The Cater Street Hangman - Anne Perry [9]
Caroline’s agreement lacked any conviction. Charlotte smiled, hiding her face in Emily’s silk back. It was her private opinion that Grandmama was tougher than a Turkish soldier in the Crimea she was always talking about. Apparently Caroline thought so, too. But what was it that had happened? Her curiosity was boiling over.
“Was the poor girl—” Caroline swallowed; they could hear it from behind the door—” garotted, like Chloe Abernathy?”
“Hardly like Chloe Abernathy,” Edward corrected, but there was a catch in his voice too, as if reality had just overtaken him. “Chloe was a . . . a respectable girl. This maid of the Hiltons’ was—well, it seems regrettable to speak ill of the dead, especially dead in such a terrible way, but she was a girl of dubious reputation. She had more followers than any decent girl would. I dare say that was what brought about her terrible death.”
“You said she was found in the street, Edward?”
“Yes, in Cater Street, not half a mile from the vicar’s.”
“Well, don’t the Hiltons live in Russmore Street? That leads off Cater Street at the far end. I suppose she went out to meet someone and it . . . it happened.”
“Hush, my dear. It was quite horrible, obscene. We won’t speak of it any more. We had better go into the withdrawing room or they will begin to wonder what is keeping us. I just hope the whole neighbourhood won’t be buzzing with it. I imagine Dominic will have the sense not to speak of it, at least of the more . . . bestial aspects of it?”
“Well, you only heard by chance, because you were in Cater Street at just the moment when the police were there; otherwise in the dark you would have known nothing.”
“I must warn him to be discreet. We don’t want the girls upset, or the servants either. But I had better have a word with Maddock, and see that neither Dora nor Lily goes out walking alone until this wretched man is caught.” There was a sound of footsteps as he moved.
Charlotte felt Emily’s elbow in her ribs as a sharp warning and they all collapsed backwards and fled to their respective seats. They were sitting awkwardly, skirts crumpled, when the door opened.
Edward’s face was pale, but he was perfectly composed.
“Good evening, my dears. I hope you had a pleasant day?”
“Yes, thank you, Papa,” Charlotte said breathlessly. “Quite pleasant. Thank you.”
But her mind was out in a shadowed street in some unimaginable horror of dark shapes, sudden pain, choking—and death.
Chapter Two
EMILY WAS EXCITED. This was the kind of day she loved, even more than the day after. Today was the day of dreams, of preparations, of last-minute stitching, of laying out every detail of clean underwear, of washing hair and brushing, of curling irons, and then at the very last minute of all, the delicate, infinitely discreet touches to the face.
Tonight they were going to a formal ball at the house of one Colonel Decker and his wife, and far more to the point, his son and his daughter. Emily had seen them only twice, but had heard delicious stories from Lucy Sandelson as to their dashing style, their elegance, the flair with which they wore the latest fashions; and yet more intoxicating, the abundance and intimacy of their acquaintances among the wealthy and the aristocratic. Truly this ball gave promise of endless doors which, with a little luck and a little skill, might open onto worlds heretofore only dreamed of.
Sarah was going to wear blue, a soft baby blue which was extremely becoming to her. It flattered her skin, highlighting its delicacy, and caught the colour of her eyes. It was a colour that suited Emily’s warmer tone very well also, complementing her cheeks, darker eyes, and brownish hair with its hazel and gold lights. Still, it would flatter neither of them to wear the same; indeed it would make them look ridiculous and Sarah naturally had first choice.
Charlotte had decided upon a rich, wine pink,