pretend to ourselves. But don’t worry, Mama, he cannot have had anything to do with Lily, if that’s what you’re afraid of.”
“Charlotte—,” she could think of nothing else to say. How could she stand there so calmly, speaking those words?
“I think it may be very foolish,” Charlotte went on—and this time Caroline heard the catch in her voice and knew she was only keeping control of herself with the greatest effort— “because I think Mr. Pitt will find out anyway.”
“Do you?”
“Yes. And it will seem the worse for not being revealed of one’s own free will.”
“Then, if we could persuade him—,” but she knew she lacked the courage. Edward would be angry, go into that cold bitter retreat she had experienced only a few times—like the occasion she had defied him over Gerald Hapwith. That was years ago, and all so silly now. But the pain of the estrangement was easy to remember.
And more than that, she was afraid to know what it was he wanted to hide. Perhaps Pitt would not find out?
But he did. Mr. Pitt returned two days later, in the evening and—perhaps to be sure of catching Edward—by surprise, not having called in the morning to forewarn them. They were all at home.
“This is not very convenient, Mr. Pitt,” Edward said coolly. “What is it this time?”
“We have established that you must have walked back along Cater Street, from approximately five minutes to eleven, until a few minutes past the hour.”
“You had no need to come to tell me that,” Edward was sharp. “Since I arrived home at about quarter after, that much is obvious.”
Nothing seemed to discompose Pitt.
“To you, sir, who know what you did. To us, who have to accept your word, it is satisfying to obtain proof. If murderers could be caught merely by asking them, our job would hardly be worth doing.”
Edward’s face froze.
“What are you implying, Mr. Pitt?”
“That we have established that you left Mrs. Attwood at quarter to eleven. It would take you about half an hour of comfortable walking to reach your home here, and you would pass along Cater Street between five to eleven, and about five past.”
Edward was white-faced.
“You had no right—!”
“It would have been a great deal easier, and have saved much time, sir, if you had given us Mrs. Attwood’s address earlier. Now perhaps you would be kind enough to tell me where you were on the night Chloe