The Cater Street Hangman - Anne Perry [61]
Charlotte put her arms round her and held her tightly. She felt a terrible pity for her because there was nothing she could do, and guilt because she had raked it all up again and made her talk of it. Charlotte held on to her, rocking a little, as if Mrs. Abernathy were a child, not a woman her mother’s age.
On the way home she could think of nothing to say to her mother or to Sarah, but they were too busy with their own concerns to notice. All evening she sat almost silent, replying only when necessary, and then somewhat at random. Dominic made one or two comments on her absentmindedness, but even for him she could not abandon her anxiety.
If Mrs. Abernathy were right, then George Ashworth was not merely reprobate but positively dangerous, and might even be implicated in murder. It seemed stretching reason too far to suppose the existence of more than one murderer in Cater Street; therefore, he must have also killed Lily and the Hiltons’ maid, if indeed he were actually involved. Perhaps several of his friends in drunken madness had waylaid . . . The thought was appalling.
But the worst consideration was Emily. Might not Emily, however much she wished not to, somehow become aware of his guilt? And if she did, and betrayed her knowledge in his presence, perhaps she too would be found dead in the street?
But Charlotte had no proof. Perhaps it was all in the imagination of Mrs. Abernathy, distorted by grief, desperately needing someone to blame, preferring any answer to the unknown. And if Charlotte told Emily her suspicions, without proof, Emily would surely disbelieve them, and with some heat. She might even, in defiance, tell George Ashworth, just to prove her trust in him, and thus provoke her own death.
What was the right thing to do? She looked round their faces as they all sat in the withdrawing room after dinner. Whose advice could she ask? Papa was looking at the newspaper, his face grim. He was very probably reading about the stock market. He would be ill-disposed to interruptions at the moment, and he had appeared to approve of Ashworth.
Mama was embroidering. She looked pale. Grandmama had not yet forgiven her for her fears over Papa and his visit to Mrs.—whatever her name was. Grandmama had been dropping small, barbed remarks for days. And there was no use asking Grandmama anyway; she would immediately either tell everyone directly or else drive them mad with innuendos until someone dragged it from her.
Emily was playing the piano. Next to her Sarah was playing bezique with Dominic. Could she ask Sarah? Part of her longed to ask Dominic, to have something to share with him, to ask his advice. And yet within her there was also a growing resistance, a fear that Dominic would not meet the standard of wisdom she needed, that he would give her an answer that was not decisive, did not commit him.
She had no deep confidence in Sarah either, but there was no one else. She found an opportunity to approach her on the landing before retiring.
“Sarah?”
Sarah stopped in surprise. “I thought you had gone to bed.”
“I want to speak to you.”
“It cannot wait until morning?”
“No. Please come into my bedroom.”
When the door was closed Charlotte stood against it, and Sarah sat on the bed.
“I went to see Mrs. Abernathy today.”
“I know.”
“Did you know that George Ashworth was closely acquainted with Chloe just before she was killed?”
Sarah frowned.
“No, I didn’t. I’m sure Emily doesn’t know either.”
“So am I. And Mrs. Abernathy believes that he took Chloe to places very unsuitable for a decent woman, and that it was through him that she may well have met whoever killed her, at least that the association was in part responsible—”
“Are you quite sure of what you’re saying, Charlotte? I know you don’t care for Lord Ashworth. Are you not perhaps letting