The Hyde Park Headsman - Anne Griffin Perry [64]
“It may prove to be of no meaning at all, Mrs. Arledge. I would prefer not to leap to conclusions.” It was futile, and he knew it even as the words were on his lips.
“Of course. The valet,” she agreed, her words equally hollow, and she did not meet his eyes. She rang the bell, and when the maid appeared, sent for the valet to meet Pitt in the study.
But the valet’s answers only clouded the issue the more. Either he had no idea where the other silver-backed brush was or he refused to say. Nor did he know where to find the evening studs. He looked confused and embarrassed, but Pitt had no sense that it was guilt.
Walking home slowly along Mount Street towards the park, Pitt had the sad empty feeling that for all his humor and courtesy, Aidan Arledge was far less uncomplicated than he had seemed at first. There was something hidden, something unexplained.
Where did he go after late performances? Where were the things that Pitt had expected to find, and had not? Why had he two sets of keys? Did Aidan Arledge keep a second establishment somewhere, a place his wife knew nothing of?
Why? Why would a man keep a secret establishment?
He could think of only one answer: obvious, glaring and painful. He had a mistress. Somewhere there was a second woman mourning his death, a woman who dared not show her grief, dared not even claim his acquaintance.
Gracie had made up her mind while she was sitting at the kitchen table watching Pitt eat his treacle pudding, but it was after midnight before she could put her plan into effect. She had to be quite sure everyone in the house was asleep. If they were to catch her sneaking out, there would be no acceptable excuse she could give, and her whole venture would be aborted. And after last time, Pitt would be furious and perhaps even dismiss her. That thought was unendurable. But so was the knowledge that he was being criticized in the newspapers by people who did not know what they were talking about and were not fit to speak to him, let alone air their opinions.
So there was nothing for it but to do her best to find out something. Added to which, with the mistress too busy with the new house to do anything, and Miss Emily all caught up in the by-election, who else was there to help?
Outside on the pavement she walked smartly towards the main thoroughfare. She had enough money to get a hansom to the park, first, and back again, of course. She had borrowed it from the fish money. It was not strictly honest. But then if she did not have any of the fish herself tomorrow, it would not be stealing either.
She did not look the part of a prostitute. No girls were out for business dressed in a maid’s stuff gown, high to the neck, long-sleeved, and cut in plain gray-blue. But then she did not want to succeed in attracting anyone. It was information she was seeking, not trade. Also there was the danger of being seen as a rival and driven off, perhaps violently, by a protective pimp. Like this she would hardly occasion any such feelings. Mockery, perhaps, laughter, even pity, but not fear.
It took her several minutes to find a cab and convince the driver she had the fare, and then another quarter hour to reach the park and be set down.
The cab drove away, the horse’s hooves loud on the deserted road, the carriage lamp disappearing towards Knightsbridge. The darkness closed in and the night seemed huge around her and full of strange sounds, any of which could be someone coming, an idle passerby, someone taking a late stroll, a man looking for a prostitute, a woman looking for trade, a pimp guarding his territory, the Hyde Park Headsman …
“Stop it,” she said aloud to herself. “Pull yourself together, you stupid girl.” And with that admonition, also aloud, she started to walk briskly along the footpath, her sharp step ringing out till it sounded like a beating heart in the night, and she realized she appeared far too purposeful to attract the slightest attention from the people she wished.
Actually it took her nearly an