The Hyde Park Headsman - Anne Griffin Perry [180]
“Blood?” Emily said with a catch in her voice.
“I think so.” Slowly Charlotte rose from her knees, her face pale. “Now we’ve got to find the barrow. Come on. It’s probably outside somewhere at this time of year.”
Very carefully, the lamp held low and half covered by a shawl, they tiptoed out of the greenhouse, pulling the door closed behind them, and into the garden again.
“You’ll have to hold the light up,” Emily said anxiously. “We’ll never see it otherwise.”
Charlotte held it up obediently.
“Where does one keep a barrow?” she said thoughtfully, her voice so low Emily barely heard it. “And the oilskins. I wonder where they are?”
“Maybe she burnt them?” Emily suggested. “I would.”
“Only if you’ve got an incinerator, and the servants wouldn’t notice. Oilskins would make a terrible smell. Anyway, I don’t suppose they are hers. They probably belong to the gardener. He’d miss them. No, she’d wash them off thoroughly and put them back. There must be a shed somewhere, for spades and forks and so on.” She turned around slowly, holding the light higher.
“There!” Emily said hastily, just at the same moment as Charlotte saw it. “Put the light down! Someone’ll see it! Come on, hurry up!”
At a rapid shuffle, so as not to trip or bump into anything, they moved towards the shed, which mercifully was not locked either. Once inside, the light was set on the bench, although it was hardly necessary. The wheelbarrow was immediately apparent, and the oilskins were hung on a peg above it.
Emily gave a little squeak of fear, and Charlotte shivered with a sudden consciousness of horror, knowing what it was she saw. Very carefully, her heart beating so violently it seemed as if her whole body shook with it, she put out her hand and ran her finger over the wooden surface of the wheelbarrow.
“Is it wet?” Emily asked.
“No, of course not,” Charlotte replied. “But it is stained pretty badly. I think it’s creosote again.” She moved over to the oilskins and held the lamp close up to them. “There’s something in the seams here. I’m sure that’s blood.”
“Then come on!” Emily whispered urgently. “We’ve got enough! Let’s leave before someone catches us!”
Gratefully Charlotte turned around and retreated, snagging her shawl on the barrow handle and yanking it in sudden fear.
Outside, they were about to douse the light and try to make their way back around the conservatory towards the wall when they saw another light about ten yards ahead of them, in the garden.
They both froze.
“Who goes there?” a loud masculine voice demanded. “Stop, or it’ll be the worse for yer!”
“Oh God!” Emily sobbed. “It’s the police!”
“We’ll tell them what we found!” Charlotte said boldly, but her legs were shaking and her stomach felt decidedly sick. For a moment or two her feet would not obey her.
Emily tried to speak, but no coherent sound came.
The constable was almost upon them. His cape and gleaming buttons were clearly visible. He held up his bull’s-eye lantern and stared at them incredulously.
“Well now then, what ’ave we ’ere? Two servant girls out to steal the lettuces, eh?”
“Most certainly not,” Charlotte said with as much dignity as she could muster, which was very little. “We are—”
Emily suddenly came to life and gave her a resounding kick.
Charlotte shrieked and swore involuntarily.
“Now then!” the constable said calmly. “There’s no need for bad language, miss. Who are yer, and wot are yer doing ’ere? I’ll ’ave ter take yer in charge. Yer don’t live ’ere. I know all Mrs. Arledge’s servants, and yer ain’t one of ’em, or two of ’em I should say.”
There was no evading the issue.
“No we are not!” Charlotte said, finding her voice at last. “My husband is Superintendent Thomas Pitt, of Bow Street station. And this is my—my maid.” There was no need to incriminate Emily, at least not yet She felt rather than heard Emily’s sigh of relief.
“Now then, miss, that’s a silly story that will just get you nowhere,” the constable said with some surprise.
“This is the scene of a murder!” Charlotte said fiercely. “There are bloodstains in that greenhouse, and