The Cater Street Hangman - Anne Perry [78]
“Sweet God!”
“Oh, there were plenty of unwanted corpses around the rookeries, the slum areas of the old days. It was a crime, of course, and it demanded a good deal of skill and nerve to smuggle them from wherever they were stolen to wherever they were handed over and the money received. Sometimes they were even dressed and propped up to look like live passengers—”
“Stop it!” Dominic stood up. “I take your point that the wretched man may not know better, but I don’t want to hear about it. It doesn’t excuse him, or help your sergeant. Let the man forge his money. What’s a few guineas more or less in the whole of London? But find our hangman!”
Pitt was still seated. “A few guineas more or less is nothing to you, Mr. Corde, but to a woman with a child, it may be the difference between food and starvation. And if you can tell me what else to do to catch your hangman, I’ll be only too willing to do it.”
Dominic left the coffeehouse feeling miserable, confused, and deeply angry. Pitt had no right to speak to him like that. There was nothing whatsoever he could do about it, and it was unfair he should be forced to listen.
When he arrived home he felt no better. Sarah met him in the hall. He kissed her, putting his arms round her, but she did not relax against him. In irritation he let go of her sharply.
“Sarah, I’ve had enough of this childish attitude of yours. You are behaving stupidly, and it’s time you stopped!”
“Do you know how many nights you have been out this last month?” she countered.
“No, I do not. Do you?”
“Yes, thirteen in the last three weeks.”
“Alone. And if you were to behave yourself with dignity and like a grown woman instead of an undisciplined child, I should take you with me.”
“I hardly think I should care for the places which you have been frequenting.”
He drew breath to say he would change the places, but then his anger hardened and he changed his mind. There was no purpose in arguing with words; it was feelings that mattered, and as long as she felt like this it was pointless. He turned away and went into the withdrawing room. Sarah went back to the kitchen.
Charlotte was in the withdrawing room, standing by the open window painting.
“This is a withdrawing room, Charlotte, not a studio,” he said waspishly.
She looked surprised, and a little hurt.
“I’m sorry. Everyone else is either out or busy, and I was not expecting you home so early, or I would have put it away.” She did not, however, move to close her box.
“I met your damned policeman.”
“Mr. Pitt?”
“Have you another?”
“I haven’t any.”
“Don’t be coy, Charlotte.” He sat down irritably. “You know perfectly well he admires you, indeed is enamoured of you. If you haven’t observed it for yourself, Emily has certainly told you!”
Charlotte flushed with embarrassment.
“Emily was saying it to annoy. And you of all people should know that Emily can say things merely to cause trouble!”
He turned to look at her properly. He had been unfair. He was taking out his anger with Pitt and with Sarah on Charlotte.
“I’m sorry,” he said frankly. “Yes, Emily has an irresponsible tongue, although I think she may well be right about Pitt. After all, why shouldn’t he admire you? You are an extremely handsome woman, and have the kind of spirit that might appeal to him.”
He was surprised to see Charlotte colour even more deeply. He had meant it to comfort her, not to make her embarrassment worse. She was the most forthright person he had ever met, and yet paradoxically, the hardest for him to understand. Obviously one did not want the attentions of someone like Pitt, but it should be no more than an irritation, to be forgotten.
“Where did you meet him?” she asked, still absently fiddling with her palette.
“In a coffeehouse. Didn’t know policemen frequented such places. He had the nerve to just come and sit down at my table!”
His anger rekindled at the memory.
“What did he want?” She looked worried.
He tried to think back, but he could not remember. Pitt had not asked anything