The Cater Street Hangman - Anne Perry [89]
“And it opened a whole new world to her. She wrote to her parents every week; she still does, and sends them money. They think she earns it dressmaking. And what good would it serve to let them discover otherwise? They don’t know what dressmakers earn in London.
“She found a landlord who protected her, but then he started taking more and more of her money. But this time she had friends—of many sorts, not just customers. She’s a handsome girl, shrewd, but not unkind, and I’ve seldom seen her when she couldn’t smile about something.”
“What did she do?” Charlotte cared.
“She had a steady lover who was a screever, a writer of letters, a forger of certificates, false testimonials and so forth. He had an uncle who was a kidsman. He organized all his little protégés to plague the landlord every time he went out of the door. His watch was stolen, his seals, his money. But worse than that, they jeered at him, pinned notes to him, and made him a laughingstock.”
“If he was robbed, why didn’t he call the police?” she felt compelled to ask. “Especially if he saw who did it, and it continued?”
“Oh he did! That’s how I came to know of it.”
“You arrested them?” she was horrified and angry.
He smiled at her, meeting her eyes squarely.
“Unfortunately I had a stiff leg that day, and I was unable to run fast enough to catch any of them. Sergeant Flack got something in his eye, was obliged to stop and get it out, and by the time he could see again, they had gone.”
She felt a wave of relief. “And Belle?”
“She got a reasonable rent, and kept the rest of the earnings.”
“And did she continue—as—as a prostitute?”
“What else? Go back to stitching shirts at two and a half pence each?”
“No, of course not. I suppose it was a silly question. It makes me realize a little how lucky I am to be born as I was. I always used to think it was unjust, that saying about the sins of the fathers being visited on the children to the third and fourth generations. But it isn’t, is it? It’s just a fact of life. We reap what our parents have sown.”
She looked up and found Pitt’s eyes on her. The softness in them embarrassed her, and she turned away.
“What about the hangman? Do you think he—can’t help it?”
“I think it’s possible he doesn’t even entirely know it. Which is perhaps why even those closest to him don’t know it either,” he answered.
The black tie came back to her mind with cold horror. For a while she had forgotten it, forgotten Pitt as a threat and thought of him only as—no, that was ridiculous!
She stood up a little stiffly. “Thank you for coming to tell me about Lord Ashworth. It was extremely courteous of you, and has set my mind at rest, at least from the worst fear.”
He stood up also, accepting the dismissal, but there was disappointment in his face. She was sorry for it; he did not deserve it. But she was too afraid of him to let him stay. He had an ability to anticipate her, to understand her thoughts too well. His quick sympathy, his intelligence, would lead her into betraying herself, and Dominic.
He was still looking at her, damn him!
Oh God! Had she dismissed him so hastily he sensed her fear? Had she dismissed him so soon after their mention of the hangman and his possible ignorance of his own actions, that he guessed she knew something? She must make amends.
“I’m sorry, Mr. Pitt. I did not mean to appear rude. I have not even offered you any refreshment.” She forced herself to meet his eyes. She smiled, her face stiff. She must look ghastly. “May I ring for something for you?”
“No, thank you.” he walked to the door, then turned, frowning a little. “Charlotte, what are you afraid of?”
She drew a deep breath, her throat tight. A moment passed before she could make any sound come.
“Why, the hangman, of course. Isn’t everyone?”
“Yes,” he said quietly. “Possibly even the hangman himself.”
The room swung round her. An earthquake must feel like this. It was ridiculous. She must not faint. Dominic might be weak, give