The Cater Street Hangman - Anne Perry [80]
Emily looked up. “I doubt it matters to the vicar. I should be surprised if he ever notices.”
“That is not the point.” Grandmama was not to be put off. “A woman owes it to herself. It is a matter of duty.”
“I’m sure anything to do with duty would appeal to the vicar,” Charlotte observed. “Especially if it were unpleasant.”
“Charlotte, we all know that you do not care for the vicar; you have made it abundantly obvious.” Grandmama looked a little down her nose. “However, comments like that are of no use at all, and do you no credit. The vicar is a very worthy man, and as suits a man of the cloth, he disapproves of frivolity and paint on the face, and anything that encourages harlotry.”
“Not by the wildest stretch of lunacy can I imagine Martha Prebble encouraging harlotry,” Charlotte was unabashed. “Except by perverse example.”
Caroline dropped her linen pillowcase. “Charlotte! What on earth do you mean?”
“That the sight of Martha’s pale face and the thought of living with someone as critical and self-righteous as the vicar would make one entertain the idea of harlotry as a more bearable alternative,” Charlotte said with devastating frankness.
“I can only presume,” Grandmama said icily, “that you imagine that to be in some fashion amusing. When I consider what manners are coming to these days, I sometimes despair. What passes for wit has become mere vulgarity!”
“I think you are a little unkind, Charlotte,” Caroline spoke more mildly. “The vicar is a little difficult, I admit, and not a very likeable man, but he does a great deal of good work. And poor Martha is almost tireless.”
“I don’t think you realize,” Sarah added, “just how much she does. Or that she has suffered deeply with all these murders. She was very fond of both Chloe and Verity, you know?”
Charlotte looked surprised. “No, I didn’t know. I knew about Verity, but I didn’t know she knew Chloe. I wouldn’t have thought they had many interests in common.”
“I think she was trying to help Chloe to—to keep her feet on the ground. She was a little silly, but quite kind, you know.”
Listening to her, Dominic suddenly felt an appalling sense of pity. He had not cared in the least for Chloe when she was alive; in fact he had found her tiresome. Now he felt something that was as strong as love, and far more painful.
Without thinking, he looked at Charlotte. She was blinking hard, a tear had spilled over onto her cheek. Caroline had picked up her linen again. Emily was doing nothing, and Grandmama was staring at Charlotte with disgust.
What were they thinking?
Grandmama was blaming everyone for the decline in morals. Caroline was concentrating on her sewing. Emily also would be thinking of something practical. Sarah had defended Chloe; and Charlotte had wept for her.
How well did he know any of them?
Dominic continued to go out to his club, and to other places to dine and generally enjoy himself. On several occasions he saw George Ashworth, and found him easy and pleasing company.
He fully expected Sarah to forget the silly affair with Emily and the accusation she had made against Charlotte and himself, but apparently she had not. She said nothing further, but the coolness remained. The distance between them grew greater, if anything.
It was an icy evening in November, fog swirling in the streets and swathing the gas lamps in wreaths of mist. It was clammy and bitterly cold, and he was glad when his cab turned the corner from Cater Street into his own road and a few moments later stopped and set him down. He paid, and heard the horse’s hooves clopping away on the stones, muffled by sound-deadening fog within minutes. He was marooned on a small island of one gas lamp; everything else was impenetrable darkness. The next lamp seemed very far away.
It had been an excellent evening, warm in both wine and companionship. Standing alone in the fog, however, he could think of nothing but women alone in the street, footsteps behind them, perhaps even a face or a voice they knew. Then they would feel a cutting pain in the throat, and darkness,