The Hyde Park Headsman - Anne Griffin Perry [181]
“ ’E’ll be at ’ome in ’is bed,” the constable said firmly.
“Of course he will. He lives at number twelve, Gordon Square, Bloomsbury. Send for him!” Charlotte ordered imperiously. “And there’s a telephone.”
“Well, I don’t know if …”
He was saved from further argument or excuse by a light in the house going on and the scullery door opening.
“What’s going on?” a man’s voice called out peremptorily. “Who’s there?”
“Police, sir,” the constable replied confidently. “Constable Woodrow, sir. I just caught two burglars in your garden.”
“We are not burglars!” Charlotte hissed.
“You be quiet!” Constable Woodrow was becoming unhappy; he was placed in a ridiculous situation. “No need to worry, sir. Everything is in ’and, you tell Mrs. Arledge not to disturb ’erself. I’ll take care of this.”
“It is nothing of the sort,” Charlotte said with sudden desperation. “We are not burglars. Send for Superintendent Pitt immediately.” She gulped. It was now or never. Everything was in the balance, Pitt’s career, their home. “This is the—the scene of a murder!”
“Murder?” The butler, dressed in his nightshirt, came out of the doorway at last, the lantern still in his hand. “Who is dead?”
“Mr. Arledge, you fool!” Charlotte said exasperatedly. “He was killed in his own greenhouse, and taken to the park in a wheelbarrow. Now send for the police! Have you one of the new telephone instruments?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Then use it. Call Bloomsbury one-two-seven and fetch Superintendent Pitt.”
“Now, just a minute …” Woodrow began, but the butler had already turned and gone back into the house. A decisive command was better than standing in his nightshirt on the steps in the cold, arguing with a constable. He knew Pitt’s name, and the mistress had welcomed him in the house. He would sort out this fearful situation.
“Yer shouldn’t ’ave done that!” Woodrow said angrily.
A light sprang on upstairs in the house.
“Now look what you’ve done!” he went on. “Woke up poor Mrs. Arledge. As if she ’adn’t enough to bear, what with ’er ’usband’s death an’ all.”
Charlotte ignored him, pulling her shawl tighter around her. Now that they were no longer absorbed in what they were doing, she was growing cold.
Emily stood beside her shivering. She did not even wish to imagine what Jack might say when this came to his knowledge. There was just a faint hope Charlotte’s lie would hold.
That was ruined by more lights from the house and footsteps across the kitchen, and after a moment more, Dulcie Arledge herself appearing in the scullery doorway, dressed in a gorgeous sky-blue wrap and with her brown hair falling gently over her shoulders.
“What is going on here?” she asked with polite surprise. “Have you found intruders, Constable? Did I understand correctly?”
“That’s right, ma’am.” Woodrow stepped forward, dragging Charlotte and Emily with him.
Emily cowered, but surely Dulcie would not recognize her in this dress, in the uncertain light of the bull’s-eye lamp.
“Women?” Dulcie said incredulously. “They look like women.”
“They are women, ma’am,” Woodrow agreed. “After vegetables, likely. Don’t worry about it, ma’am. I’ll take ’em in and likely as not, you won’t ’ave ter do anything about it except agree ter the charge. Now come on.” He yanked at Charlotte a good deal less gently than before. Apparently his patience had snapped and he had changed his mind. Dulcie’s quiet authority had been enough to dispel any doubts.
“Charlotte!” There was panic rising in Emily’s voice. “Think of something! Not only will Thomas be ruined, Jack will be too!”
Such desperate times called for extreme measures. Charlotte opened her mouth and let out an earsplitting scream.
“Gawd!” Constable Woodrow leapt into the air and dropped the lantern. It rolled on the ground without breaking, ending up almost at the stone edge of the path. Charlotte did it again, and was rewarded by blinds shooting up in the house and more sounds of obvious activity.
“What did you do that for?” Emily hissed furiously.
“Witnesses,” Charlotte