The Cater Street Hangman - Anne Perry [59]
“Have you always been a policeman, Mr. Pitt?” she asked.
He was surprised, but there was a flicker of amusement in his eyes which at any other time she might have found irritating.
“Yes, since I was seventeen.”
“Why? Why did you want to be a policeman! You must see so much—” She could not find the exact words for all the misery and squalor she imagined.
“I grew up in the country. My parents were in service; my mother was cook and my father gamekeeper.” He gave a wry little smile, conscious of their difference in station. “They were with a gentleman of considerable means. He had children of his own, a son about my age. I was allowed to sit in the schoolroom. And we used to play together. I knew rather more about the country than he did. I had friends among the poachers and gypsies. Very exciting for a small boy, son of the manor house, with too many sisters and too much time spent with lessons.
“Pheasants were stolen from the estate and sold. My father was blamed. He was charged at the assizes, and found guilty. He was sent to Australia for ten years. In my own mind, I was convinced he didn’t do it—naturally, I suppose. I spent a long time trying to prove it. I never succeeded, but that was when it started.”
She imagined the child, caring desperately, burning with confusion and injustice. She felt a tenderness for him which appalled her. She stood up quickly and swallowed.
“I see. And you came to London. How interesting. Thank you for telling me. Now I must return home, or they will be anxious for me.”
“You shouldn’t have come alone,” he frowned. “I’ll send a sergeant back with you.”
“That’s not necessary. I thought you might want to speak to Millie, and so I brought her with me.”
“No, I see no reason to speak with her now. But I’m glad you were wise enough to have her come with you.” He smiled with a tiny, downward gesture. “And I apologize for doubting your good sense.”
“Good day, Mr. Pitt.” She went out of the door.
“Good day, Miss Ellison.”
She knew he was standing in the doorway watching her, and she was idiotically self-conscious. She all but fell over the step on the way out, having to catch Millie’s arm to steady herself. Why on earth should a very plain policeman make her feel so—so conspicuous?
Three days later Charlotte was visiting the Abernathys’. She was there alone only because Sarah and Mama were but a hundred yards away round the corner at the vicar’s.
“Do have some more tea, Miss Ellison. It is so kind of you to visit us.”
“Thank you,” Charlotte pushed her cup forward a little. “It’s a pleasure to see you looking so much better.”
Mrs. Abernathy smiled gently. “Having young people in the house again helps. After Chloe died, no one came for such a long time. At least it seemed so. I suppose one cannot blame them. No one, least of all the young, wishes to visit a house in mourning. It is too much of a reminder of death, when one wishes to think of life.”
Charlotte wanted to comfort her, to prevent her feeling that Chloe’s friends were callous, thinking more of their own pleasure than her grief.
She leaned forward a little. “Perhaps they did not wish to intrude? When one is deeply shocked, one doesn’t know what to say. Nothing can make it better, and one is afraid to be clumsy and make it worse by saying something stupid.”
“You are very gentle, my dear Charlotte. I wish poor Chloe could have sought more friends like you, and not some of the foolish ones she did. It all began with that wretched George Ashworth—”
“What?” Charlotte so far forgot herself as to abandon all courtesy.
Mrs. Abernathy looked at her with slight surprise.
“I wish Chloe had not been quite so friendly with Lord Ashworth. I know he is a gentleman, but sometimes the real quality have some strange tastes and habits we wouldn’t approve of.”
“I didn’t know Chloe knew Lord Ashworth.” Charlotte was troubled now. Emily’s determined little face kept coming into